As somebody remarked at the time, on seeing B. Wayne Hughes and M.V. Magnier deep in conversation one morning before the 2019 Breeders' Cup: “I'll give you 140 guesses what they're talking about.”
Both men were at Santa Anita representing farms that have had a transformative influence on the commercial breeding landscape, developing a similar system for launching stallions on an industrial scale. We have, of course, since grieved the loss of Hughes–but among his many legacies can now be counted a supporting role in the defeat of The Jockey Club's contentious proposal to cap books at 140 mares.
True, the litigating farms had not yet managed to net that particular whale when a harpoon from the Kentucky state legislature got the job done virtually overnight. That initiative will maintain the 72nd district representative in the esteem of many in his community, as one of their own; and wherever you stand on this divisive issue, you know that Matt Koch, for one, will absolutely buy into the decorous talk of unity with which The Jockey Club sugared the pill they've had to swallow.
And it really does feel incumbent on all who have prevailed here not just to be magnanimous in victory, but also to take that step back and ask whether at least some of the concerns The Jockey Club had sought to address might merit collective attention.
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All parties profess to have the interests of the breed at heart, albeit sometimes perceiving these in a fashion that blatantly coincides with their own. And certainly it can be argued that The Jockey Club's approach was too arbitrary–in both senses of the word–to deal effectively with a challenge as complex as maintaining genetic diversity. To me, however, we only ended up in this pickle because the real need for correction fell beyond the reach of any enforcement: at ringside, that is, and in the behavior of buyers.
As it was, we ended up with a stand-off that could be conveniently conflated with wider polemics. The conservative establishment, for instance, resisting brash, self-made success; or paternalism versus the free market. Following the intervention in Frankfort, it can even be depicted as a test of the kind of state autonomy we are seeing harnessed, as sacrosanct, against federal menaces to the constitutional right to dope your racehorse.
The trouble with all this emotive symbolism is that if you're not careful you end up taking a train that terminates in no regulation at all. And then how would you preserve the integrity of the breed? If there's enough money in it, for enough people, you'll end up with a cookie-cutter racehorse, between artificial insemination and eventually cloning, the only remaining differentiation being what you inject with your needle.
For now, it's well-worth remarking that actually nobody would be better suited by a more even spread of mares than the stallion farms themselves.
Trying to get your money back on a stallion in barely 18 months is a horrible business model for their accountants. But that is pretty much what the market is often asking them to do, in flitting from one rookie to the next like a honeybee in a hothouse. While operations as skillfully adapted as Spendthrift and Ashford still seem able to keep a stallion in the game at least through years two and three, many young sires are being abandoned overnight by breeders terrified of getting stuck with the second or third crop of a sire cooling off in the ring–albeit even then he still won't have had a chance to demonstrate whether he can actually breed runners. Nothing, in the end, should be more commercial for a mare than a bunch of stakes horses under her name. But, if you're breeding to sell, then you'll probably start off by mating to sell, too.
And really, as I've often acknowledged, you can no more blame commercial breeders for the overall situation than you can the farms. Both are trying to put bread on the table through the notoriously precarious agency of an animal prone to countless game-ending mishaps. So, the only reason hundreds of mares are sent to unproven new stallions, many of whose credentials are decidedly marginal anyway, is because of anticipated market demand.
Now, I've been rebuked in the past that proven stallions are so expensive that you have no choice but to roll the dice on a new one. But I won't buy that while some new sire who will probably end up with one stakes winner in Panama, and standing in Oklahoma, continues to draw three times the mares than, for instance, one who produced winners of the two most prestigious dirt races in America, in Lookin At Lucky.
I do willingly concede two things. One is that the situation is infinitely worse in my homeland Britain, and Ireland. At least commercial breeding in Kentucky remains properly focused on a horse that can run two turns on the first Saturday in May. The other is that there is a self-fulfilling logic to investing in a first crop, in that most stallions will never get a better book than their debut one.
That said, I do think we all need to take our share of responsibility–above all, those who direct investment at ringside. They need to be held account both by their affluent patrons, who want nothing better than a runner; and by the breed itself, which would be far better served by the seeding of commercially unglamorous but demonstrably effective sires. If The Jockey Club's attempt to stem the tide simply wasn't viable, then it's up to all of us to make such contribution to the betterment of the breed that falls within our reach.
So note that while the two big Derby hopes resuming in the GII Risen Star S., Zandon and Smile Happy, each happen to be from only the second crops of their sires, both Upstart and Runhappy stand at farms that keep a voluntary lid on book sizes. This, of course, is partly because they believe they actually look after their clients better that way, by preventing inundation at the sales. And the whole reason I'll be rooting for Zandon is that he was brought into the world by such exemplary people, who scrupulously dovetail their commercial mission with the long-term prosperity of the Thoroughbred itself.
Certainly this, at last, looks like the race to put horses back at the center of the Derby conversation, rather than one particular trainer. True, Smile Happy happens to represent a barn that finds itself with Baffert-like depth, this time round; and his win over the Derby track last fall has now been advertised further still by Classic Causeway (Giant's Causeway). Just like Zandon, however, he comes into a tough field pretty raw. You feel that both horses only need to run well enough to set up a grab for the necessary gate points next time.
If they do make the Derby, mind, they plainly won't have many miles on the clock. Whether such delicate handling, increasingly common among modern trainers, might reflect some perceived or actual dilution in the breed is hard to say. Perhaps a horse like Zandon would have been perfectly equal to an old-school grounding: his sire, after all, was placed at the elite level at two, three and four. But there are plenty of old sages around who will tell you that horses today simply don't have the timber of generations past.
And that's the kind of trend we must keep in mind if tempted to predicate our breeding strategies only on short-term gain. If you didn't like being told what to do by The Jockey Club, that's fair enough. But if, as everyone invariably claims to be the case, your choices are governed primarily by the welfare of the horse, then you shouldn't need telling in the first place.
If there's one thing more sacred than your right to take your own decisions, it's the wellbeing of these noble animals as they pass through our brief stewardship. Rights, remember, are the other side of the exact same coin as duty. If we want to take our own decisions, then we must also accept the accompanying responsibilities.
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