Firm to Fictitious: Can Anyone Trust a Going Reading Any More?

Horse Sense vs Turf Fiction

Let’s get one thing clear: in British racing, the “going” is supposedly the great leveller—the sacred scroll handed down from the Clerk of the Course, scribbled onto race cards, muttered reverently by TV pundits, and used by trainers, owners, and punters alike to part with vast sums of cash and confidence. It is, in theory, the factual foundation on which the entire sport rests.

And yet, as James Sanderson has so refreshingly, almost gleefully admitted, it’s more theatre than truth, more illusion than science. His confession that he adjusts Going Stick readings to "make them interpretable" is not so much a scandal as a spotlight on the sport’s most widely accepted lie.

Let’s be blunt: if the going is a number you make up to suit perception, then punters might as well divine it from tea leaves, or let Mystic Meg do the declarations.

The Clerks of Spin

What we’re witnessing isn’t corruption in the greasy brown envelope sense. No one’s slipping fifties to adjust the turf. It’s subtler, more insidious: institutionalised ambiguity dressed up as precision. A Going Stick reading of 8.9 that gets declared as 7.9 because “8.9 sounds mental” isn’t a mistake—it’s a calculated act of public relations. A soft-focus lens over hard ground.

And herein lies the problem: trainers plan campaigns around the going. Punters make choices based on form. Owners risk six-figure investments. Yet behind the curtain, a Clerk is fiddling with the dial like he’s warming up a 1980s television.

Sanderson, in his pragmatic honesty, lays bare the theatre: "I've taken one whole point off it... I think the actual reading... is misleading." Which begs the question: is this sport operating on facts, or just vibes and veteran gut instinct?

Integrity on the Rocks (Or the Gravel, if You're at Thirsk)

The British Horseracing Authority loves to speak of integrity. Entire departments are devoted to it. There are General Instructions, inspections, and jargon-laden documents stacked higher than the tote board at Cheltenham. But integrity in this context appears to mean compliance with process, not the accuracy of the outcome.

So when a Clerk fabricates a more palatable Going Stick number to avoid non-runners or trainer tantrums, what’s really being protected is not the integrity of the surface, but the reputational stability of the meeting.

Integrity should mean telling the truth, even when the truth is inconvenient. Especially when the ground is “bloody firm” and everyone’s pretending it’s good-to-soft for the sake of a smoother declarations board.

The Punters’ Plight: Bet on Lies, Hope for Truth

Punters, poor souls, are the real mugs in this farce. They study form religiously, dissect replays, memorise track biases, and stake their hard-earned on a belief that the playing field is consistent and the conditions are honestly reported.

But when the going is subject to interpretative dance, their calculations are about as useful as a jockey with vertigo. A horse that’s unbeatable on soft might end up skating across tarmac dressed as “good.” The only winner is the bookmaker, whose going is always, miraculously, firm enough to support a champagne reception.

And if you think owners are faring better, think again. These are people pouring tens or hundreds of thousands into bloodstock, training fees, and entry costs, only to be undone by a Clerk’s decision to “shade the numbers.”

Racing’s Truth Problem

This isn’t about one man with a hosepipe and a hunch. It’s about a sport that demands trust—from punters, from owners, from trainers—and then quietly undermines it with accepted inconsistencies. The BHA insists on the use of the Going Stick but doesn’t seem too bothered when its readings are ignored, massaged, or outright manipulated.

If the official number can’t be trusted, and the published going is based on unspoken consensus rather than objective measurement, then where is the sport’s accountability? What is the point of data if its primary purpose is not accuracy, but appeasement?

Solutions, or at Least Better Lies

Here’s a thought: if everyone’s going to interpret the going based on feel, then scrap the Going Stick, get rid of the false objectivity, and bring in a new standardised system:

• “Welly Weather” (bring the heavy artillery)

• “Quicksand for Flat Feet”

• “Like Running on a Sponge Cake”

• “Firm Enough to Fry an Egg”

At least then we’d all be in on the joke. Because right now, the only thing softer than the ground is the spine of the regulation that allows this charade to carry on.

Final Thoughts: The Turf War of Truth

Can trainers, owners, and punters rely on the going declarations?

Only in the same way you can rely on the weather forecast in April or a politician’s promise before a by-election. There’s an element of truth, surrounded by a cloud of wishful thinking, bureaucratic fudge, and the occasional outright invention.

Until the BHA insists on objective data being honestly reported, rather than “interpreted” to avoid awkwardness, then the going will remain not just a description of turf—but a metaphor for the integrity of the sport itself: uncertain, subjective, and slightly too slippery to trust.