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NOME - Crime and punishment. Forgiveness and redemption. Those were the inescapable subplots of Jerry Riley's 2000 Iditarod. Banned for life from the race he loves - and won - for cruelty to dogs, Riley has been an outcast since 1990. The first musher to attempt a long-distance double in the same season, Riley's suspension kept him out of the 1,100-mile Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race and the 1,000-mile Yukon Quest. You could read his name in the Iditarod record books - 1976 champ - but his name was never uttered aloud. Riley was like the bad son, locked in the attic, ignored, forgotten. Until the Iditarod Trail Committee voted in a closed session in November to give the 63-year-old Nenana musher a reprieve and allow him to compete in the 28th annual race. It was the risky but right thing to do, a courageous decision at a time when the Iditarod is under close scrutiny and continuous pressure from animal rights activists. This choice was about justice, not public perception. It was also a decision that bespoke of complex issues in a society that vacillates between a contradictory fry-them mentality and a give-him-a-second-chance outlook for rule-breakers. It usually works both ways in modern sport. A boxer who bites another's ears, a baseball player caught on drugs, a hockey player whacking another's skull with a stick, all vilified and suspended - and most then reinstated. Iditarod officials were wary of churning the controversy anew over Riley's alleged sins of the past. Riley, who has raced dogs since the 1960s, was disqualified from his 28th place finish in the 1990 race after being accused of mistreating a dog and not reporting injuries it suffered. And then Riley was held to account for having at least five dogs die in harness in previous Iditarods. He denied any wrongdoing. The punishment made Riley the invisible man in Iditarod circles. He continued working as a commercial fisherman and carpenter, but it was a time of torment for him. His only mushing outlet was middle-distance races in the Bush. Riley said he never lost faith he would get a second chance, but twice the Iditarod quietly turned down appeals when emissaries made his case. This time he did his own talking. "It was a decision tempered with compassion," ITC President Rick Koch said. "We felt after 10 years there should be some kind of forgiveness. Murderers get out of prison. Certainly, the easy decision would have been to say no." Koch said the pivotal moment in ITC deliberations came when the graying, slightly built Riley spoke. "There are times people sit in front of you and look into your eyes, and they express their hurt," said Koch. "It has an affect on you." The board agreed to "hold Riley's suspension in abeyance" for this race, said Koch, and will review his performance. For most of nine days, Riley hovered just outside the top 10, a phenomenal achievement for an older musher with a kennel of only 18 dogs who has been away from the race so long. Natives in villages along the way cheered him, he said. "It was going really fun," said a weary Riley in a guarded interview Tuesday night. But a virus sapped the dogs' energy. In Koyuk, about 950 miles into the race, the dogs didn't want to go. Riley walked in front of the team for two miles, coaxing them. That didn't work, so he turned back and scratched. He said he had "to think of the animals." Such a remark coming from a man with a tarnished reputation will be decried by cynics, though Riley said the negative comments he sometimes hears from animal rights supporters don't bother him. That statement came off as false bravado, and Riley refused to comment on whether he felt this fresh chance was overdue. But speaking in a soft tone that may have impressed the ITC with its sincerity, he portrayed himself as a changed man from the hard-driving musher of 1990. "They can see I'm a different person," Riley said. "I don't rattle easy anymore. It's just a dog race." He admitted he may not have said such a thing 10 years ago. Race marshal Mark Nordman said he received no complaints about Riley's dog handling on the trail. "I haven't had any bad reports," Nordman said. "I personally have been checking out Jerry." Riley did make a minor mistake at the Anchorage ceremonial start by not bringing a second sled for the ride to Eagle River and was docked a 33-minute time penalty. But in the big picture, that's like a parking ticket. Riley won no money in this year's race. But he competed admirably and showed he earned the ITC's trust. His ban should be lifted permanently. Ten years in exile. Jerry Riley served his time. * This column is the opinion of Daily News sports editor Lew Freedman. He can be reached at lfreedman@adn.com
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