Triple Crown Rigors Too Heavy a Burden for Derby Hopefuls

In the afterglow, we take the hand today of Mister Frisky and offer comfort and encouragement.

The poor guy is undefeated and untied coming into the Kentucky Derby last Saturday, and he is very much in contention for a mile. The only trouble is, the race is longer. Is that Mister Frisky’s fault?

The stretch at Churchill Downs measures 1,234 1/2 feet, but, to a tiring horse, it looks like the runway at Heathrow. Mister Frisky gasps to his rider, Gary Stevens:

“You’ve got a wife and kids. Save yourself. Get off and make it to the wire on foot.”

“We’re in this together,” answers Stevens, and the two buddies finish in the toilet as the Derby favorite, 19 1/4 lengths up the course.

Today, in the Mister Frisky camp, the climate is sadness. The commonwealth of Puerto Rico, whence he came, is sad. It had people at the track, ready to unfurl the Puerto Rican flag, symbol of triumph.

The island was busted, inhabitants backing their hero who had affirmed their trust 16 times in a row.

The trainer was sad. Laz Barrera, who has endured two cardiac surgeries, had given his beaten-up heart to the horse.

And, you have to presume, Mister Frisky was embarrassed, feeling as Mike Tyson did the night his undefeated string came to an end against Buster Douglas.

The Buster Douglas, in this case, is a fellow named Unbridled, who seems to run only when his Muse dictates. Unbridled had run 10 times and won only three, finishing fifth even at an outpost known as Calder.

In subsequent starts, he finishes third, first and third, and all of a sudden, he is passing horses in the stretch, winning the Derby by 3 1/2.

He runs away from Mister Frisky and the second favorite, Summer Squall, who, until the Derby, blows only one other race.

Those who back Summer Squall have an explanation. They say the horse lost weight in the days preceding the Derby and didn’t have his usual strength when the drive began.

They don’t know why the horse lost weight, but we are able to tell them.

He met up with Tom Lasorda, who put him on a diet plan.

“I lost 40 pounds and I feel great,” Lasorda testified. “I’m never hungry.”

“What should I do?” the horse asked.

“You have a delicious milkshake in the morning and another in the afternoon,” Tom said. “Then you have anything you want for dinner, like pasta and meatballs. The weight will fall off you.”

Today the question is asked whether the dieting did in Summer Squall, or whether it was the meatballs.

All we know is that Lasorda is a force society must reckon with. He strikes a deal with Kirk Gibson and Orel Hershiser whereby the two players donate money to a nunnery if Tom loses weight.

He loses weight, but Gibson and Hershiser bow out. It’s like years ago when Don Newcombe, afraid of flying, visited a hypnotist.

Newcombe was soon flying, but the hypnotist wouldn’t get into an elevator.

From Churchill Downs, the 3-year-old racers now head for the Preakness, in two weeks, to be followed by the Belmont, three weeks after that.

A wide disparity of thought exists among horse scientists over whether the Triple Crown, as it is now structured, isn’t too physically demanding for entrants that age.

One school holds that the Derby, at a mile and a quarter, and the Preakness, at a mile and 3/16ths, take too much out of a runner asked to go a mile and a half in the Belmont.

Some trainers skip the Derby and come in fresh at the Preakness, sort of like a marathon runner sneaking into the race at the 15-mile mark. A woman marathoner in New York played it smarter one day.

She hopped a subway and entered the race only a mile from the finish.

But those discounting the overload theory of the Triple Crown point out that a horse is a fragile creature, 1,100 pounds of bone china. Anything can do him in.

Two days before the recent Derby, for instance, an entrant went lame during a three-furlong workout. Others have bowed out hot-walking.

And then there is the celebrated story of Doc Jocoy, shipped to the Derby from California and allowed to nibble blue grass outside his barn. He develops such a bad case of colic that he has to be scratched.

And the owner, who loves Doc Jocoy, launches a campaign against Kentucky, urging people to stay out of there if they have any feeling for their horse.

And how do the horses feel about the Triple Crown? One who doesn’t care to be identified explains:

“Look, what else do we have to do? We aren’t allowed to go out with girls. We can’t drink, drive a Ferrari, or even go shopping. We might as well run. Trainers worry more than we do.”

Which, of course, is also the case with the assignment of weights in racing. You hang 128 pounds on a runner and the trainer screams:

“You’re breaking the horse down!”

But you hang it on someone else’s horse and the same trainer will say, “It’s handicap racing, isn’t it? The sport is based on this kind of equalizing.”