Sunday, January 24, 2010
Getting Out the Vote
Combining the efforts of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Sherlock Holmes' last remaining brother, Interpol, Geraldo Rivera and an old Geiger counter that I found in my garage, I have been able to locate the only two voters who didn't vote for Cigar for Horse of the Year in 1995. Both have sworn on a stack of American Racing Manuals that they erred in filling out their ballots. They deny that the names of the horses Thunder Gulch and Northern Spur were written in their handwriting on their ballots. Their alternate excuse is that they had a spelling lapse.
I expect the Eclipse Awards, ex post facto, reductio ad absurdum, will obtain affidavits from the voters in question, give them Rorschach and polygraph tests and reverse their votes in favor of Cigar. At last the heirs of Allen Paulson will have closure. At last Bill Mott can dedicate himself to a more worthwhile crusade. Racing's second most glaring injustice will have been reconciled. The first? In 1981, when John Henry was credited with all the Horse of the Year votes. There's been a rumor kicking around for years that one voter, who is still living, meant to vote for Pleasant Colony.
The National Thoroughbred Racing Association, which oversees the Eclipse voting, mainly because the other sponsors, the Racing Form and the National Turf Writers, want nothing to do with it, must think that electronic voting is easier, but what's overlooked is this: Just because turf writers can read a Racing Form doesn't mean they're deft with computers. I struggle with my electronic vote every year, hoping I don't hit the wrong button at the wrong time, and I know a number of colleagues who are just as klutzy. One of them called me on a Sunday this year, the day before the balloting deadline, to have me walk him through the process. It was the blind leading the blind, from flag fall to finish. I finally gave him the 800 number for the Homework Hotline.
I don't know why they don't give the electorate three voting options: The old mailed paper ballots for us Neanderthals, fax submissions for those of us who finished eighth grade, and the electronic method for those under age 55. We forget what strides the Post Office has made with ZIP codes. The Baseball Writers Association of America, which runs the Baseball Hall of Fame election, has a tight voting window, like the Eclipses, and manages with far less furor. The deadline for the Baseball Hall of Fame vote is only a week before they announce which players have passed muster, and I can't ever recall a voting snafu. They do fax and snail mail, no computers. "Some of these guys," said Jack Lang, the late secretary-treasurer of the baseball writers, "send in their votes on the backs of matchbook covers. But as long as we can read 'em, we count 'em."
This time, 14% of the eligible Eclipse electorate either didn't bother to vote or couldn't cope with the system. That's not enough to spoil a good dinner. A good dinner, that is, that was a rumor for two and a half hours after everyone was seated in Beverly Hills. That might explain why Kenny Rice, the master of ceremonies, was playing to such a tough house. The invitations should tell everyone to have a late lunch.
Recently, the Eclipse dinner was held in Miami Beach, on a night when the meal was also slow in coming, and the waiters, under strict orders, wouldn't even part with rolls and butter to go with everybody's water. A creative starveling dialed Domino's and had several pies delivered to his table. Salivating people at nearby tables asked him to name his price for a slice, but there wasn't enough pizza to go around. It would have been a grand night for that old loaves-and-fishes stunt.
Written by Bill Christine
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