Racing’s favourite pastime: Alibis. It seems that in and out running of horses has become a kind of elite sport in itself, designed solely to bewilder racegoers who naively think that the “form book” is worth more than the paper it’s printed on. Betting, as we all know, is the beating heart of racing. No bets, no racing, simple as that. So when the action on the track starts resembling an avant-garde performance art piece—complete with horses dramatically losing form overnight or, better yet, discovering a turbo mode out of nowhere—punters are left scratching their heads, wallets lighter and trust in the system as shaky as a jockey on a bucking bronco.

Enter the Stipendiary Stewards, the supposed gatekeepers of integrity, whose main job seems to be perfecting the art of looking concerned while scribbling furiously in their notepads. It’s a mystery what exactly they’re writing down, but whatever it is, it’s clearly not much help. These pros excel in the craft of inventing alibis on demand, while the stewards, with the investigative rigour of a sleepy librarian, nod along as though every excuse is an original work of genius.

But heaven forbid a small-time professional gets caught in this mess—they’re given a public flogging to remind everyone that, yes, the stewards are “active.” So there you have it: the big fish get to swim merrily along, leaving the small fry to bear the weight of ‘maintaining order,’ all while punters are left praying to the racing gods for some semblance of fair play. Ah, the theatre of racing at its finest.

Reading last Saturday’s Stipes report from Bangalore is like flipping through a manual of classic excuses and polite shrugs. Each line oozes with explanations for poor performance, diligently recorded for—well, the future. Apparently, we're also witnessing an epidemic of horses bursting blood vessels. One can’t help but wonder: have the Stipes uncovered any reasons behind this rampant bleeding, or is it just filed under “mystery of the week”? Is it a fitness issue, perhaps? Or is everyone simply tiptoeing around the elephant on the track?

Ah, Pericles—the latest crowd favourite whose excuse for a lacklustre outing boiled down to a mysterious "training setback." Right, because nothing screams "ready to race" like a horse with a fitness issue that’s whispered about but never officially documented. And let's not forget these are the very same Stewards who, in their infinite wisdom, slapped a trainer with a suspension last year for “animal cruelty” when the horse so much as sneezed against veterinary advice. Seems that rules around welfare and transparency might just be as flexible as a jockey on a rough turn—depending, of course, on who’s on the reins.

Meanwhile, punters are left in the dark, fumbling through rumours like it's some high-stakes guessing game. After all, why would the betting public need to know that a race might run more like a gentle canter down Memory Lane than a serious dash for the trophy? Because if Pericles’ trainer had even an inkling of concern about a less-than-stellar performance, the odds would have drifted faster than a wayward colt in a novice race. But no, we’re stuck in a real Catch-22, where punters can only watch and wonder.

Then there’s Elfin Knight—a horse once sharp and agile, who on race day looked as though it was sightseeing rather than competing. Kept wide, out of range, and with more ground to cover than a cross-country marathoner, this horse had everything working against it. The excuse? A lack of speed, allegedly due to the addition of a cross noseband. Conveniently enough, it’s always the favourites who seem to falter just as they start attracting the public’s confidence and hefty bets. And so, in a sport where the stakes are high, we’re left with a litany of vague explanations that don't explain a thing and an integrity bar that’s slowly sinking.

The Stipes certainly didn’t hold back with their judgment on two rookie apprentices, coming down with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer on riders barely out of the starting gate. One unfortunate first-timer, Pavan, now has the dubious honour of being suspended for three race days for, allegedly, causing interference. Mind you, this was the first ride of his life. Picture it: you’re a newbie, sandwiched between seasoned jockeys barking “Stay in line!” and “Don’t get in my way!” as if you’re supposed to have nerves of steel.

But wait—who exactly approved Pavan for the track in the first place? That would be the Stipes, who must have checked every box before greenlighting his license. And here’s the kicker: the horse in question was reportedly lame. Surely that might have had something to do with the unsteady performance? Yet rather than considering a constructive approach—maybe suggesting a few mock races for the young rider to build his confidence—the Stipes opted for the heavy-handed suspension. Apparently, building up talent comes second to showing everyone who's boss.

The burning question for our governing authorities is simple: Are they truly capable of ensuring that races are fought and won on merit alone? We all know that a favourite romping home isn’t the gold standard of good racing. What makes the sport credible is real competition, where winners have proven form and don’t emerge like magic tricks after a series of woeful performances.

Racing should be a test of consistency and skill, not a roll of the dice. If the Stipes could stop buying the usual excuses—often as transparent as a pane of glass—they’d be in a position to turn things around. When they enforce a no-nonsense approach, racing cleanses itself. Professionals will think twice before toying with the system when they know there’s a real watchdog on duty.

And let’s be real: Club members need to quit cozying up to certain professionals for a few insider tips. If they want a competitive, transparent sport, they must take a stand against those who protect their chosen few. It’s high time for racing to run as clean as it looks in the brochures!