Off-track vs. on-track
About eight years ago I was working at the local OTB, when the memo came in from headquarters.
I was about to settle in for the enjoyable light reading, when the phone rang. “Joe’s on line one and
wants to talk to you about the memo”, came the voice from the foyer.
“Joseph my man, what’s happenin’?, I cheerfully answered.
“Did you get that memo about opening early next Wednesday”, he asked.
“Yeah, just got it but haven’t read the whole thing. Give me cliff notes”
Joe went on to tell me how all the OTB’s were to open early next week for a big race somewhere.
He said everybody at the track was doing the same thing, and we were going to market the heck out
of this thing until then.
I hung up and thought for a moment about the whole “on-track” vs. the “off-track” experience. It
seemed to me that everyone “on-track” thought the rest of us were in the same boat. They didn’t
seem to realize that what’s important to their customers often times didn’t amount to a hill of beans
to my guys, even though we weren’t that far apart.
Countless meetings and effort was aimed at promoting the track’s “big event” to the off-track
patron. More times than not, the off-track guy really didn’t’ care about any of that stuff. He or she
was going to come in just like every other day, and play the tracks and races just as they did every
other day. No marketing scheme was going to change that.
Come to think of it, the only promotions that ever really did anything were the free hat giveaways.
They were always my favorite days, because they did generate a few extra people through the
turnstiles, and there was nothing funnier than looking out over a crowd of two thousand guys all
wearing the same hat and all looking in the same direction. They always kind of reminded me of a
flock or heard of penguins you see in the National Geographic shows from the Artic. Is it a flock or
a heard? Never mind.
Anyway, the bottom line was most of the time we got these memos it resulted in a bunch of extra
work with not much noticeable boost to our bottom line. I sighed and slumped over the staffing
schedules to see who was going to be the most irritated at me for ruining their Wednesday breakfast.
The date was Wednesday March 27th, 1996. Anyone who remotely knows racing knows that this was
the first running of the Dubai World cup, and there was this American hero on the rise named Cigar
getting set to win one for the red, white, and blue (and himself of course, for a few million). At 8:30
I walked out to give the signal to open shop. I expected the usual few dozen to stroll in. They came
as expected. And they came, and came, and came. “Those marketing guys are a bunch of
geniuses”, I actually thought I heard myself say.
By post time the place was packed, and as is the case with just a handful of races all year, everyone
was zeroed in. No simulcast going off in Maryland, then New York, then Florida, then California.
And on and on. This was it baby.
As Cigar under Jerry Bailey came charging for home on that otherwise uneventful mid-week
morning in March, something I had never seen happened. When the six-year old hit the wire for his
fourteenth consecutive stakes victory, the building shook. Everyone was shouting and high fiving
each other and then all at once, the “standing O”. Applause broke out and lasted until both horse
and rider returned to the apron. Old guys, young guys, women, and our entire staff (including Carl
the dishwasher who never left his post, ever) celebrated together. Near the bar a few guys started a
USA chant. I felt myself getting a little misty.
I shook it off after deciding that there was no way I was going to start bawling in front of a few
thousand patrons and the entire wait staff over a horse race. Things had to be done. Soon the
euphoria of the moment would wear off and I’d have to deal with wrong tickets, cold Reubens, and a
draft beer problems (if I was lucky).
That was sure something though. One of those weird moments were something you experienced was
by far the most important moment of the day, anywhere period. Just then, the phone rang and it
was Joe, now on line four.
“Whitey, you’re not gonna believe what just happened here”, he beamed.
“I know exactly what you mean”, I said. “Have anything to do with that memo from last week?”
Enjoy the World Cup. You never know when something truly wonderful may occur, unless of course
you’re one of those crafty marketing guys.
Chris White is a contributing writer for HorsePlayer Magazine. He can be reached at
crwhitey2000@yahoo.com for comments or suggestions.
About eight years ago I was working at the local OTB, when the memo came in from headquarters.
I was about to settle in for the enjoyable light reading, when the phone rang. “Joe’s on line one and
wants to talk to you about the memo”, came the voice from the foyer.
“Joseph my man, what’s happenin’?, I cheerfully answered.
“Did you get that memo about opening early next Wednesday”, he asked.
“Yeah, just got it but haven’t read the whole thing. Give me cliff notes”
Joe went on to tell me how all the OTB’s were to open early next week for a big race somewhere.
He said everybody at the track was doing the same thing, and we were going to market the heck out
of this thing until then.
I hung up and thought for a moment about the whole “on-track” vs. the “off-track” experience. It
seemed to me that everyone “on-track” thought the rest of us were in the same boat. They didn’t
seem to realize that what’s important to their customers often times didn’t amount to a hill of beans
to my guys, even though we weren’t that far apart.
Countless meetings and effort was aimed at promoting the track’s “big event” to the off-track
patron. More times than not, the off-track guy really didn’t’ care about any of that stuff. He or she
was going to come in just like every other day, and play the tracks and races just as they did every
other day. No marketing scheme was going to change that.
Come to think of it, the only promotions that ever really did anything were the free hat giveaways.
They were always my favorite days, because they did generate a few extra people through the
turnstiles, and there was nothing funnier than looking out over a crowd of two thousand guys all
wearing the same hat and all looking in the same direction. They always kind of reminded me of a
flock or heard of penguins you see in the National Geographic shows from the Artic. Is it a flock or
a heard? Never mind.
Anyway, the bottom line was most of the time we got these memos it resulted in a bunch of extra
work with not much noticeable boost to our bottom line. I sighed and slumped over the staffing
schedules to see who was going to be the most irritated at me for ruining their Wednesday breakfast.
The date was Wednesday March 27th, 1996. Anyone who remotely knows racing knows that this was
the first running of the Dubai World cup, and there was this American hero on the rise named Cigar
getting set to win one for the red, white, and blue (and himself of course, for a few million). At 8:30
I walked out to give the signal to open shop. I expected the usual few dozen to stroll in. They came
as expected. And they came, and came, and came. “Those marketing guys are a bunch of
geniuses”, I actually thought I heard myself say.
By post time the place was packed, and as is the case with just a handful of races all year, everyone
was zeroed in. No simulcast going off in Maryland, then New York, then Florida, then California.
And on and on. This was it baby.
As Cigar under Jerry Bailey came charging for home on that otherwise uneventful mid-week
morning in March, something I had never seen happened. When the six-year old hit the wire for his
fourteenth consecutive stakes victory, the building shook. Everyone was shouting and high fiving
each other and then all at once, the “standing O”. Applause broke out and lasted until both horse
and rider returned to the apron. Old guys, young guys, women, and our entire staff (including Carl
the dishwasher who never left his post, ever) celebrated together. Near the bar a few guys started a
USA chant. I felt myself getting a little misty.
I shook it off after deciding that there was no way I was going to start bawling in front of a few
thousand patrons and the entire wait staff over a horse race. Things had to be done. Soon the
euphoria of the moment would wear off and I’d have to deal with wrong tickets, cold Reubens, and a
draft beer problems (if I was lucky).
That was sure something though. One of those weird moments were something you experienced was
by far the most important moment of the day, anywhere period. Just then, the phone rang and it
was Joe, now on line four.
“Whitey, you’re not gonna believe what just happened here”, he beamed.
“I know exactly what you mean”, I said. “Have anything to do with that memo from last week?”
Enjoy the World Cup. You never know when something truly wonderful may occur, unless of course
you’re one of those crafty marketing guys.
Chris White is a contributing writer for HorsePlayer Magazine. He can be reached at
crwhitey2000@yahoo.com for comments or suggestions.
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