The time has come to fight to reverse race-day medication rules<

I have a lot of friends in the Kentucky veterinary community and I do not wish to offend them or hurt their feelings. But I am about to do just that.

I also would never pretend to know more-or to care more-about the health and well-being of racehorses than any veterinarian. But I care deeply-as many veterinarians do-about the health and well-being of Thoroughbred racing, and I believe strongly that the position of the veterinary community on medication of racehorses, particularly in Kentucky, is wrong and contributes enormously to negative public perceptions of the sport. I also believe that permissive medication policies in Kentucky and throughout the United States have been an enormously debilitating factor in the apparent, measurable decline in the soundness of the American racehorse.

And I believe that, for the good of the sport, changes must be made in the rules that allow those medications in racehorses on race day. That is a position that many veterinarians may disagree with.

The 1950s, '60s, and '70s were the golden age of American racing. Those three decades began with Native Dancer's ghostly gray form emerging from the electronic snow as racing's first television star. They ended with another iron gray, Spectacular Bid, going unbeaten in nine starts in 1980. We have not seen anything that good since. Nor have we seen anything approaching the excellence of Secretariat, Ruffian, Seattle Slew, Buckpasser, Dr. Fager, Swaps, Bold Ruler, Kelso, or Forego in the two decades since Spectacular Bid made his last lonely gallop around the racetrack, walking over for the 1980 Woodward Stakes (G1).

At the beginning of the 1950s, racing rules in all jurisdictions barred all medications. Racehorses were, theoretically at least, required to race on hay, oats, and water.

Postwar America, however, was a feverishly inventive place, and doctors and chemists soon began producing new drugs that revolutionized medical care for humans. For as long as humans have been racing Thoroughbreds, they have been looking for an edge, and there have always been those willing to administer foreign substances to horses to attempt to gain an advantage.

Post-race tests for those substances were not very sophisticated in the 1950s, but then neither were the substances available to trainers. We can be sure that as new drugs became available in the 1950s and '60s, a few enterprising trainers were willing to try them, knowing full well that they would not be caught. We can also be sure that such use was not widespread for the simple reason that those drugs were not widely available.

The word Butazolidin forced its way into racing's consciousness-and the wider consciousness of the sporting public-in 1968 when Dancer's Image was disqualified from his Kentucky Derby win because of the presence of the drug in his post-race urine sample. That disqualification was an enormous black mark on racing's image, an event that confirmed for many casual fans of the sport that drug use was frequent and probably often undetected.

Thoroughbred racing's response to that disaster was to legalize Bute. Within five years, most jurisdictions, including Kentucky, had made racing on Bute legal. Primary justification for that rule change was the strong opinion of veterinarians that Butazolidin is a purely therapeutic drug that cannot increase a horse's ability. It is like a human taking aspirin, they told us. Nobody would deny another human the right to take an aspirin to ease the little aches and pains of daily life, so why shouldn't racehorses have the same privilege?

The legalization of Butazolidin paved the way for legalization of other drugs in varying degrees, most importantly the diuretic furosemide (Salix) as a race-day medication, and most recently the bronchodilator clenbuterol for use in training. In each and every case, the veterinary community assured us that these chemicals did not make horses run faster but only allowed them to show their true ability. In each case, one of the primary stated motives for legalization of new drugs was to allow Thoroughbreds to race more frequently. That proved to be a powerfully motivating idea for state racing commissions whose contradictory duties include maximizing state profits from taxes on racing and safeguarding the well-being of both racehorses and the sport.

Half the starts

In the decade of the 1950s, before the administration of therapeutic medications was even a gleam in the chemist's eye, the average American racehorse that made at least one start ended up breaking from the starting gate more than 40 times. Today, the average American racehorse makes about 22 lifetime starts.

You do the math. Arithmetic is a harsh mistress.

I do not for a moment believe that permissive medication is the sole cause of the dramatic decline in apparent soundness of the American racehorse. I do firmly believe that it is an extremely important contributing factor.

I also believe that veterinarians inevitably suffer from a massive conflict of interest in advising racing commissions on the advisability of using race-day medications. The simple fact is that veterinarians make an enormous amount of money from administration of such medications.

I do not want to imply that my many friends in the veterinary profession would put profit before their love for the horse. I know them too well to believe that. I do believe, however, that in our media-dominated age, they should see that the appearance of a conflict is just as damning as an actual one. Right or wrong, that is the truth.

Others in racing agree that race-day medication is a bad thing. Seth Hancock, president of Claiborne Farm, announced during the week of September 17 that he would vastly reduce the farm's racing stable in Kentucky, citing lax medication rules as one primary motivator in sending most of his horses to New York and California. Representatives of the world's most prominent international stables privately express doubt about continuing to race in Kentucky in particular and the U.S. in general under current medication rules but, as foreign nationals, do not believe they should take a leadership position on the matter.

I believe that, however well-intentioned, Thoroughbred racing has taken a wrong turn, and the time has come to stop, turn around, and start marching in the opposite direction.

The experiment with permissive therapeutic medication has not worked to Thoroughbred racing's benefit. The 25-year public trial of various medications has resulted in fewer starts, not more; more bleeders, not less; and a series of devastating blows to public perception of our sport.

The object of experimentation is to find out whether something works to your benefit. Race-day medication does not work to the benefit of Thoroughbred racing. It is time to stop.