THE SIX MILLION DOLLAR HORSE

            No one can doubt the positive impact the computer has had at the track, particularly in the area of pari-mutuel tickets.  Over the decades the system has evolved from ‘rack-style’ totes to windows that were limited to selling certain types of totes (Win only, Exactas, $2 only, etc.) to today’s computerized strip of paper that can be sold at any window in any amount and contain a variety of bets.    

            Still, such modernization has eliminated the colorful totes we were used to for many years, which I happened to think were pretty, but even more importantly it has eliminated the human touch.  If you remember the colorful cardboard totes, each race’s totes had a unique alpha-numeric-symbol coding, which was intended to foil counterfeiters.  Back then tracks could be creative with the code they put on the totes, which is where the human touch came in.  As an example, the code letters on the totes issued for Hollywood Park’s Swaps Stakes in 1977 read SLEW3, a tribute to his Triple Crown (although there was the subsequent irony that three horses ‘slew’ him in the Swaps).  Or a Kentucky Derby when the totes read STONE in honor of then track president Lynn Stone.  The cold efficiency of today’s computerized receipts don’t permit such frivolity.

            Inasmuch as we have no choice but to progress with the time and look back on such things as ‘the good old days’, what happens when the totalisator system reaches the ultimate in sophistication and efficiency, and the computer wizards need to look around for something else to ‘improve’ in the sport?

            The answer, of course, is perfectly logical.

            The next step is to computerize the horses.

            Those who would scoff at such an idea obviously have never heard of the science of robotics, or else have never watched the Six Million Dollar Man leap tall fences in a single bound.  With continuing advances in this field, who’s to say a computerized horse couldn’t be built?

            Of course, it would wreck the breeding and feed industries, not to mention a dramatic reduction in the national manure supply, and future trainers would have to earn a degree in electronics.  But think what it would do for the people with the transistors.  How could Calumet Farm possibly compete with IBM Stables?

            The idea is not all that original.

            Back in 1966, in an issue of Walt Disney’s “Uncle Scrooge” comic book, Disney’s highly imaginative and creative writer-artist Carl Barks came up with a story called “The Heedless Horseman.”  In the story Scrooge, who is the world’s richest duck, decides to enhance his personal fame by buying a Thoroughbred named Fireball for $10 million so he can win a race called The Great Crystal Orb Derby at Duckburg Downs, which looks remarkably like Churchill Downs.  Buying Fireball for such an increasingly familiar amount wasn’t quite the risk it would be in the case of the real Kentucky Derby, however, since the horse had won the previous two Derbies and it was generally conceded that he would most likely win the next two, with the winning owner being treated like a king for the ensuing year. 

            Having purchased Fireball and being assigned the “finest stable at the Downs” (which included a wall-to-wall ermine carpet and a platinum oat box), Scrooge’s nephews look inside the horse’s mouth to see if he has a sore tooth, since the horse regally turned up his nose at their offer of hay and oats.  They frantically inform Scrooge (who is relaxing in the stall’s old-plated bathtub) that what they saw, instead of a tongue and teeth, was “a lot of gears”.  Closer inspection reveals that Fireball is indeed a robot, a “horsehide covered computer” with microphones for ears, lenses for eyes, a fiberglass tail, and a plug on his back that says to recharge his batteries every fourth day.  A horse built, it dawned on them, “to win Derbies”.

            Scrooge is outraged that the former owner had perpetrated such a fraud on the fans, and the nephews set out to inform the racing secretary.  On the way, however, they peek into the stalls of several other Derby horses, mainly because “it’d be uplifting to look at real honest horses once more”, only to discover the other Derby horses are being attended to on grease racks.

            With the realization that all the Derby horses are robots, Scrooge decides that Fireball has as much right in the race as the others, and notes that his first act will be to “apologize” to the ‘horse’ for his initial outburst.  “I hope my harsh words haven’t broken his digital translators or something,” he comments.

            The story goes on, but the point here is that Barks’ often brilliant imagination conceived the possibility of a fully computerized horse, a sort of Robby The Robot of the equine world.

            Is it entirely inconceivable that future fans will be more interested in knowing that a particular horses’ legs were manufactured by Dupont as opposed to having been sired by Secretariat?  Will some future champion be more appropriately named Sham?

            The goal of robotics, of course, is ultimately keyed to produce functioning humanoids to assist mankind by performing more routine (i.e., dull) or dangerous tasks.

            Thus, aside from the inherent challenges in creating a Computerized Colt or a Programmed Plater, what real purpose would be served by manufacturing horses for sporting events?  What possible value could it have for Thoroughbred racing?

            I think I have a clue.

            The beginning will probably take place one day at a track when a better-than-average, flesh and blood Thoroughbred breaks down during a race.

            After careful examination, the head veterinarian sadly shakes his head and indicates the animal will have to be put out of its misery.  Just then the owner, a fellow by the name of Oscar Goldman, walks in.

            “We can rebuild him,” Goldman says to the veterinarian.  “We have the technology.  We can make him better than he was before.”

            “Huh?” says the veterinarian.

            “Gentlemen,” Goldman continues, “we have the capability of building the world’s first bionic horse!”

            The veterinarian looks stunned for a moment.  “Look, Mr. Goldman,” he says, “I can appreciate what you did for Steve Austin, and I can certainly understand your interest when you insisted on personally supervising the operation on Lindsay Wagner, but this is a horse!”

            “I can see that,” Goldman says, humming a few bars of ‘The Old Gray Mare Ain’t What She Used To Be!’ while idly fondling a transistor.

            “Mr. Goldman, I know this is your horse, and I can understand your interest in wanting to save it, but what practical purpose could possibly be served by a bionic horse?”

            “Why, to save racing,” Goldman smiles with a gleam in his eye.

            “Huh?”

            “It’s simple,” Goldman continues.  “Everybody in racing agrees that unless the sport can command more television coverage to lure new fans and a greater share of the entertainment dollar, it will eventually go bankrupt, right?”

            “Well, yes, but…”

            “So all we have to do is rebuild the horse,” Goldman says, pulling out an NBC Program Guide, “and racing will be saved.

            “I’m tied up on Saturday and Sunday nights, but I think I can get a prime time spot on Friday.”

            The veterinarian had a glazed look.  “You mean a television series about a bionic horse?”

            “Can’t miss,” Goldman replies.  “Have him vanned over to my Bionic Lab this afternoon.

            “Oh, and while you’re at it,” Goldman continues as he starts for the door, “why not bring along that Collie dog I noticed limping around in the stable next door.  Dog shows just haven’t been the same since they cancelled ‘Lassie’…”