(upon realizing that there is very little call in the world for 10-foot jockeys)
Grady:...Please make me small, please! I'll never ask for anything ever again! Please make me small...!
Alter-Ego: You are small, Mr. Grady. Every time you won an honest race, that's when you were a giant. Right now, they just don't come any smaller.
Narrator: 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 parimutuel bet on this, win, place or show, in or out of the Twilight Zone.
Narrator: 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 Coliseum. 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.
This episode was written specifically for Rod Serling for Mickey Rooney.