Triple Crown Losing Luster as It Acquires Burlesque Trappings

To begin with, you want to compliment horses in New York for their commitment to the environment.

Do they run a marathon in the streets, crossing the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and fouling traffic from the Bronx to Central Park?

Do they run a mile down Fifth Avenue?

When they have a race to be undertaken--in this case a mile and a half--they move out to Belmont Park where viewers can be accommodated in an orderly way and the event conducted amid the dignity befitting the entrants.

The Belmont Stakes would make more sense if horses promoted it. Horses make logical decisions. Left to their judgment, the Belmont--and the Triple Crown with which it is allied--wouldn’t be in the mess it is today

It is not to be refuted that the Triple Crown serves as showcase for American racing. Other stakes are old, and they offer big purses, but they get a shrug from the sports public, basically indifferent to the slot machine flavor of racing-around-the-clock in this land.

The Triple Crown, comprising the Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont, is still special. But those in charge are looking for ways to water it down.

They do this with inconsistent rules throwing an otherwise tidy event into commotion. In Kentucky, for instance, runners are permitted to use the medication called Lasix, a diuretic believed by some to help horses that bleed during a race.

Maryland, home of the Preakness, permits use of Lasix, too.

But New York rejects it, claiming that Lasix is a performance-enhancing preparation that has no place on the race track.

The truth is, no one knows for sure whether Lasix (a) prevents bleeding, or (b) enhances performance.

Such opinions are as speculative as betting on a horse.

But because New York does not play by the same rules as Kentucky and Maryland, certain racers entering the Derby and Preakness will pass the Belmont.

When this happens, the Triple Crown degenerates into the broad burlesque it did this year.

A horse named Unbridled, for example, runs with Lasix. He wins the Derby. Another who runs with Lasix, Summer Squall, finishes second.

In the Preakness, they reverse positions, setting up a very interesting Belmont, except the handlers of Summer Squall won’t let him run without his medication.

Summer Squall isn’t consulted. If he is, he doubtless says, “Hey, stop making a federal case. I am young. I am in great shape. I run in the Triple Crown only once. Don’t try to over-science me.”

Even though Unbridled bleeds from time to time, like Summer Squall, his handlers let him go in the Belmont.

The upshot is, Unbridled blows the race, but he doesn’t bleed. He is simply beaten by a fresh horse named Go And Go, dropping in from Ireland.

Go And Go doesn’t know Lasix from a shot of Bushmill’s. He just runs, as most horses would if people didn’t apply their erudition to the horses’ affairs.

So Summer Squall is made to sit out like a dummy, reducing the Belmont from a very lively show to a yawn. And, God knows, judging from sinking attendance about the country, racing is behooved to avoid yawns.

First run in 1867, the Belmont Stakes is named for August Belmont, who worked for the Rothschilds and went into business for himself. He founded a banking house on Wall Street, where even people who don’t bet horses go out of windows.

Little did Belmont suspect that his race, oldest in the Triple Crown, would fall into disarray because guys would come along who can’t agree on the rules.

The elder Belmont would be likely to say, “Inconsistency on rules is for baseball. And I’ll be damned if we don’t run into a type of DH situation in racing.”

Either New York falls into line with Kentucky, Maryland and most other racing states in America that permit Lasix, or the foregoing fall into line with New York.

Dealing with Lasix, veterinarians can’t even agree. Some contend it has no performance-enhancing quality. Others argue it may not even prevent bleeding, usually occurring in a horse in the nostrils or lungs.

And then you’ve got horse doctors at universities insisting it serves as a stimulant.

The horse doctor we go to contends Lasix is no big deal, no more than butazolidin is.

Butazolidin, he says, is little more than aspirin, meaning for horse players developing a headache you can prescribe two butazolidin and rest.

Those betting Unbridled, even money in the Belmont, were candidates for that medical advice.

Well, we now address the vital subject of race announcers declaring before the race on which horse they have put their money.

Dave Johnson, performing for ABC at the Belmont, was asked his opinion on this proposition, and he responded he was betting Yonder to win and place.

Should one who calls a race bet, and, if he does, should he do it privately so as not to shake the confidence of listeners maybe betting on something else?

If the announcer makes a bet on Yonder, can his eyes become more focused on that runner than on those who are going to finish in the money?

The announcer isn’t doing anything crooked. He just stirs suspicion among horse players, already paranoid.

Those of us in the sporting press often will make bets on races we cover. This not only explains the holes in our shoes, but probably isn’t the best practice, because you knock a horse that runs like a stiff, with your money on him, and immediately you are suspect.

“He’s ticked because he blew a bet,” the trainer will charge.

Horse players, the trainer must understand, are ticked normally.