In 22 of the 25 states which have legalized pari-mutuel betting on horse racing the use of the drug butazolidin is just as illegal as the use of morphine or an electric battery. In Kentucky the authorities simply don't bother to test for it, which means that nobody knows when or how often it is being used. In Illinois a ruling last summer made it perfectly legal to use it. And now the Florida Racing Commission has followed the lead of Illinois. We have stated our critical opinion of what is going on in Kentucky and Illinois (SI, Aug. 1). We deplore the spread of this foolishness to Florida.
Nobody really knows the precise effect of butazolidin on the racing form of a horse. It is a pain-reliever, however, and it therefore can be used to put an ill or sore horse in a race—a horse who otherwise would be recuperating in his stall. An ailing horse belongs in his stall, not in the starting gate. For this reason alone, butazolidin should be outlawed for horses who are being prepared to race. Furthermore, everyone in racing knows that a definitive study of butazolidin's effects is now under way. Until the results are in, the drug should be banned completely. No ruling on drugs is worth talking about unless it applies to every horse in every racing state.
FINE FOR WHITE
In addition to the estimated $40,000 it cost Sugar Ray Robinson to transport and care for his masseur, his voice coach, his manicurist, his golf teacher, his golf companion, his secretary and assorted hangers-on for the recent Robinson-Fullmer fight in Los Angeles, another item of expense has turned up. Robinson did not bring along a set of black boxing trunks, which the California Athletic Commission specified he should wear, since Fullmer was going to wear white trunks. Sugar wore white, and the commission fined him $50. "He made California look like a jackass," said Commissioner Dan Kilroy, who must think the decision in the fight (SI, Dec. 12) made California look good.
New York City street scene after last week's blizzard:
A man clambers back and forth atop a huge pile of snow on Madison Avenue. Periodically he sticks a long pole into the snow, then pulls it out with a look of disgust.
"What are you doing?" asks a curious bystander.
Says the prober: "I am trying to find my Lambretta."
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