They're At The Post - Where Are You?

The modern racing fan has the world at their fingertips. If the event isn't televised locally, chances are you can watch it via live Internet feed or, at the very least, courtesy of a race replay. These are all lovely tools to have at our disposal, but I worry it takes away from the romance of visiting the track.



Over the past few years, I've become nostalgic for the commitment to attendance. Woodbine Racetrack in Toronto is home to some of the world's most prestigious races, including the Queen's Plate. At age 11, I sat in a crowded grandstand and applauded as With Approval's owner Bud Wilmot (of Kinghaven Farms) was presented the Queen's Plate trophy by Her Majesty Queen Mother Elizabeth. Two years later, I was on hand to see The Duke and Duchess of York, Prince Andrew and Lady Sarah present the trophy to Kinghaven once again, thanks to a shocking win by Market Control. My Dad and I sat in the same spot each Sunday through most of the 1980s and the stands would be packed all summer long. Real fans who knew to stand and cheer a stirring stretch run and appreciated a day outside in the sun.



Today, you still get a decent number of fans out for the bigger racing days, but for the most part, racing fans are watching from home. There's no need to go to the track when you can watch all the races online - and not just Woodbine, but Belmont and Churchill and, if you're still awake, Australia A provides a few chances to make your money back. You'll not make any memories though, because no one wants to hear the one about your day spent in tracky bottoms restarting your computer in time for race ten.

I miss a grandstand full of characters. Families in the picnic area. Cigar smoke in the paddock. That guy in the flat cap who yelled in patois at jockeys on post parade. Where is everyone? Twenty-three years later, I still attend regularly. I want to be there to see the races live. On Breeders' Cup day, I stood at the third floor wicket and watched as a man of 70, decked cap to boot in tweed, sang songs and danced for the ladies behind the cash. About twenty of us stopped wagering to watch and appreciate the sheer madness of the moment as he flirted brilliantly. You'll not see that via your wagering account live video feed. Nor will you feel the thunder of hooves as 14 horses pound the turf just inches in front of your spot on the rail.

I miss when racing fans cared to come out and play.