It requires a certain species of hubris—rare even among the bureaucratic classes of Annapolis—to imagine that the State of Maryland, which struggles to teach its children to read and fill its potholes on time, is uniquely equipped to rehabilitate a century-old horse racing track and somehow turn it into an economic engine. And yet, here we are: the state has already embarked on a taxpayer-funded effort to revamp the Pimlico Racecourse, sinking public resources into a fading relic in the hope of reviving its former glory.

But that horse has left the barn.

The question now is not whether the state should redevelop Pimlico—it already in progress. The more pressing question, in light of Maryland’s looming multi-billion-dollar structural deficit, is whether the state should continue this quixotic endeavor. The answer is no. It’s time to cut bait, sell the project to a private developer, and let those with the vision, capital, and market discipline to succeed take over.

Let us speak plainly. Horse racing, once the “Sport of Kings,” is now the sport of a niche. The crowds have dwindled, the betting pools have migrated to digital bookmakers, and the cultural cachet of thoroughbred racing, outside of the brief flurry of the Triple Crown, has evaporated like cigar smoke in a stiff breeze. The average Marylander has as much connection to horse racing as he does to the sport of curling, and with considerably less interest. It no longer serves as a public good. It is, at best, a private indulgence.

And yet, the state persists in its delusion that it can restore Pimlico to its former 20th-century glory—not through market forces, but through force of public finance. This is not stewardship. This is a bailout, clothed in the language of tradition and civic pride.

Even if one were to indulge the fiction that Pimlico retains some cultural value to Marylanders at large, one must confront an even more inconvenient truth: it serves virtually no benefit to the people who live around it. The citizens of Baltimore—particularly those in the long-neglected Park Heights neighborhood—do not need horse racing. They do not derive employment from it, nor entertainment, nor any sustained civic benefit. They see, instead, a vast parcel of city land used for a handful of days each year, sealed off the rest of the time, insulated from community needs, and animated chiefly by people who come and go like the horses themselves.

This is not just a poor use of taxpayer dollars. It is a poor use of urban space.

Imagine instead a development vision that actually addressed the public interest: mixed-income housing, green space, athletic fields, small business incubators, medical clinics, cultural venues, and relatable events for the community—not for a roving national set of socialites and bettors. Pimlico, properly reimagined, could become a civic anchor. As it stands, it is an anchor in the more nautical sense: a drag on the city’s forward motion, held in place by the weight of nostalgia and the rope of political inertia.

Meanwhile, we are told that the Preakness generates economic activity. Yes, a burst of temporary revenue. But who profits? Not the local residents. Not the struggling businesses of Park Heights. The primary beneficiaries are the racing industry, visiting elites, and the various vendors who circle the event like camp followers at a traveling circus. That is not economic development. That is pageantry.

And then there is the matter of Maryland’s fiscal reality. The state faces a structural deficit projected to materially worsen over the next five years. Annapolis officials, with straight faces and open palms, are already hinting at the inevitability of new taxes to sustain basic government operations. In such an environment, a $400,000,000 public expenditure on a racetrack is not merely extravagant—it is fiscally grotesque.

Consider what that $400 million could do instead: repair dozens of crumbling schools in Baltimore City; expand broadband access across the rural Eastern Shore and Western Maryland; replenish the state’s depleted transportation trust fund; or invest in behavioral health infrastructure to address the fentanyl crisis. That would be public investment. That would be need-based budgeting. The Pimlico Racetrack project is vanity spending masquerading as vision.

It is the classic conceit of government to believe that because it can spend, it can manage. Running a racetrack is not the business of the state. Managing any enterprise involving marketing, real estate, event production, and private capital is precisely what the state has repeatedly demonstrated it cannot do. A legislature cannot horse-trade its way to a successful business model—though goodness knows it tries.

Let us suppose, for argument’s sake, that horse racing in Baltimore has a future. Let that future be built not by the Annapolis bureaucracy but by private actors who understand the sport and are willing to risk their own capital to see it succeed. A re-privatized Pimlico would live or die on its merits. And if it dies? So be it. That is the wager private enterprise is designed to make. The Preakness can be held at another racetrack.

The state has already done what the government does best: write checks. Now it should do what it rarely has the courage to do—walk away. Sell the property, transfer the risk, and let the market decide Pimlico’s fate. The people of Park Heights—and the taxpayers of Maryland—deserve more than a ceremonial money pit occasionally dressed up in seersucker and mint juleps.

Enough with the politics of nostalgia. Enough with the costly fantasy that government can do what markets will not. If Pimlico is to run again, let it run without taxpayer involvement.

Clayton A. Mitchell, Sr. is a life-long Eastern Shoreman, an attorney, and former Chairman of the Maryland Department of Labor’s Board of Appeals.  He is co-host of the Gonzales/Mitchell Show podcast that discusses politics, business, and cultural issues. 

In recent months, with increasing Annapolis-imposed taxes and control over farmland for solar power generation, the call for Maryland’s Eastern Shore to secede from the rest of the state has gained some momentum, especially on social media. Proponents argue that the region’s distinct political, cultural, and economic differences with the more urbanized areas of Maryland make separation an attractive prospect. However, while the notion of secession may sound appealing to some, it is fraught with legal complexities, economic realities, and political barriers that make it highly unlikely, if not a waste of time.

Historically, the Eastern Shore has indeed had a unique identity. Its culture is rooted in Southern traditions, a vestige of Maryland’s once-Southern character, distinct from the more Northeastern influences that have shaped the Western Shore’s metropolitan areas. This divergence has often fueled talk of secession, harkening back to 1833 when a proposal to integrate the Eastern Shore into Delaware narrowly failed in the Maryland Senate. 

As recently as 1998, legendary Eastern Shore legislator Richard F. Colburn revived the idea of a referendum to allow the Shore to secede and possibly form a new state, “Delmarva.” While these initiatives generated some headlines, they have never come to fruition, and it’s unlikely they ever will.

My fellow Shoremen, to secede from Maryland and either join another state or form a new one, the Eastern Shore would have to navigate a series of legal challenges that make this pursuit appear more fantasy than feasible. The U.S. Constitution makes clear that no new state can be created from the territory of an existing state without the approval of both the state legislature and Congress (Article IV, Section 3). This means that even if Maryland’s General Assembly approved such a move, Congress would also have to approve the formation of a new state—a process fraught with political wrangling and uncertainty.

Beyond the legislative approval, the U.S. Supreme Court has already ruled on secession in the aftermath of the Civil War. In the 1869 case Texas v. White, the Court declared that secession was unconstitutional, reinforcing the idea that no state, or part of a state, can unilaterally break away from the Union. Legal challenges are virtually certain if the Eastern Shore were to pursue secession, and it’s highly probable that the courts would not favor this movement.

Even if the legal hurdles could somehow be overcome, the economic implications of secession would be dire. The Eastern Shore relies heavily on state and federal funding for everything from infrastructure to education and social services. If the region were to sever ties with Maryland, it would be responsible for managing its own services and public goods—an enormous financial burden for a region that, while rich in natural beauty and agriculture, does not have the same economic resources as the state’s larger urban areas.

Moreover, Maryland’s Eastern Shore is not a standalone economic powerhouse. It benefits from its connections to the state, particularly in areas such as agriculture, tourism, and fisheries. If the Shore were to become independent or align with another state, it could lose access to state funding, federal grants, and critical partnerships that support its economy. While some proponents of secession envision creating a self-sustaining, independent state, this vision fails to account for the financial realities of managing an entire state without the support structures Maryland currently provides.

Perhaps the greatest obstacle to secession, however, is political. The Eastern Shore, with a population of roughly 600,000 people, represents a small fraction of Maryland’s total population. The state’s urban centers, particularly in Baltimore and the Washington, D.C., metropolitan area, hold much more political influence. Any proposal for secession would face immense opposition from lawmakers representing these more populous areas, who would be reluctant to relinquish valuable territory and resources.

In addition, the broader Maryland electorate would likely resist such a move. While the Eastern Shore’s residents may feel disconnected from the state’s urban centers, the rest of Maryland has its own interests to protect, and the separation of the Shore would cause significant disruption to the state’s economic and political systems. It is hard to imagine that enough support could be mustered, either in the state legislature or among voters, to approve such a drastic change.

Instead of pursuing a doomed effort to secede, the Eastern Shore could explore more practical solutions for achieving greater political and economic autonomy. One possibility would be to push for a form of regional governance that grants the Shore greater control over its own affairs without the need for full secession. This could involve expanded home rule powers, similar to those held by larger counties like Montgomery or Prince George’s, which would allow the Eastern Shore to make more decisions locally, such as on zoning, taxation, and infrastructure.

Another potential path could be the creation of an “Enterprise Zone” for the Shore, which would offer tax incentives and regulatory flexibility to boost local businesses. This approach could foster economic growth without the significant disruptions and legal battles associated with secession.

In the end, while the idea of Eastern Shore secession may reflect a sense of political and cultural frustration, the practical reality is that it is highly unlikely to succeed. The legal, economic, and political obstacles are simply too great to overcome. 

Rather than pursuing an unattainable and unrealistic dream of independence, the Eastern Shore should focus on more feasible ways to increase its autonomy and influence within Maryland. Attempts at secession are, at best, a distraction, and at worst, a foolish folly that will only serve to divide the region from the rest of the state without offering any tangible benefits.