The Highs, Lows and Complete Madness of Racehorse Ownership

By Lindsypark

People often ask me what it’s like owning racehorses and whether I’d recommend it. The honest answer is that it’s probably one of the least sensible things I’ve ever spent money on, but at the same time some of the best fun I’ve ever had. Over the years I’ve experienced everything from Group race success and big-money offers from overseas buyers to horses injuring themselves in ways you wouldn’t think possible. Looking back, the one thing I’ve learnt is that no matter how much you think you’ve got this game figured out, the horse usually has other ideas.

My first taste of ownership came through Firstholme Racing, a large syndication company run by Tony Wonka. Looking back now, the surname always seemed strangely appropriate because at times the whole operation felt a bit like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. There were plenty of dreams, plenty of promises and plenty of imagination involved. Whether the owners made much money out of it is another question entirely.

I bought into two separate syndicates with Firstholme. The concept was simple enough. The syndicate owned and leased a number of horses and your share gave you an interest across all of them. In theory it spread the risk, which sounds great until you realise spreading the risk also means spreading the disappointment when half of them don’t make it to the races.

One of those horses was a mare called So So, who was owned by multi millionaire Gerry Harvey of Harvey Norman fame. We waited and waited for her to come good. Every preparation there seemed to be a reason she wasn’t quite there yet. Then after years of patience she finally started to show something and looked like she might actually reward the owners for sticking with her. Just as things were starting to get interesting she was taken back for breeding duties. Three years of waiting and we never really got the chance to enjoy what we thought was coming.

The horse most people from that syndicate remember though was Sam Sung A Song. He was a terrific horse and gave us owners some unbelievable days at the races. He won the Group 3 Liverpool City Cup at Rosehill, picked up several other metropolitan races and raced through some of the biggest carnivals in Australia. For a bunch of ordinary racing fans who had chipped in to buy shares, suddenly finding yourself in the members enclosure on Derby Day at Flemington and having a horse competing at that level was something pretty special.

As he improved, there were even offers coming from Hong Kong. Like every owner does, we all started spending the money before we’d actually received it. Then racing reminded us who was in charge. Sam suffered a bleeding attack and eventually the syndicate was presented with a decision. We could sell him for around $2,000 without racing papers or around $25,000 as a racehorse. The owners voted for the larger amount and he was sold. A week later we were informed that he had dropped dead in his stall. To this day I’ve never heard the full story of what happened. One minute you’re talking about international offers and the next you’re left scratching your head wondering how it all ended so quickly.

My second syndicate with Firsthome wasn’t nearly as memorable for the right reasons. We had a horse called Wyandra that was trained by Peter Moody, who would later become famous as the trainer of Black Caviar. Unfortunately Wyandra never got the chance to do much. The horse was swimming one day as part of its training and somehow hit its head and drowned. It’s hard to explain to people who haven’t been around horses just how fragile and unpredictable they can be. These are magnificent athletes worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, but they can still find ways to hurt themselves doing things that seem impossible.

After that I drifted away from large syndicates and ended up buying a horse with a group of mates I’d met through a racing website. Most of us were from Victoria or country New South Wales and we’d arranged to catch up at the two day Scone Cup carnival. Like many great racing ideas, it started with a few, well many, beers and some big plans.

The horse was a filly called Shamtastic, trained by Rod Northam. She was by gun sire Shamardal and there were huge wraps on her. We all thought we had found something special. Her first start was built up massively amongst the ownership group and then, in typical racing fashion, the booked jockey didn’t show up. A replacement rider took the mount and she ran terribly. It was one of those days where everyone leaves the track trying to convince themselves there were excuses.

A few weeks later she went to Taree and absolutely bolted in. Suddenly the confidence was back. We weren’t talking about maiden races anymore. We were talking about city races and bigger targets. That’s the thing about racing owners. Give us one good win and we’ll have the horse in the Melbourne Cup before the float gets back to the stable.

Unfortunately Shamtastic was a fairly fiery filly. After that win she pulled up sore and was sent to the paddock. While spelling she got into a fight with another horse, became tangled in a wire fence and badly injured her hind leg. She survived, but her racing career was over. It was absolutely devastating. Not because she’d won us a fortune, because she hadn’t, but because we’d all become invested in what she might become. Sometimes it’s not the champion horses that hurt the most when they’re lost. It’s the ones you genuinely believe haven’t had the chance to show what they can do.

A few years later a group of us headed back to Scone for another carnival. The original plan was simply a couple of days of racing, drinking and gambling. Somehow we ended up at the sales and, before long, we were bidding on another horse.

Anyone who has ever stood ringside at a yearling sale knows the feeling. Logic completely disappears. Every horse looks like the next champion and every bid seems reasonable at the time. We ended up buying a Mossman colt. He wasn’t particularly big, but he had a bit of presence about him and we liked him.

He was eventually named Mossman Gold and was initially trained by Jan Bowen at Muswellbrook before later moving to Greg Bennett. He wasn’t a superstar but he was honest. He won a couple of races, paid his way better than most and gave us some enjoyable days. In many ways he was probably the most straightforward horse I’ve owned.

The best part of his story came after racing. Once retired he went on to become a successful dressage horse. Thoroughbreds often struggle to find second careers, but Mossman Gold seemed perfectly suited to it. Looking back, he probably had the temperament for dressage all along and was simply humoring us while we tried to turn him into a racehorse.

Although I haven’t owned a horse for quite a few years now, I still follow pedigrees, breeding and sales results closely. Once racing gets into your blood it never really leaves.

I still keep an eye on Shamtastic’s progeny whenever I see them in the form guide. Quite a few have won races and one that still sticks in my mind is Darleb. He came through the Scone sales and I remember trying to convince Rod Northam to buy him. Nobody listened. He sold for around $16,000 and disappeared for a while before reappearing after being sold again for around $70,000 without ever having raced.

I remember seeing him go through the ring and thinking he looked good value at the price. Rod wasn’t convinced and we moved on. As it turned out, somebody else saw what I saw. When I later discovered he’d been on-sold unraced for more than four times what he’d cost, I thought I’d missed the boat. Then he started winning races in town and every time I saw his name in the form guide it felt like racing was reminding me what might have been.

Not a bad return on investment for someone. Unfortunately I wasn’t one of the owners. The only money I ever made from Darleb came through the TAB.

When I look back over all the horses, all the money spent, all the road trips, all the sales, all the wins and all the disappointments, I wouldn’t change much. Racehorse ownership isn’t really about making money. If it was, none of us would do it twice.

It’s about standing in the mounting yard convinced you’ve found the next champion. It’s about the mates you make along the way. It’s about spending six months talking up a horse that runs last and then spending the next six months explaining why it wasn’t its fault.

I’ve had horses die, horses get injured, horses retire, horses win and horses break my heart. Somehow, despite all that, if the right horse walked through the ring at Scone tomorrow and the beers were flowing, I’d probably end up owning another one.