Lure of the Smarty money is irresistible

America at Large: In the immediate aftermath of the 129th running of the Preakness Stakes last May, Roy Chapman, accompanied by his wife Patricia, was wheeled into a Pimlico anteroom equipped with closed-circuit television to participate in a mass interview with a gaggle of turf writers assembled upstairs in the fifth-floor press box.

Wheelchair-bound and tethered to an oxygen tank as the result of an advanced case of emphysema, Smarty Jones' septuagenarian owner was ebullient and engaging, as well one might expect of a man whose horse had just nailed two-thirds of the American Triple Crown and would go to Belmont Park three weeks later an odds-on favourite to complete the deal.

Matters proceeded swimmingly until a young reporter, whose knowledge of the Sport of Kings evidently relied heavily on a recent film, asked Chapman whether he'd ever seen Seabiscuit run.

"Did I WHAT?" Chapman, having calculated that an affirmative answer would place him somewhere in his mid-nineties, fairly exploded. "Jesus Christ, I AM getting old!

"What the hell do you mean, did I see him run?" He added sarcastically. "Sure, I TRAINED him."

His audience laughed appreciatively, but a sidebar in the following morning's Baltimore Sun included a paragraph which began "Smarty Jones' owner Roy Chapman, who once trained the legendary Seabiscuit . . . "

Three Saturdays later in New York, Chapman's colt suffered the only defeat of his career when he finished a length adrift of Birdstone in the Belmont Stakes. Despite the defeat, the 'Saga of Smarty' appeared destined for the Hollywood screen.

All the necessary dramatic elements were there: Trainer John Servis had inherited the colt only after his original trainer, Bob Camac, was murdered by his stepson. In his first experience with a starting gate, Smarty had nearly killed himself, rearing up in the stall and crashing against a metal bar with such force that he fractured his own skull. And once on the track, he had disposed of all opposition, taking an unbeaten record into what proved to be his final race, winning $7,613,155 in his brief but meteoric career. (When he prepped for the Belmont at Philadelphia Park, upwards of 5,000 fans turned out to watch Smarty on a morning gallop.) Smarty was, to be sure, America's horse.

Servis and the Chapmans had planned an extended valedictory for Smarty Jones. Win, lose, or draw in the Belmont, the trainer proposed to test Smarty against older horses in the October 30th Breeders Cup Classic at Lone Star, after rewarding his hometown fans with a prep race in September's Pennsylvania Derby.

The trainer raised eyebrows by promising that Smarty would campaign as a four-year-old next summer, even though that strategy seemed fraught with peril, in that it might impact on Smarty's seemingly limitless value at stud.

Two months ago the Chapmans entered into an agreement with Three Chimneys Farm in Kentucky. The arrangement would pay them $48 million, while allowing them to retain a 50 per cent share in the horse's breeding rights, making the overall syndication value nearly $95 million.

At that point the game plan still called for Smarty to race in Philadelphia next month and against all-comers in Texas in October, but over the past few weeks Smarty's connections were apparently overcome by horse sense. A few days ago it was announced that the colt would not race again. He will be immediately retired, and will stand at stud commencing next month.

From the Chapmans' point of view, as well as that of Three Chimneys, this makes perfect sense, but the owners, anticipating a public outcry, defended themselves against charges of venality by producing testimony from a veterinarian that Smarty was suffering from deeply-bruised fetlocks in all four hooves. The vet, Dr Larry Bramlage, was trotted out to display the results of something called a "nuclear scan" attesting to this career-ending infirmity.

Servis, too, weighed in via a conference call with turf writers the same morning.

"This has been a tough week for me," said the trainer. "We had a great ride with him. He was a great racehorse. What bothers me most is that some people didn't see how great he was. Outside of the Belmont, going a mile and one-half, he didn't do anything wrong. He was a lightly raced three-year-old, who came back from a severe injury. But I know that there are sceptics out there."

Since Smarty Jones's nine career races came in an eight-month span, it's not surprising that he's a bit sore now, but it's hard to imagine that he's any worse off now than he was the morning after the Belmont Stakes. Since the decision would appear to be one taken out of prudence, one can't help wonder why the owners have spent so much time apologising for it.

This week Patricia Chapman insisted that she and her husband had not "taken the money and run," although it would seem apparent that this is exactly what they'd done - and who could blame them?

"We would have liked to have run him. The public loved him, and not just the racing fans, all of America," said Patricia Chapman. "I'm in awe of the deep love they had for the horse, but if anything else were to happen, it would break our hearts. He doesn't owe us anything, and we owe him a lot."

Tears welled up in the eyes of the principals last week, but it's difficult to imagine who we should be feeling sorry for. Certainly not the Chapmans, who will be counting money for the rest of their lives, and certainly not Smarty Jones himself. Ponder HIS future for a moment: No more pre-dawn gallops, no more starting gates. He's only three years old, and his entire sex life lies ahead of him.