In Florida: Sweet Charity

By PAT JORDAN

Celebrity sporting events are like happy families in a Russian novel: they're all alike. Only the celebrities and the sports change. A number of celebrities, most of whom have nothing in common except that they are celebrities, get together to compete in a sport in which they have no expertise for a number of rewards, the most important of which is money to be donated to their favorite charities.

The George Plimpton Celebrity Challenge Cup Harness Race held recently at the Pompano Harness Track in Pompano Beach, Fla., was just such an event. There was a fruit pudding of celebrities: George Plimpton, the author and New York City bon vivant; George Steinbrenner, the New York Yankees' Teutonic owner; Ken Stabler, the former Oakland Raider quarterback; Steve Mizerak, the world champion pool player; Kim Bokamper, the mammoth Miami Dolphin football star; and Oleg Cassini, the aristocratic little Italian fashion designer. Each one of them put on colorful racing silks designed by Cassini and then climbed into harness sulkies. They guided their spirited horses at a brisk trot around the track as if they were aristocrats circling an Edwardian park. The celebrities treated the race with the mock seriousness typical of such events. Their real goal, besides the charity, was to have fun without making absolute fools of themselves. Except, that is, for Steinbrenner, whose only goal in everything he does is to win, which often guarantees that he makes a fool of himself. "George owns his own harness horses," said Plimpton, "and feels he has to uphold his image."

There is a big pond on the infield of the Pompano Harness Track, and that is where Steinbrenner threatened to "dump the little guinea bastard," as he referred to Cassini, if the designer dared get in his way during the race. Steinbrenner was miffed because Cassini, who was once Jacqueline Kennedy's White House couturier, had been given the favored, inside rail position to start that race, probably in deference to his age. Cassini is 73 years old. He is a charming little man who looks like he weighs about 110 lbs., and who has aged gracefully.

Aging gracefully is not a characteristic often associated with Steinbrenner, nor is deference. He practiced daily at the track, while the other celebrities pursued their usual interests. Plimpton arrived in Florida only hours before Thursday's afternoon press conference. He sat at the bar -- a tall, gangly man, who resembles a preppy, perpetually disoriented tropical bird -- and nursed a gin and tonic while moaning that he had had only a few hours sleep.

"I was at a party in New York until 4 a.m.," he said. "I'm not very good company." When he was told that the New York Times reported he had been at that party along with Raquel Welch and Catherine Deneuve, Plimpton perked up. "Really!" he said. "Mahvolous! I never saw them."

Ken Stabler, who is known as the "Snake," was nowhere to be found on the day before the press conference, even though he had supposedly come to Florida weeks before. Kim Bokamper, the Miami Dolphins' star defensive end, was hurriedly called as a replacement. Bokamper remained in the race even when Stabler appeared at his hotel at 7:30 a.m. on the day of the press conference. Stabler changed his clothes and hurried to the track, where he spoke to the press in his nasally Southern drawl. He gave an athlete's standard MVP acceptance speech. He thanked almost everyone in the room for making it possible for him to appear at this event; he spoke glowingly of horses as "fellow athletes"; and then he sat down at a table and combed his long, gray, swept-back hair while everyone else was eating.

It was an oddly muted speech for a man who titled his latest book Snake: The Candid Autobiography of Football's Most Outrageous Renegade. Stabler has always had a reputation for hanging out with unsavory types on his home turf of the "Redneck Riviera." But that Stabler was nowhere in evidence.

Mizerak weighs almost 300 lbs., which is not exactly the median weight for a sulky driver. He is a huge, slow-moving man who wheezes heavily when he walks. At first he seemed an odd choice for a celebrity event. For years, he had been a champion pool shooter, unknown outside his sport until he made a Lite beer commercial that made him famous. In that commercial, when he finally made a trick shot he had flubbed through many takes, his unseen camera crew burst into applause. The applause was kept in the commercial. Now, at the press conference, he was almost as well known as the other celebrities, even if he did look like a man who sells bowling trophies.

The star at that press conference was Cassini. He sat at a table with a striking, dark-haired woman in a black pants suit and cowboy hat, and was besieged by well-wishers, most of them women. When he got up to speak, the women "oohed," and "aahed," and one said out loud, "Oh, he's sooo charming." He was also, despite his age and slight build, the most macho- seeming celebrity there.

He spoke in his throaty smoker's voice, with more than a hint of an Italian accent. "You know," he said, "we like to say we do this for the children, but we should admit that we celebrities have unhealthy egos. We are winners in our professions because we are real bastards. I want to beat you other bastards, but I have no experience in this. I was only recently thrown in the arms of my trainer Debbie." He gestured toward the woman in black, who smiled. "Now I didn't mind this. I am just happy to participate. After all, I represent the most effete, decadent branch of all these celebrities. These other guys are manly. I'm a designer of dresses. What happens if a dress designer wins this race?"

Mizerak growled out, "He'll get a fist in the chest." Everyone laughed.

"In that case," Cassini said, "then maybe I'll wear a dress in the race."

He sat down to applause. Plimpton said to a companion, "Don't let Oleg fool you. He's the most competitive man I've ever known. Did you know he was a champion tennis player in Italy? Oleg hates to lose."

The press conference ended with track Vice President Allen J. Finkelson thanking Steinbrenner, who could not be there, for being a prominent American citizen. It was unclear when everyone applauded whether it was for Steinbrenner's citizenship or his absence from the press conference.

An hour before the 8 p.m. race, Plimpton lounged on a sofa in Finkelson's office. He chewed the end of his reading glasses while someone told him that Steinbrenner was not pleased with the length of the race. "Oh, is George acting up again?" Plimpton said. Then he unfolded himself from the sofa and began the long walk through the darkness toward the paddock. He carried a disheveled-looking gym bag with his racing silks, all of which were designed by Cassini. Plimpton's jockstrap was hanging precariously out of his bag.

Mizerak, meanwhile, was in the drivers' second-floor recreation room, giving them an exhibition of trick shots on their shoddy pool table.

A few minutes before the sulkies were brought out, the celebrities all stood around in the darkness of the paddock area in tight little pockets with their friends. They were nervous now. Plimpton paced back and forth, switching his riding crop against his leg. Cassini was standing with his trainer, Debbie Evilsizor, who was now wearing a red suede dress with lots of fringe, which did not look as if it had been designed by Cassini. Bokamper and Stabler were talking about Bokamper's horse, which had been rearing up in practice. "I'll just put a choke hold on him," said Bokamper, 6 ft. 5 in., 280 lbs. Steinbrenner stood in a corner with his trainer and conferred in conspiratorial tones about their race strategy.

When the race began, Steinbrenner grabbed the lead and hugged the rail. He led all the way and whipped his horse home to victory.

Back at the paddock after the race, Cassini congratulated Steinbrenner on his victory. Steinbrenner, magnanimous in victory, told Cassini how much he admired his courage just for competing at his age.

"Thank you, George," Cassini said. "That means a lot coming from you."

Plimpton, who finished last and who has made a writing career out of his sports failures, was grinning as he returned to the paddock. "All I saw from beginning to end was rear ends," he said. "I never saw so many rear ends in my life." He threw back his head and laughed.