As far as I know Joe Drape does not sniff glue. But he is the
guy who wrote in a New York Times column prior to the Belmont that Dr Greenfield would finish third while Point Given would be an embarrassing fourth.
Drape did not predict that pianos would fall from the sky while the North
Korean Men's Soccer Team Glee Club ate Pooky and Ray Ray's Best Barbeque.
Not to put it all on Drape. He's a fine writer. When not sniffing glue. He
has a book out. And he wasn't the only misguided individual. One guy, a guy I once termed "the guy who knows things" in an ESPN Magazine article, proved to me he now knows nothing. He told me before the race that Balto Star would wire the field. The guy who knew things doesn't know as much as he used to.
Here's what Dr Greenfield knew. He knew he didn't want to participate. It
took 12 handlers and a team of oxen to pull that fat bastard into the gate. Most all the
others were loaded while Dr Greenfield was balking.
Handler: Yah! Yah! (whistle) Ha! Come on! Come on! Yah! Yah!
Greenfield: I am a slow fat bastard. But Drape likes me. I read his book.
But don't make me go. This stupid race is a mile and a half.
Handler: Yah! Yah! (whistle) Hah. Ya! Ya!
Greenfield: I've won only 60 grand in my career. What am I doing here? Does
Drape sniff glue?
Meanwhile, Point Given was being led in circles by Gary Stevens, kept apart from
and above the fray It wasn't like he wanted to race all that much either. He had to be shoved into the gate by two handlers. He relented when promised Bill Clinton would drink beer with him.
Point Given had already passed half the field in the post parade. It was
pretty obvious he was going to mow down the rest as soon as he agreed to follow the rules about gate procedure.
Handler: Yah! Yah! Come on, Come on!
Point Given: Which Clinton?
Point Given, of course, had been soundly beaten in Kentucky over a surface
that was apparently graded by cement paving equipment. Some people threw that race out and gave him the benefit of the doubt in Baltimore.
Others decided to try that reasoning with Monarchos when it came time to
race the Belmont.
Others sniffed glue.
And still others cashed tickets on a horse now drunk with success. Beers
with Clinton or not.