- Narrator: [closing narration] The name is Grady, ten feet tall, a slightly distorted offshoot of a good breed of humans who race horses. Unfortunately for Mr. Grady, he learned too late that you don't measure size with a ruler, you don't figure height with a yardstick, and you never judge a man by how tall he looks in a mirror. The giant is as he does. You can make a pari-mutuel bet on this, win, place, or show, in or out of The Twilight Zone.
- Narrator: [opening narration] The name is Grady, five feet short in stockings and boots, a slightly distorted offshoot of a good breed of humans who race horses. He happens to be one of the rotten apples, bruised and yellowed by dealing in dirt, a short man with a short memory who's forgotten that he's worked for the sport of kings and helped turn it into a cesspool, used and misused by the two-legged animals who've hung around sporting events since the days of the Colosseum. So this is Grady, on his last night as a jockey. Behind him are Hialeah, Hollywood Park and Saratoga. Rounding the far turn and coming up fast on the rail - is The Twilight Zone.
- [first lines]
- Grady: [answers the phone] Yeah. This is Grady. Who? What paper? Oh yeah, yeah. Yeah, so you're the creep that... I said creep! Yeah, I know who you are! I know who you are! Sure, I read your column. Every time I read it, it makes me sick, I wanna use a stomach pump. Don't try and nuzzle up to me with that Mr. Grady stuff. Three years ago you stuck in the shiv! Listen to me, I had nothing to do with horse doping. NOTHING, you understand that?
- [conversation continues]
- Grady: Ah, oh sure, a couple of taps on the typewriter and I get a 60-day suspension!
- Grady: [listens] Yeah, go ahead, you could talk pretty safe now, you're 50 blocks away. If you were here in this room now, I'd scrape you off the wall and put you in a cup. How does that grab you? This is a statement to the press! Grady to the press, you fink, ya hyenas down there! Listen, and don't forget to spell the name correct! Grady! G-R-A-D-Y!
- [Grady has now grown to 10 feet tall, barely fitting into his apartment]
- Grady: I'm gonna ri... Wait a minute. I'm too big. I'm too big. I'M TOO BIG! I CAN'T RIDE! WAIT A MINUTE! I CAN'T RIDE!
- [Grady begins trashing his tiny apartment]
- Grady: I CAN'T WEAR MY CLOTHES! I'M TOO-I'M TOO BIG! I'M TOO BIG! HEAR ME? I'M TOO BIG! I'M TOO BIG! I CAN'T RIDE! NO!
- [Grady has been brought to his knees in desperation]
- Grady: Please, please. Please, make me small! Please, I'll never ask for anything again. PLEASE, MAKE ME SMALL. PLEASE! OH, GOD.
- Grady: [as Grady's conscience; mocking] You are small, Mr. Grady. You see, every time you won an honest race, that's when you were a giant. Right now, they just don't come any smaller.