Sport of Kings Is Rethinking Castles

The moment Albert Clay says the words, he takes them back. He has just spoken of thoroughbred racing as “the sport of kings.” Now he rushes to amend.

“That’s the wrong term,” says Clay, who breeds horses here in Kentucky’s fabled bluegrass pastures. “That gives the impression that everyone in racing is rich.”

Clay means the phrase to evoke instead an image of horse racing as a noble sport--rich in tradition, refined, classy; a sport for connoisseurs. But that’s an image the thoroughbred industry may no longer be able to afford.

For the sport of kings in Kentucky has fallen on hard times--and is counting on 25-cent slot machines, neon lights and plastic token cups to bail it out.

As state lawmakers opened their legislative session last month, horse industry lobbyists began pushing for a bill to let them build casinos at racetracks--adding Las Vegas glitter to such famed blueblood venues as Churchill Downs, home of the Kentucky Derby, or the ivy-clad Keeneland race course here in Lexington.

Bringing Double Wild Cherry slots to a place like Keeneland (which bans denim from several of its grandstand restaurants) may sound like heresy, acknowledges David Banks, who runs a local stable. “But if you increase your bottom line by huge amounts, you can swallow the heresy a little easier.”

And boosting the bottom line is urgent business for the Kentucky horse industry.

A mysterious disease that struck pregnant mares last spring killed more than 5,000 horses in the state, wiping out one-third of the foals that would have been born this season.

Also, the recession has hit the industry hard, dampening bidding at auctions. At Keeneland’s Breeding Stock Sale in November, perhaps the most closely watched auction in the nation, the average price for horses was down 20% compared with the previous year.

Meanwhile, slot machines in neighboring states are attracting Kentucky gamblers in droves, soaking up cash that might otherwise be wagered at the races. Indiana and Illinois have authorized half a dozen casinos along the Ohio River, which borders Kentucky. Among the recent arrivals: Caesars Glory of Rome, billed as the world’s largest riverboat casino and located just minutes from Churchill Downs. Last year, Kentuckians spent more than $350 million gambling on the riverboats.

Perhaps the most devastating blow, however, has been the slipping prestige of the Kentucky racing circuit.

Nearby states such as West Virginia and Delaware permit slot machines at their tracks--and pour the proceeds into prize money for the races. In Indiana and Illinois, tracks get a cut of riverboat casino profits to bestow on winning horses. The fatter purses draw top horses to these states--and away from the Kentucky circuit.

In the last three years, the average number of horses starting each race at Churchill Downs has dropped from nine to eight because of such competition, according to track President Alex Waldrop. Fewer starters, in turn, translates to fewer bets. And less wagering means lower purses, setting the whole cycle in motion again.

Churchill Downs has been able to make up for reduced wagering by selling the rights to simulcasts of its races, so its purses are down only slightly in recent years. But at Turfway Park, a less prestigious track in northern Kentucky, the average daily payouts have sunk nearly 40%. Meanwhile, purses in West Virginia and elsewhere continue to grow.

Despite this litany of woes, most of Kentucky’s tracks still are turning profits. Owners, however, see only gloomy portents ahead.

And that has prompted some radical rethinking.

“Popular opinion has always been that we don’t need to tarnish racing by involving it with alternative forms of gambling,” says trainer John Ward, who prepared Monarchos for last year’s Kentucky Derby win. “But now we’re being threatened.”

So what once was perceived as tarnish is starting to look a lot like salvation. “We’re no different than a Wendy’s restaurant trying to sell a different type of hamburger,” Ward says. “We need to continue to diversify.”

Or as veteran breeder John R. Gaines puts it: “Racing has been out of touch with reality for too long.”

In truth, many horsemen began coming around to this view a decade ago, when tracks here moved to simulcast races from around the country. The simulcasts swiftly proved popular--and profitable. On a typical Saturday, Keeneland might handle $500,000 in bets from folks watching California or Florida races on banks of televisions above the grandstand.

Keeneland’s elegant grandstand might have been designed, as the media guide boasts, “to cultivate an enduring appreciation and respect for the noble sport of horse racing.” But the success of simulcasting stripped away any pretense that it was the live pageantry, the thrill of thundering hooves, that drew most fans to the track.

They were just as happy--happier, even--to sit in a drab room and wager while snacking on nachos, watching the races unroll on TV, stirring now and then to let out a cheer: “C’mon, baby! C’mon, baby! Pick it up!” Waiting for a simulcast to start one recent afternoon, 55-year-old Wayne Barnett, a mechanic, said he couldn’t understand why anyone would fuss about placing slot machines at the races. “Both of them are about luck.”

Famed horse breeder William T. Young, who charges a $500,000 stud fee for his top stallion, is equally pragmatic. “We have to face up to it: No one comes to the races except to gamble. There’s no home team to root for. One race looks pretty much like the next. If you closed the parimutuel windows, you wouldn’t have an audience.”

Recognizing that truth, industry leaders make a point of saying that they are in the entertainment business, competing with other gambling venues, not with other sports. They insist that they can put slot machines at the tracks without making the whole venture look tawdry. And they believe doing so will bring new fans to racing. As proof, they point to Woodbine, a track in Toronto that has combined racing and casino gaming with considerable success.

At Woodbine, “betting coaches” roam the casino area offering vouchers worth $2 to novices willing to try wagering on the horses. Even if they stick to the slots, however, patrons are giving the local horse industry a boost with every quarter they play. The Canadian track used $38 million--about $22.6 million U.S.--in slot machine profits to increase racing purses last season. Much of the prize money was designated for horses bred in Canada; as a result, at least one Kentucky breeder now trucks his pregnant mares across the border just before they give birth so the foals can be eligible for Woodbine’s bounty.

Kentucky’s racing leaders long to copy Woodbine’s model. But it will be hard sell, and they know it.

Gov. Paul E. Patton has said he’s inclined to favor slot machines at the tracks. (Part of the profit would go to the state treasury.) Two of the state’s biggest business groups also have endorsed the idea. The Kentucky Council of Churches, however, is lobbying hard against expanded gaming.

And some lawmakers are warning that, if they do open the state to casinos, the tracks will not be able to monopolize the slots. If mini-casinos start popping up everywhere, they note, the tracks could end up in worse shape than they are now.

Some critics also resent how the industry keeps citing the Mare Reproductive Loss Syndrome as a blow that they need help in overcoming.

The epidemic was indeed devastating; estimated losses topped $335 million. But Kentucky is a farm state, accustomed to the vagaries of agriculture, and critics say the tracks should not use the disease as a pretext to cry poor.

“Yes, horse racing is a tough row to hoe, but so is dairy farming,” says the Rev. Nancy Jo Kemper, pastor of a church in the heart of horse country. “We’ve been losing a dairy farmer a day [as small farms founder]. Does that mean we should put slot machines right next to the milk?”

State Rep. Bob Damron, a Democrat, echoes all those arguments as he talks through the travails of Kentucky horse racing while driving home from the state Capitol one evening. Then he pauses and adds one last consideration:

“Kentucky has always been known as a place where you can see horse racing as it’s meant to be.”

Look at the elegance of Keeneland, Damron urges. Look at the ivy-covered limestone walls, the tree-shaded drives, the white picket fences. Keeneland exudes nobility. It sets a standard for the industry that is the symbol of Kentucky. It whispers: This is the sport of kings.

“I just cannot imagine that facility,” Damron says, “with the glitter of slot machines clanging in the background.”