...BUT IS IT GOOD FORM?
A familiar dictum of sport is that it matters far less who wins or loses than how the game is played. This precept of physical and ethical form was severely buffeted about by a number of performers recently. In San Francisco an Australian kangaroo named Sydney donned special gloves for a bout with a college boxer named Buzz Casazza. After scoring with several downcuts (as opposed to uppercuts) Sydney forgot his Marquess of Queensberry, stood on his tail, lashed out with both feet, and KO'd the hapless Casazza. Other unusual examples of form were a cross-handed golfing evangelist, the execution of a golf-loving bird, a girl table-tennis star with a killer instinct, and a 270-pound long-distance swimmer.
Kangaroo count is administered by Sydney who further disgraced himself by failing to go to neutral corner after knocking Boxer Buzz Casazza down with a kick in the stomach. Sydney, now a resident of the San Francisco Zoo, is 4½ years old, weighs 145 pounds, lives on a vegetarian diet, reportedly is considering an offer to sign up with an octopus called the IBC.
Cross-Handed Evangelist Billy Graham takes time out from his "Tell Scotland" revival tour for a whack at par near Glasgow. An occasional golfer, he averages 45 for nine holes.
Golf-Ball loving crow fell victim to Cuthbert William Fear's pointblank shotgun blast at Cheshire, England. The crow had stolen more than 800 golf balls during his two-year career.
Killer instinct of young English table-tennis star Ann Haydon is revealed as she follows through on a forehand smash. Only 16, Ann is England's top junior, second senior, 12th in world table-tennis ratings.
Beefy swimmer Bert Thomas tests temperature of the chill waters off Victoria, B.C. Thomas, a 270-pounder, will try to swim 18-mile Juan de Fuca Strait.
COLLEGE CHAMPS & 'NAVY BRATS' BOX
Amateur boxing enjoyed a mild boom as NCAA championships were decided at Pocatello, Idaho, while at Annapolis bouts for "Navy Brats," aged 5-12, were held. Michigan State won at Pocatello, but there were no winners in Annapolis because decisions result in too much ill feeling—among parents.
COLLEGE CHAMPIONS: 119 pounds, Bobby McCullom, Idaho State; 125 pounds, Seiji Naya, Hawaii; 132 pounds, Vince Palumbo, Maryland; 139 pounds, John Granger, Syracuse; 147 pounds, Herb Odom, Michigan State; 156 pounds, Tony Dibiase, Virginia; 165 pounds, Max Voshall, San Jose State; 178 pounds, Gordy Gladson, Washington State; heavyweight, Crowe Peele, LSU. Below, George Maderos of Chico State goes through the ropes while victor Bill Greenway of Michigan State stands over him.
Nurseryweight boxers cluster around Navy's famed Boxing Coach H. M. (Spike) Webb who retired last year after coaching midshipmen for 35 years. Fights began when Webb first came to Annapolis, are between sons of academy personnel.
Flinching fighters both score. Some pacific-minded youngsters required parental persuasion to sock and be socked for the family honor.
Proud parent examines trophy earned by son. All youngsters received certificates, miniature letters.
OPENING DAY FOR RAINBOWS
Trout, the most game and succulent of fresh-water fish, went on the fishing calendar as the 1955 season began in the East, with the West soon to follow.
In New York, eager anglers had a head start as nine-mile-long Catharine Creek near Watkins Glen was thrown open a week before the regular season began. The trout were plump and plentiful and were returning to their home in Seneca Lake after having spawned in the shallows of the creek's fast-moving waters. Fishermen traveled from 200 to 500 miles to get their hooks in early; many sportsmen camped in tents along the banks of the stream. With the first breaks in the morning mist, thousands of rubber-wader-covered legs plunged into the frigid waters; a forest of fishing poles, a jungle of lines all but blocked the creek to the fish. The 1955 trout season had started.
HOME RUN FOR MARATHONER
While other New York City commuters queue up for subway tokens, stand on street corners waiting for buses or scramble for taxis, a 35-year-old physical therapist named Ted Corbitt pulls on a sweat shirt and runs home—13 miles away. Corbitt sees nothing unusual in his stunt, for he is a member of that lonely breed of athlete, the marathon runner. "After all, I run only 13 miles to get home, and the actual marathon is 26 miles and 385 yards," says Corbitt, who won the 1954 National AAU Marathon, was a member of the 1952 U.S. Olympic team and plans to enter the Boston Marathon this week.
Corbitt covers the distance from his job at the Institute for the Crippled and Disabled to his home in an hour and 35 minutes, only a quarter of an hour longer than it takes by subway. Running home has its hazards, however. "You have to watch yourself in traffic; you can only afford one misstep," says Corbitt. He has been bitten by dogs three times, stopped by suspicious police several times. When he arrives at his apartment house Corbitt runs up all 15 flights of stairs.