Auction Truth

IF MIKE REPOLE HAS TAUGHT US ANYTHING, IT’S THIS: IF YOU COMPLAIN LOUD ENOUGH, EVENTUALLY SOME PEOPLE WILL BELIEVE YOU.

And in his latest rant, Mike has apparently discovered something shocking about horse auctions:

There are no price tags.

Well, hell. Somebody better call Walmart.

Mike is pointing out a discrepancy at the sales, and I understand the frustration. But of all people, Mike Repole ought to know that an auction is not exactly like walking into a store, picking up a pair of shoes, seeing $89.99 on the tag and saying, “Well, that's what they cost.”

That ain’t how an auction works.

There is no price tag.

The price is produced by a reserve, the seller, and most importantly, the bidders.

And yes, somebody can bid against you and make you pay more.

Because they can.

And you know what else?

You can stop bidding.

That little button, hand signal, nod, wave, whatever the hell you’re using to bid—it works both ways. You can use it to bid $500,000, and you can also use it to say, “Well, hell, that's enough. I’m going to go get a sandwich.”

That is called having a limit.

Mike knows this game.

He has been playing it for years.

But now he has decided to put on the cape and become Super Mike, Defender of the Little Guy, riding in to expose the great conspiracy of the horse auction business.

And look, I’m not saying there aren't things that deserve scrutiny. There are.

But let's not pretend the auction business just suddenly got invented yesterday.

And we probably shouldn't bring up Vibe, the $3 million horse.

Mike bred him, sold him, retained a piece of him, and somewhere along the way there was $3 million involved.

Was he run up?

Was he worth $3 million?

Was somebody simply willing to pay $3 million?

Those are questions we can debate until the cows come home.

One thing we don't have to debate is what happened to his racing career.

That answer hasn't exactly required a Ouija board.

Mike knows the game.

He recently questioned a particular horse where he paid $500,000, even though the hammer apparently came down at $900,000, with the horse signed by Cherie De Vaux as agent.

Mike's explanation was that they were trying to run him up, but ultimately he got the horse for $500,000.

Well...

Congratulations?

You wanted the horse.

You got the horse.

You paid $500,000.

Was the original $900,000 bid somebody trying to run you up?

Maybe.

Was it somebody who actually wanted the horse?

Maybe.

Was the filly worth $500,000 to you?

Apparently.

She's pretty. She's well put together. She is training at Belmont Park, for Pletcher and not yet named.

No harm, no foul.

That's the auction business.

People come from everywhere with money in their pockets and horses on their minds.

If you have unlimited money, congratulations.

You are sitting in what I like to call The Repole Seat.

Everybody else?

You better have a plan.

Because I don't listen to anyybody.

I listen to my veterinarian and the small circle of people I trust.

Years ago, a seller told me, “I got a bona fide stakes-winning colt. He'll be clean as a whistle.”

That's great.

I don't know what the hell “clean as a whistle” means when somebody is trying to sell me a horse.

I do my homework.

I look at the X-rays.

I have my veterinarian go over the horse.

I get a report.

And if I see something I don't like, I'm going to investigate it.

Maybe I want to see the X-rays myself, like I know right? I defer to my vet, whose nickname is that of a James Bond villain. If Dr No says no, it's no. 

Maybe the horse is back at the knee and somebody has found a creative way to present him so you don't notice it.

Because confirmation can be disguised.

A good, seasoned blacksmith can make a correction that changes how a horse presents itself.

I've been burned before.

Ten years ago, I bought a horse whose feet looked fine at the time.

Then the feet grew out.

And suddenly we had ourselves a damn disaster.

So now I look at feet differently.

I use what I jokingly call my Artificial Horizon, otherwise known as the attitude indicator.

I'm looking at the level of the coronet band.

I'm looking at the frog.

I'm looking at where that foot is pointing.

I watch the horse walk away from me.

I don't like horses getting too close behind and rubbing ankles.

I don't like those hind legs swinging around like the teacups at Disneyland.

If the back end is doing its own amusement-park ride, I'm probably moving on.

A good-looking horse should be balanced.

Good bone.

Good support.

A smooth walk through the knees.

Everything working together.

And if that's all there was to buying a horse, hell, we'd all be geniuses.

But unfortunately...

WE HAVE TO DEAL WITH PEOPLE.

And people are where things get interesting.

A few years ago, I went to a consignment and looked at a horse I liked.

And I made the mistake of being honest.

I told the seller I liked him.

The seller said nobody was on the horse and he was looking for around $25,000.

Great.

I'm walking away thinking I've got some information.

Except I forgot my iPad on the bench.

So I come back to get it.

And there he is...

ON THE PHONE.

Calling other agents.

Telling them about the interest in his colt.

Now, did I get mad?

No.

It's his horse.

He's trying to sell it.

He's trying to make money.

That's literally the assignment.

But it taught me something:

Keep your damn mouth shut.

The auction business is a giant game of “gotcha.”

The buyer's job is to pay as little as possible.

The seller's job is to get as much as possible.

It's a tug of war.

That horse eventually sold for $62,500.

I bid what I thought he was worth.

Then I got out.

The seller got what he wanted.

Just not from me.

And that's fine.

We all have a job.

My job is to buy horses I can afford and look out for my clients.

I wish every seller the best of luck.

Because I've been on the other side, too.

Just last year, I had a gentleman interested in my Beau Liam colt.

Good-looking dude, the colt.

The timing happened to fall right around the deadline for getting horses into the Keeneland Yearling Sale.

He asked me my number.

I told him the truth:

$80,000 to $100,000.

Never heard from him again.

And I don't blame him.

He was trying to buy the horse cheap enough to nominate him to the sale and potentially turn around and get $80,000 to $100,000 three months later.

That's the game.

I've done it.

I'll probably do it again.

That's capitalism with four legs.

You just can't walk into a consignment and start showing everybody your cards.

I've seen some of the best players in this game.

I've watched people argue in front of the seller and then walk away abruptly.

I've had trainers I've worked for throw me a curveball on a horse we liked.

We were looking at a two-year-old based on the breeze.

Suddenly there's a whole new story.

It's all show.

No tell.

Now when a trainer starts a sentence with:

“I'm not cold-watering you...”

Well...

Yeah, and I'm the damn unicorn.

This is the finest game of poker you'll ever play.

You like two horses?

Go look at fifty.

Video them.

Study them.

Check the X-rays.

Check the feet.

Check the walk.

Check everything even though you already know who and what you want.

You aren't just trying to buy a nice horse

You're trying to buy a nice horse for as little money as you reasonably can.

And that's especially important when you're buying for yourself and your clients.

I once had a client tell me:

“Find me a nice horse.”

Then he added:

“Leave the vetting up to me.”

Well, that ain't how I operate.

Because if I can't vet the horse, I'm blind.

And when that horse turns out to have a problem, guess whose phone is going to ring?

Mine.

So I told him plainly:

If you don't want to spend money vetting horses, I'm not your guy.

Because that's the kind of buyer who will spend $100,000 on a horse...

...but won't spend $1,000 getting a veterinarian to tell him whether the horse is actually worth $100,000.

Think about that.

You can spend the equivalent of a new car, but suddenly the vet bill is where we draw the line.

Sure, you can get the seller's veterinary report.

And remember that “bona fide stakes-winning colt” that was “clean as a whistle?”

Well...

His vet report looked like a damn Christmas tree.

That's why you do your own homework.

Because at an auction, everybody has a job.

The seller is trying to sell.

The buyer is trying to buy.

The agent is trying to get paid.

The trainer is trying to build a stable.

The veterinarian is trying to keep you from doing something stupid.

And the auctioneer?

He's trying to get everybody to raise their hand one more damn time.

Nobody is there to hold your hand.

Nobody is there to make sure you got a bargain.

And nobody owes you a price tag.

That's the auction.

It's a poker game on four legs and occassionally fight Club breaks out.

And if you sit down at the table and start showing everybody your cards...

Don't blame the damn table when somebody sees your hand, even a guy from Queens.