Operation Gemstone
- Bruno@Racingwithbruno
- 1 hour ago
- 4 min read
Updated: 11 minutes ago
Call it Operation Gemstone, if you like. Only this time there’s no Howard Hunt, no Gordon Liddy, and no Deep Throat lurking in the shadows. And, for the avoidance of doubt, get your mind out of the gutter, not that Deep Throat—the whistleblower.
Here’s the Reader’s Digest version.
A guy claims horses. A guy gambles. A guy has a team of CRWs, and his buddies play in handicapping tournaments. Nothing unusual about that. Horseplayers have always searched for an edge since the beggining of time.
Around the backside, information has traditionally traveled the old-fashioned way: you know a guy who knows a guy. Maybe a groom talks. Maybe a foreman has something to say.
Maybe somebody knows what a horse has been dealing with before it ever reaches the starting gate.
But apparently, that wasn't good enough anymore.
According to the allegations, the search for an edge went from knowing somebody on the backside to getting into the database. Hack the system, circumvent the protocols, get behind the curtain, build yourself some customized past performances—and voila.
You struck oil.
Not the kind they found in Beverly Hills. The kind a horseplayer dreams about.
Because now the information isn't simply, “They like the three.”
You potentially know what has been going on with the horse.
What issues it has had. What it has been treated for. What might be affecting its performance. Information that could influence whether you bet it, toss it, or—if you're in the claiming game—reach for the claiming slip.
That's a different animal altogether. That's a game changer.
As an owner, I don't want some gambler sitting across the table with information about my horse that I never had access to. I don't want one group operating with the information equivalent of binoculars while everybody else is standing there squinting at the tote board from a mile away.
Rules are supposed to be rules.
They're not supposed to be rules for the peasants and privileges for the members.
And that's where the tournament angle becomes particularly interesting.
Imagine the players who don't have the alleged inside information. They're handicapping races the traditional way. Past performances. Speed figures. Class. Form. Trainer patterns. Maybe a phone call to somebody who knows somebody. Maybe they hear, “The barn likes the horse.”
Meanwhile, if the allegations are accurate, another group potentially has a much better view of what's happening behind the scenes.
That's not handicapping.
That's an information advantage. Insider trading.
And in a claiming race, where the decision isn't simply “Do I bet this horse?” but “Do I want to own this horse?”, the value of that information becomes even more obvious.
So while some folks may look at this and say, What's the big deal? Somebody got some information.
Well, information is the game.
Especially when everybody else is supposed to be playing by the same rules.
The people hanging around the edges, waiting for the crumbs to fall, don't have the same advantage. They're getting secondhand information, bad numbers, rumors and hearsay.
“They like the three.”
That's the information economy for the rest of us.
And if somebody allegedly figured out how to tap the vault, turn that information into past performances, and feed it into gambling, tournament play and claiming decisions, then we're no longer talking about a clever handicapper.
We're talking about a potential breach of confidentiality, a question of integrity, and—at its most basic level—greed.
Marshall Gramm was wrong and in the process he is taking down a whole lot of people along with him and that in a way its justice in itself. Do the crime, do the time.
You know, this game, makes smart men stupid. Makes them irrational. They forget how to work hard. Have confidence in their abilities.
Because I've always believed - If you have to cheat to win, somewhere along the line you stopped believing you could win honestly. Once you start cheating you can't stop.
Maybe you don't trust your handicapping.
Maybe you don't trust your work.
Maybe you don't trust that the hours, the studying, the experience and the good old-fashioned elbow grease are enough.
So you cut the corner.
You find the shortcut.
You look for the door nobody else knows about.
And when you find it, you don't call it cheating.
You call it an edge.
In reality, once you start cheating you can't stop.
But an edge obtained by violating the rules isn't an edge.
It's just cheating with better public relations.
And ain't that just like the Beverly Hillbillies?
A poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed.
Then one day he goes looking for an edge.
And up through the database comes a-bubblin' crude.
Oil that is.
Black gold.
Texas tea.
Except this time, the black gold wasn't underneath the ground.
It was inside the data.
And somebody allegedly figured out how to strike it before everybody else even knew there was oil there.
