This post is in response to commentary by The Bloodhorse’s Steve Haskin’s article entitled Countdown to the Cup: Classic Confusion.  While I respect Steve Haskin as occupying the pantheon of the best in turf writing currently, I take exception to this strongly-worded passage:

As thrilling as that sounds, there is no denying the Classic has lost its way and its identity. It did last year and likely will again this year, and needs desperately to get back on dirt. It’s the Classic, not the Grassic.

With all due respect, Steve, your memory can’t be THAT short. Remember Tiznow’s two Classics? He narrowly beat two Euro grass horses – Sakhee and Giant’s Causeway.  What about Arcangues? I don’t recall his being a dirt horse.

While it’s obvious European-based trainers are more amenable to entering horses in the Classic when the race is held on a synthetic track,  their entering the Classic hasn’t been entirely impaired when it’s been on dirt either.  George Washington broke down in the stretch of the 2007 running, a point that ’s not lost on the Euros either.  I’m sure their enthusiasm for sending horses to compete in the Classic was decidedly tempered by George Washington’s untimely demise.

So, what is California racing to do? Are we irrelevant because of our track surface? Or do we go back to dirt, and wind up again being on the wrong end of editorials by East coast-based turf writers? It seems like we’re damned if we do, and damned if we don’t.

photo: Alexander Markoff, The Bloodhorse

Over the 4 decades during which I’ve been an avid horse racing fan, I’ve seen a lot of well-managed and mismanaged horses.  One is tempted to be an armchair trainer and shout, “What were they thinking?!?!” when a horse is poorly spotted, and we’re willing to give a pass to a bad decision, but when you see a horse virtually ruined by poor decisionmaking by high-profile connections, you just have to rise up and scream, “Are you NUTS?” In this case the horse is Liquidity, and the connections are J Paul Reddam and Doug O’Neill.

Beginning with a misguided Triple Crown quest in 2007, and culminating with this past weekend’s Charlie Wittingham Handicap debacle, Liquidity has been taken on a path that has left a lot of racing enthusiasts (not just myself) baffled, to say the least. Is this a case of owner ego run amok, or a trainer whose decision making leaves a lot to be desired, or both?

After breaking his maiden at 2, the strapping son of Tiznow was inexplicably immediately thrown into way-over-his-head company at Belmont (Champagne, G1) in the fall of 2006. He was part of the 3 year old crop of 2007, arguably one of the best in recent decades, a crop that included Street Sense, Curlin and Hard Spun. Why anyone thought Liquidity could compete in this company is truly a mystery. I’m a fan of his, but I have realistic expectations. He could have been a G3 horse at a mile, tops; 10 furlongs seemed far beyond his capability.  Granted, he’s got distance galore in his pedigree, but it’s not uncommon for horses with short pedigrees to be able to outrun them, while those with distance pedigrees wind up being sprinters. But in the case of Liquidity, it was sadly apparent that he was being pointed to a campaign far beyond his capabilities,  by connections who at worst could be called delusional.

After finishing 9th in the Champagne,  Liquidity was wheeled back 3 weeks later at Hollywood Park in the Real Quiet and finished 3rd as the favorite.  He then finished 2nd in both the Hollywood Futurity and the Sham.  Once again, he was on the road – this time to the Fair Grounds for the Louisiana Derby – where he finished a well-beaten 6th to Circular Quay. After that his form really began to unravel. His subsequent 4th place finish in the Santa Anita Derby did not give the impression of a Derby horse. Yet his connections, undaunted, entered him in the Derby, where he finished 14th, beaten 22 1/2 lengths.

From the 1st Saturday in May 2007, to the 2nd Saturday of November 2008, Liquidity remained on the sidelines.  He finished an ok 3rd in his comeback start at Hollywood, 4th in his next start at Santa Anita, then broke through to win for only the 2nd time in his 3rd start off the layoff.  That was a gutsy win, I thought. Maybe he’s grown into himself, again I thought, and he’s ready to step up to better allowance company, maybe a small stake eventually.  The field in this past weekend’s Ack Ack (G3) was ok,  but it had no worldbeaters; considering Liquidity had won at the same track at the same distance, this would have been a good placement for him. It would have made sense, right? I guess not, if you’re O’Neill and Reddam.

Lest we give Liquidity’s connections the benefit of the doubt, we were not terribly surprised to see him entered in the Charlie Wittingham Handicap (G1) over the turf at 10 furlongs. Surprised no, but angry? You bet. I envisioned myself on the phone with the racing secretary, pleading with him to keep Liquidity out of the race. He’d just gotten some semblance of confidence back in achieving his 2nd win, and now he’s being thrown into a much longer race, against proven stakes winners, on an unfamiliar surface?

Good bleeping grief.

The Whittingham was indeed painful to watch. Liquidity set the pace, but after a mile he was finished, swallowed up by a surging Midships, among others. He finished next to last.  One would hope we don’t see him on grass again, but considering the incredibly wrong-headed decision making made on his behalf, anything is possible.

So with the hope of O’Neill or Reddam finding this post, I’ll go out on a limb  and teach trainer and owner a thing or two about progeny of Tiznow.

First, just because Tiznow could go 10 F, don’t expect his offspring to do likewise. In his first 5 crops, he’s had a couple of distance winners in Da’ Tara and Colonel John, but for the most part his offspring excel at 7-9 F. Furthermore, the proven versatility of his offspring  may well be more of a curse than a blessing to trainers; one’s never sure where to spot them when they’re first coming to the track.

Perhaps O’Neill and Reddam should consult with Pam Ziebarth and Michael Cooper, Tiznow’s owners and the current owners of Tizdejavu.  This  Tiznow colt excelled over turf as a 3 year old, was injured, and returned successfully as a 4 year old.  He won 3 stakes on turf at middle  distances, and his come back race was (wonder of wonders!) a middle distance OC on turf.  They did it right.

Or they can talk to the connections of Bullsbay, who after a wild maiden start became a good allowance horse, was switched to the barn of Graham Motion (whereupon he undertook a dirt campaign), and eventually won a G3 (Alysheba on the Derby undercard). He may wind up being one of the favorites in this coming weekend’s Stephen Foster. Patient handling and good spotting for this late bloomer helped him rise to the occasion. His love for the Churchill Downs surface sure hasn’t hurt in the “spotting” process.

But I digress….

Unlike the connections of Tizdejavu and Bullsbay, Doug O’Neill seems to forget that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. He’s not getting that different result with Liquidity. He didn’t get it with Slew’s Tiznow (in his disastrous trip to the Fair Grounds) either. And he hasn’t gotten it in poorly spotting the consistently overmatched Informed either. And what’s happened to Slew’s Tizzy?

I’m beginning to think that no Tiznow offspring should be put into the care of Doug O’Neill. So many seemed to have been pointed to campaigns so breathtakingly beyond their capabilities that we may need to gather fans together to stage an equine intervention.

I wish the Kentucky Derby would reduce its field size from 20 to 14.

That doesn’t mean they necessarily SHOULD.  I don’t have enough strong evidence to make that kind of a blanket statement.  Just call it a strong personal preference that they run less horses.

Here’s why…

#1 is safety. I don’t necessarily think a 20-horse field increases the chances of a horrific accident versus a 14-horse field.  For example, several horses last Saturday (Dunkirk, Friesan Fire, even Mine That Bird) had a tough time getting cleanly out of the gate.  But that could just as easily happen with a smaller field.  However, I do think that a larger field increases the possibility that – if there is a mishap – the results could be far more horrific.

I grew up in Louisville, and our family was fortunate enough to have a wonderful Derby Weekend box on the third level near the finish line.  And I used to thrill as the horses came past the grandstand  the first time, in their scramble for a good position on the first turn.  Then one year I had a different thought.  As the thundering hooves of the Derby cavalry charge came past me, horses literally inches apart, I thought…what if something happens?  What if a horse in the middle of that mob breaks down, or two horses inadvertantly tangle?  Of course, that can happen no matter how many horses are in the field.  But the more horses there are, the chances are the resulting catastrophe would be just that much more horrific.

To this day, I can scarcely watch the Derby until the horses are safely past the first turn, and reasonably spread out along the backstretch.

#2 is fairness. Every horse race is a combination of factors, including which horse has the most in the tank that day, and who gets a clean ride and doesn’t get trapped in traffic.  You’ll never totally eliminate the “traffic” issue (nor should you necessarily want to – jockey skill is part of the sport.)  But it stands to reason that the larger the field, the greater the “traffic” issue becomes, and at 20 it becomes a huge issue.  I think it’s fair to say that Mine That Bird was the best horse last Saturday, but it took literally a once-in-a-generation miracle ride by Mr. Bo-Rail to bring him home around the 19 horses in front of him.  Any other jockey, or maybe even Calvin on any other day, and the best horse loses.  So I’d like to see the scales tipped a little bit back in favor of the “best horse”, and away from the traffic issue.

Finally, #3 is race incoherence. This is what really got me going after last Saturday’s race.  I was anticipating this year’s Derby as much or more than any in years.  And yet when it was over, I was hugely disappointed.  Not because of the results…the best horse won with an incredible stretch run (although I never spotted it until it was almost over).  No, I was disappointed because after it was over, I had little to no clue as to what had actually happened.  It seemed almost like I had missed the race!

As an example, like most of us there were several horses I really wanted to watch, one of whom was Musket Man (whom I had seen several weeks earlier at Hawthorne).  Well, the good news is MM finished third.  The bad news is I have no clue how he did it.  I don’t know where he was around the track, got totally confused down the stretch until…surprise!…Mine That Bird wins, and Musket Man is third, and, well,  WHO KNEW??

It’s not that poor old Tom Durkin didn’t try.  But I’m not sure how you call a 20-horse field and give fans both a sense of where every horse is, and also what’s really happening toward the front.  On the backstretch it took him nearly the whole way to run down the field, by which time the dynamics up front had begun to totally change.

No, in my opinion, as a horse racing fan, a 20-horse field is just an incoherent mess.  And that takes a lot of the fun out of it for me.

So I’d like to see CD lower the field size to 14, or I think the number of horses that fit in one standard starting gate (rather than stack on the gate extension like they do now.)  To my knowledge, the other Triple Crown races, as well as the Breeders’ Cup, have a limit of 14, and for good reasons.  The Derby should consider the same.

CD recently announced in their horse safety initiative that they were reviewing field sizes, but stated that they had decided to leave the Derby at 20.  And certainly, lowering the field size would impact them by reducing purse size and betting handle.  And I certainly don’t minimize that, which is why I say a field reduction is a personal perference, rather than necessarily something they SHOULD do.  But there are problems with a 20-horse field.  I just pray that we never live to actually see the worst of those problems actually happen.

A field reduction also begs the question of how should those fewer horses be selected.  Certainly the “graded stakes earnings”  criteria they use now has lots of problems.  So how about this?  Since the bulk of the Derby preps are over no later than three weeks before the race, the CD handicapper could at that time establish a very-early “morning line” for the top 20 or so prospects.  (That would eliminate the Dunkirk phenomenon of this year).  Then the top 14 get in, and as they scratch, they could be replaced by the next horse on the list.

However they might do it, I say that a 14-horse Derby field will result in a safer race, a fairer race, and a race that is much easier for race fans to follow and appreciate.

As always, I’d love your comments and feedback!

The following is a guest blog by Ornatan:

Revenge . . .

. . . Is Mine.

Who wants Revenge?

It was the question on everyone’s lips during Derby week; and the bitter throng had many answers to offer. The pre-race Derby favorite was trained by Jeff Mullins, who had long since been anointed by hardened gamblers as a porn-star lookalike, widely suspected of committing more daylight robberies than Jesse James and John Dillinger combined; and frequently targeted as dispensing more illegal, unknown, undetectable drugs than Dr. Jekyll could have ever conjured up in an imaginary lifetime. On more than one occasion, one listened to cynical big-money bettors swear that they would be reduced to tears if this man won the Derby. Some even swore that they would renounce the game (though such promises are more often made than kept under these sorts of circumstances).

In the World Wide Wrestling Federation that Racing has become, Mullins accepted the role handed to him by the prop director, wearing his black hat like a badge of dishonor in the form of a monumental chip on his shoulder. His interview a year or two ago with Southern California columnist, T. J. Simers (one of a breed of ink-stained wretches who aspire to the ambitions of the next Geraldo Rivera) became a classic of the genre, for Mullins’s public dismissal of the complaints of gamblers, discounting their opinions as the teeth-gnashing of “idiots and addicts.” Last year, when people were moaning and groaning about Rick Dutrow (another appointed villain) winning America’s biggest race, a recurrent consolation among les miserables was that “at least it wasn’t Mullins.” It didn’t help matters that the equally disliked IEAH stables, who had campaigned last year’s winner, had purchased a half-interest in I Want Revenge.

One might have expected, then, that the news on Derby morning that the favorite had been scratched due to what appeared to be a very minor injury would be greeted far and wide as the best kind of news: the horse was happy and healthy, his future still bright; the safety and well-being of the racing animal had been protected by an extreme caution that approached the matter, as owner David Lanzman put it, as one where “there was no decision to be made.” In the soap opera logic of racing fandom, the evil connections who had stolen so many virtuous contests must now taste the bitter gall of having the contest snatched from them.

Only the day before, Andy Beyer, wisest of all the self-appointed wise guys and guru to thousands who wait on his numerical rating of every race run in America, had tagged I Want Revenge as the only horse with a chance to win the Derby: “I Want Revenge is a standout in the Derby on the basis of his 2-for-2 dirt record . . .there appear to be only two challengers with a plausible chance to beat the favorite: Friesan Fire and Dunkirk . . . But this much about the Derby seems clear (at least to me): I Want Revenge will win it, and none of the synthetic-track specialists will finish close to him.” In the subdued press conference on Saturday morning, the irony hung in the air: I Want Revenge was now the only horse who could not win the Derby. So does the reality of racing deal ironically with the hopes of prediction.

And so it dealt with those who would have predicted that I Want Revenge’s minor injury was cosmic revenge against his black-hatted connections. For, indeed, that same crowd went immediately to work whispering a new diabolical scenario. Something wasn’t right about this scratch. This didn’t sound believable. There were rumors that soon test results would be released from the horse’s race last month in New York. More rumors, compounding those, that the connections (follow me now, this kind of thinking follows tortuous paths) had scratched their horse the morning of the race, because the illegal medication that they had planned to use to win the race illegally they now believed (for some unspecified reason) they would either a) be unable to administer or b) would be detected by a post-race test. Perversely, in this story, the crushing disappointment of scratching the Derby favorite on the morning of the race became yet another in the long and ever-growing trail of suspicious behavior: “Curse you, black-hatted Mullins!”

With, however, I Want Revenge gone, and eight hours in which to fashion a new narrative, bettors flocked to the windows like worshippers to the altar. With the black-hat crushed beneath the falling building of a swollen ankle, fans and bettors alike began singing in Andy Beyer’s chorus, rallying to the support of Friesan Fire, trained by white-hatted Larry Jones, and making him a clear Derby favorite, for both sentimental and wagering purposes.

If there are black hats, there must be white hats; and Larry Jones wears the biggest white hat his head can support. Last year, it was his filly Eight Belles that chased the black-hatted Big Brown under the wire; and when the latter returned from his victorious trip, and the former did not, becoming the first catastrophic injury in Derby history, dying on the turn after the race, somehow the responsibility for that death slid right off that white hat and landed on the shoulders of the black-hatted band. It was the most amazing demonstration of Teflon public relations since Ronald Reagan.

If Jeff Mullins is an urban cowboy who developed his trade on the hardscrabble hard-dirt tracks of the southwest bushes, where horses are cheap, races are short, and wagers are large and private; then Larry Jones is a folksy rural farm boy who taught himself how to train, still gallops his horses himself (despite outweighing the heaviest exercise riders by more than 50 lbs), and claims to steer clear of almost all medication use of any kind. He is a splendid interview, slow-talking and sincere, with an “aw, shucks” demeanor and a penchant for sprinkling homiletic phrases and hallelujahs into contemplations of plans, purposes and moving forward. When one of his horses tested positive last summer, his acolytes preached long and hard about the likelihood (?!) of a disgruntled former employee sabotaging him. Jones had announced that he was retiring from training at the end of this year, and that this would be his last Kentucky Derby. One could almost see the thinking behind the money as it flowed toward Friesan Fire yesterday: THIS would be revenge, indeed.

Yet when the race was over and the Derby cup was raised, it was not the sweet wine of victory on Larry Jones’s lips, but the sour grapes of disappointment: “They say I can’t walk away from this?” Jones said as he walked back to the barn. “Watch me.”

“I really felt like it was set up for him,” Jones said. “That’s why I’m quitting, guys. The Breeders’ Cup won’t get here soon enough.”

Two years ago, one of the most jubilant and unintelligible post-race Derby interviews had taken place. Calvin Borel had just piloted Street Sense, the Derby favorite, from last to first for popular white-hatted conditioner, Carl Nafzger. In spite of the fact that Street Sense was a well-respected favorite, Borel’s rail-skimming ride was a marvel as he threaded a path through the extremely congested 20-horse field. The national average for field size is about 8 horses a race, and fields of 5 or fewer are not uncommon; few races in America ever attract more than 12, and only the Derby (capped at twenty) reaches the high teens. But Borel had become renowned as a perennial riding champion at Churchill Downs in recent years, particularly well-known for these rail-skimming rides where he finds impossibly small holes to navigate through, and earning the nickname “Calvin Bo-Rail.” Yet, this was his first Derby victory; and in spite of the fact that he was in his fifties, he had only won his first graded stakes a few years earlier. For most of his career, Borel has toiled in the backwaters of his cajun heritage, an area as renowned as Mullins’s southwest for its subterfuge and skullduggery, where every racing oval is the compilation of multiple overlapping angles.

The glow of Derby victory is usually a serene and blissful ambience, full of the sense of well-being that you can imagine by taking several deep breaths after six steady months of living with your breath constantly held. The road to Louisville is filled with misfortune and heartache, and victory–when, impossibly, it arrives–is almost always received with gratitude and humility and the need to sink deep into a comfortable chair. But Calvin Borel is cajun and when he won the Derby, he became his own personal Mardi Gras on horseback. Interviewers had little chance to ask him questions, because he was too busy telling them in his high-pitched patois whatever it was that he was saying, that everyone who heard knew immediately meant that he was happy. It is a universal language of celebration that is understood as soon as heard, without ever descending to being comprehended.

This year, Borel was back. But not for the Derby; for the Oaks, the filly race that is run the day before. Oaks day is all about the ladies, and several years ago, the marketing suits at Churchill Downs made one of those wise decisions that they get paid so well to make, and tied Oaks Day with a pink ribbon to breast cancer awareness. They make a big push to “paint the Downs pink” on Oaks day, encouraging everyone to dress up and to dress up in pink to make a statement. This year, that promotion was again well presented, but there was another reason that eyes were turned to Louisville on Oaks day: to watch Calvin Borel ride Rachel Alexandra, a filly who had been simply phenomenal in her races leading up to this event. Many felt that if she were entered in the Derby, she could outrun the colts, but her connections believed in leaving young fillies to race against young fillies, and so she went postward in the Oaks. And, under Borel, she turned in a thoroughly dominating performance. It was the stuff of instant legend, and gave credence to those who thought she should have been running 24 hours later. Galloping on even terms with the leader for the first two-thirds of the race, she simply wore that one (and those pursuing) down, then flicked her ears, said goodbye, and galloped away. With every stride her lead grew longer; at every pole another five lengths was added to the tally. When she arrived at the wire, eased up and hardly breathing it was more than twenty lengths back to her nearest pursuer, wobbling and gasping in her wake.

Yet the man who piloted her to victory, and who had won the Derby two years ago, entered Derby week with no mount for the race. I Want Revenge was Derby favorite, and he would be ridden by a 19yo kid who had never ridden in the Derby or, indeed, at Churchill Downs. But Calvin Bo-Rail could find no mount. When scratches of some likely entrants opened that door that closes at the number 20, a couple of horses slipped in, including one named Mine That Bird, who had just finished fourth in an ungraded stakes race in New Mexico. Borel was available, and he got the mount.

And once he got the mount, he got his horse the trip. Taking back to last down the stretch the first time, Borel steered his charge to the rail. Around the first turn he was a good eight lengths behind the furthest back of the 18 runners in front of him. Down the backstretch, the little horse began picking up the pace along Calvin’s private path, slipping inside of horse after horse, like a moving paint chip plastered to the rail. Around the turn, he had to swing out to pass one horse who managed to be as close to the fence as Calvin got, but then it was right back inside again, slipping in where no one seemed to fit. And as the rest of the field tired and toiled, labored and wallowed, like a water bug on a smooth pond, Mine That Bird romped home, with every stride lengthening his lead, stretching it further after every pole, leaving the field floundering in his wake, rolling home seven in front. He was the 8-horse, and these days, that means his saddle cloth was pink.

What better revenge? The black hats beaten; an underdog winner overlooked by all, ridden to perfection by one of the most popular and ebullient of riders. And this celebration was Borel at a higher pitch of excitement–maybe a bit more comprehensible (or maybe we’re just learning his language), but even more effervescent. It was like listening to Zydeco talk.

Of course, racing isn’t like that. The race wasn’t even official before you could hear the whispers. “Something’s fishy here.” “How can one horse be going that much faster than all the others?” “A 1-for 30 guy comes out of Mullins country and beats the best horses in America with a horse that couldn’t light the board in New Mexico? R I G H T . . .” And Woolley, the cowboy on crutches, really does wear a black hat. You can see the story unfolding already. He’d been in Kentucky a week with a horse that had been Canada’s champion 2yo last year, and nobody bothered to ask him a question about his horse. Now he had won the Kentucky Derby, and he’d better get ready for some questions about his horse. When asked–for the third time–about hauling the horse himself, rather than flying him to Kentucky, Woolley just pushed the microphone away: “Maybe now they’ll talk about something else.”

Welcome to racing, Chip, you wear a black hat. Congratulations on your win.

Revenge is Mine:

“This day will the LORD deliver thee into mine hand;

And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth” (1 Samuel 17:46-49).

It’s sometimes hard to tell the hats without a program.

Lots of us American horseracing fans just shake our heads as the sport we enjoy slips further and further into obscurity.

Some folks feel that the problem is “marketing”.  That the sport does a very poor job “marketing” itself, particularly when compared to other sports.  Although I agree with that, unfortunately I think that horseracing’s challenges are far greater than that.  The very business model of horseracing is deteriorating, from issues of demographics, economics, other forms of gambling, and a host of other factors.

But let’s go back to marketing for a moment.  We appear to be on the verge of what I consider to be a HUGE marketing blunder for horseracing, one that even by their very low standards is a beaut!

Zenyatta is launching her 2009 campaign this Friday at Churchill Downs, in the Louisville Distaff stakes.  You all know I’m a huge Zenyatta fan, but heck, she has TONS of fans.  And with good reason.  She’s one of the few horses this year – at least so far – with real star power.  She’s the strong runner-up to the now-retired Horse of the Year.  She’s undefeated. She wins races in a spectacular, explosive, come-from-behind fashion.   She’s big, beautiful, and charismatic.  She has connections that everyone admires.  I mean with Zenyatta, there’s nothing not to like!

And getting her for her first race back after the Breeders’ Cup is a huge coup for Churchill Downs, even if it is Derby weekend.

So how are CD, the NTRA, and the TV networks planning to showcase this big event?  Ummm…they’re not.

They’re leaving the Louisville Distaff at its pre-planned time slot of 2:10 PM (Eastern) on Friday.  And there’s no TV, except for the “preaching-to-the-choir” HRTV.

Folks, that’s crazy!!

Let’s get real here.  This isn’t the “Louisville Distaff Stakes” any longer.  It’s the “Zenyatta’s Back! Stakes”.  And it’s a very big deal for racing.

The folks at CD and NTRA should have juggled their totally-not-sacred racing lineup, and made sure to showcase Zenyatta’s return to maximum advantage for the sport.  They could easily have bumped the Louisville Distaff down to right before the Oaks, and package it into the same hour with The Oaks on Bravo.  It’s very common for TV to show two races in an hour.  Would that be an exciting hour or what?  Talk about star power…seeing the two best fillies in America (and maybe the two best horses in Louisville right now)…Zenyatta and Rachel, running back-to-back? Wow!

Or better yet, bump the Louisville Distaff to the Derby undercard on Saturday, and get it on ESPN, which is scheduled to broadcast FIVE races Saturday on the undercard, not one of which has the mass appeal and marketing punch of Zenyatta’s return.  I’m amazed ESPN isn’t clamoring for it!

I mean, what are these people thinking?  (Answer…they’re not.)  Any other big-time sport in America would do that in a heartbeat.  EVERY other pro sport…heck, even college sports…wait to finalize their event/broadcast schedules until they see all the options, then make sure to put their marquee events on at the best possible time.  I guarantee you, when Michael Jordan and the Bulls were terrorizing the NBA playoffs back in the 90’s, he was ALWAYS on at prime time, and NBC built the rest of the broadcast schedule around him.

But no.  CD and the NTRA are apparently going to waste Zenyatta’s return on an early weekday afternoon time slot, with no non-horseracing TV.

So to answer the question…Is Horseracing Out Of Its Mind?  Yeah, I guess so. And it’s sad.