A GREAT JOURNEY UNTIL THE VERY END
Smarty Jones’s Triple Crown hopes vanish in the homestretch of the Belmont, while Birdstone emerges as a most ambivalent hero.
by Sean Clancy

Trainer John Servis gave Stewart Elliott a leg up on Smarty Jones for the Bel-mont Stakes on June 5—the race that could clinch the 12th Triple Crown—and smiled.
“Stew, have a good trip,” Servis said.

And then the 45-year-old trainer put his arm around a friend.
“Like Cy Young said, ‘The ball has left my hand,’” Servis said as he walked toward the grandstand. But not before his oldest son, Blane, persuaded him to touch the Secretariat statue in the middle of the paddock for luck. Servis scoffed for a moment, then turned around (it was no time to cross black cats) and touched Big Red’s hock.

Servis then walked to see if it was time to make history. To see if the sport would have its first Triple Crown winner after an agonizing wait since Affirmed in 1978. To see if the small-time horse from Pennsylvania could remain unbeaten and earn a $5 million bonus from Visa. To see if everything was right in the world.

The ball that had sailed straight and true for five incredible weeks made it to the lip of the catcher’s glove—where it stopped. Plain stopped.
The ride was over.

Birdstone, an impossible long-shot who had finished 15""" lengths behind Smarty Jones in the Derby, collared Pennsyl-vania’s hero within strides of the wire to end the Triple Crown hopes. It was the most startling of sights—to see Smarty Jones in trouble.

“I’ve seen some strange things happen,” Jerry Bailey said moments before climbing aboard fourth-choice Eddington for the Belmont. “It appears that we can’t beat him, but. . .”
Bailey made the critical move in the Belmont. He allowed Eddington, a long-striding stayer, to move up four-wide, just off Smarty Jones’s flank, as the field turned down the long, lonely Belmont Park backstretch. With this, Smarty Jones, evading a four-horse mass down the backside, skipped past Rock Hard Ten and Purge to his inside and took the lead. Rock Hard Ten went right back at him with a quick counterpunch.

Oh God, the haunts of Specta-cular Bid, Real Quiet, Funny Cide. . . They were palpable as Smarty Jones did what so many had done before. Leaving the backside, Purge was retreating, Rock Hard Ten was through, Eddington was paddling for his life, and Smarty Jones was galloping strongly on the lead. But against the dark gray sky, there was another movement. Marylou Whitney’s light blue and brown silks atop Birdstone were driving forward, a few lengths behind Smarty Jones.

As the horses turned for home, Smarty Jones had a four-length lead and a quarter of a mile to keep it—in the longest race he would ever face.

The noise at Belmont Park was literally (yes, literally) pulsating. A deafening roar, but there was no Chick Anderson describing the leader as “moving like a tremendous machine” as in Secretariat’s 31-length tour de force in 1973.

Smarty Jones’s fluent, flat stride started to get wider and more labored. Elliott gave him a sharp right-handed swat with no response. Birdstone was resolute to his outside. Now it was two warriors, dead on their feet, slogging blindly toward the bell.

Smarty Jones was trying to outrun his pedigree, trying to go unbeaten, trying to eke out another furlong at the end of a five-week final exam. His ears pinned flat on his head as he switched leads, vainly trying to find a boost. Elliott tried anything and everything he had learned in a lifetime of riding.

Birdstone and Edgar Prado finally wore down Smarty Jones. It was the first horse to pass him. Ever.
The pulse went silent. The record crowd of 120,139 flatlined. For the seventh time in the last 15 years, a horse’s Triple Crown bid was foiled in the Belmont. How many times can a record crowd show up to see if their era will be defined by a super horse? It felt so right this time.

Owners Roy and Pat Chap-man bred Smarty Jones at their Someday Farm near New London, Pa. They nearly sold him when they dispersed their entire string of horses. He was one of two horses they kept. Based at Philadelphia Park, the small but ultra-athletic son of Elusive Quality won his first three starts, and Servis decided to use Arkansas as a route toward the Kentucky Derby. Coincidentally, Oaklawn Park offered up a $5 million bonus for a horse to sweep the Rebel, the Arkansas Derby and the Kentucky Derby.

No problem. Smarty Jones won the Derby by nearly three lengths in a flawless performance. The wonder horse vaulted into the Preakness on May 15 with a seven-for-seven slate and room for more. A record crowd of 112,668 engulfed Pimlico for the second leg of the Triple Crown. It was the largest crowd to witness a sporting event in the state, and the people were not disappointed.

Smarty Jones’s doubters were still around—claiming the off track and some rough trips helped at Churchill, but they quieted with every stride that Smarty Jones displayed in the Preakness.
Sent off as the overwhelming favorite, Smarty Jones sat off Lion Heart in the early stages before ducking inside his rival on the final turn. Smarty Jones roared into the stretch, lengthening his lead with every flick of his chestnut legs. He won by 11""" widening lengths over newcomers Rock Hard Ten and Eddington, who did not draw into the Derby field because of a lack of graded stakes earnings.
Smarty Jones toyed with his Preakness field. It was the largest winning margin in the history of the Preakness. Elliott showed Smarty Jones the whip in midstretch, but was otherwise motionless as win number eight was recorded.

There have been plenty of exciting runnings of the Preak-ness, but this one was different. Servis, Elliott and the Chapmans are bread-and-butter horsemen from a neighboring state. You can be sure that on Sunday, locally bred foals were treated with a little more care, jockeys around Pimlico and Philadelphia Park had more enthusiasm for work, trainers got to the barn earlier and brighter with at least a slight sense of renewed optimism. It could happen to you.

“I had to hold the tears back a little bit. Emotionally, it really hit me just how good this horse is,” Roy Chapman said. “There were a lot of good horses in this race. You know, you hear about this, you hear about that. I thought he might win, but I never thought he would blow them away like he blew them away.”

Yes, Smarty Jones solidified himself as legitimate in the Preak-ness. There were no asterisks, biases or excuses. Rival jockeys couldn’t believe what they saw.
“I had horse coming into the lane, and I thought I had him because I had two gears left,” said Gary Stevens, who rode Rock Hard Ten. “When I hit the first gear, Smarty Jones opened up five. When I hit the second gear, he opened up 10. It was like watching Secretariat in the Belmont.”
Chestnut horse, blue and white silks, effortlessness within iconic performances—yes, it was that good. And it had feeling.

“The whole track is rooting for us,” Elliott said of his Phila-delphia Park brethren. “It was the same thing in Arkansas. Smarty Jones had been there all winter, and they were like, ‘He’s not a Pennsylvania-bred, he’s an Arkansas-bred.’ Everybody’s on his side.” By the time the Belmont came along, the side had grown to a brigade.

The Philadelphia Daily News ran a daily column called “From the Horse’s Mouth by Smarty Jones.” Nine thousand fans came to Philadelphia Park to see the horse—gallop. “Smarty Jones for President” bumper stickers and pins were selling out. Belmont Park was preparing for the biggest crowd in history. All to see a little horse with a funny name try to make amends for two decades of disappointment.
And he nearly did.

To Birdstone’s credit, the gallant son of Grindstone ran a huge race to upset America’s horse. Trained by Nick Zito, the small bay colt was the only horse to make up any ground on Smarty Jones. It was a yawning gap of eight lengths back to third-place finisher Royal Assault.
After the race, Prado was apologetic.

“It feels good and bad,” Prado said. “I’m happy because my horse and my connections deserved to win today. He ran good, but I’m very sad. It was the right story, the right people, and we need a hero for our business. Unfortunately, only one can win, and you have to go out there and do your business. Around the quarter pole, I said, ‘Oh ----’ but I couldn’t let my sentiments take over; I had to keep riding.”

It was a sudden stop for the Smarty Jones voyage. But one that was handled with what was becoming a trademark—humility and grace. Elliott had ridden Smarty Jones with aplomb and handled the press with patience. After the race, it was no different
.
“He was a little sharp, he gets like that sometimes. I needed to get him to relax, and here comes two of them at me,” Elliott said. “That’s why it’s tough to win. We did the best we could, right? He’s a great horse, he took us a long way. So he lost, mile and half, we’ll be back. We got two out of three, that ain’t bad. Sure we’re disappointed. We came so far and it looked like he would win, but circumstances weren’t on our side. What are you going to do? You win some and you lose the rest.”
For Servis, who grew up in a trailer park in Charles Town, W.Va., it had been a training masterpiece. He had taken an exceptionally fast horse, who was born to be a sprinter, and nearly entered the sport’s most treasured realm.

“We’re starving for a Triple Crown winner, and I think everybody thought that this was the one, including myself. But that’s what makes this game so great,” Servis said. “What really makes it tough is when you get that Derby win, you’ve got to have your horse sharp for the Preakness and completely opposite for the Belmont. That’s a tough task to get done.”

Yes, Smarty Jones’s exuberance might have cost him the Triple Crown. Servis had spent the 21 days between the Preakness and the Belmont slowing his horse down, galloping farther and adding air to the horse’s reserves. Servis elected not to work him between the Derby and Preakness, and gave him one slow seven-furlong breeze eight days before the Belmont.

“The Kentucky Derby was our championship,” Servis said. “I read an article that said winning the Kentucky Derby is like climbing Mount Everest and winning the Triple Crown is like climbing it three times. As far as I’m concerned, we climbed it twice, and we just tried to climb it too fast a third time.”
Servis’s first favorite horse was Ruffian. He grew up with Vince (Jimbo) Bracciale, stealing pennies out of the fountain at the now-shuttered Shenandoah Downs race track. Bracciale picked up the mount on Ruffian when regular rider Jacinto Vasquez had gotten suspended in 1974. That’s all it took for Servis to fall in love with the ill-fated filly. Somehow Belmont Park had tortured him again.

“It’s tough, you know. We had a shot to make big history here,” Servis said. “We’ve had a great year. I’m not going to put my head down. We accomplished a lot. Our main goal was to get to the Derby, and I’m really proud of what we got done. I’m proud of the whole team, and everybody needs to be happy. They don’t need to be sad.”

Servis might have learned his stoicism and appreciation from the Chapmans. They were as gracious in defeat as they were in victory. They shared the dream, spread the wealth and cherished the moment. They let everybody be a part of the story.

Late Saturday night at Long Island’s Garden City Hotel, Roy and Pat Chapman found themselves in the middle of the long lobby with nothing to do but greet people. They had finished their macaroni and cheese dinner in their room and come down to drink in the last few moments of the long, sweet ride.
Smarty Jones had long since nestled into his bedding after his first defeat. Servis and his wife, Sherry, had retreated to room service in the elegant hotel. Exercise rider Pete Van Trump took a six-pack to go. Elliott had eaten a turkey sandwich in the jocks’ room, weathered some New York hecklers, and gone to bed. The Chapmans were still hosting something that was part receiving line, part funeral procession. Everybody who passed the Chapmans, from NBC’s Tom Hammond to random fans fuming of alcohol, had a tale to tell. They loved the horse and didn’t want to believe that it was over. Somehow the Chapmans, who had seen their great horse lose his first race, were consoling the rest of the racing world.

“Don’t get me wrong, the $5 million would have been nice, but I’m sad for all the fans,” Roy Chapman said. “They really wanted this horse to win.” “Hey, second in the Belmont isn’t bad,” Pat Chapman said. “Life goes on.”

As Pat Chapman swung lightly to a rendition of Sister Sledge’s We Are Family, Roy Chapman reflected on the wild ride. “Nobody’s had more fun in racing than us,” Chapman said. “I mean nobody.”

The next morning, the Servis stable was packing up from its Triple Crown odyssey. Foreman Bill Foster’s luggage was put onto the van—a metal cot, three blue water buckets, a bag of sweet feed, three webbings and finally Smarty Jones.

The emphatic colt walked up to the ramp of the van and balked. He turned his head to the right, looking like he wasn’t quite finished with what he had started. Groom Mario Arriaga squared him at the loading chute for the third time, and Smarty Jones walked up the ramp and into his box stall. He stuck his head out the door and into the spitting rain for one last look at Belmont Park.
At 10:02, the van made a right onto Hempstead Turnpike and headed south. The 2004 Triple Crown was officially over.