Ohhh, no! This proud father caught a foul ball in San Diego Stadium and magnanimously handed it to his small son, beaming. So the kid does what? Tosses the ball back onto the field, nearly beaning Met Third Baseman Wayne Garrett. Father had his day, though, when the ball was returned—to him.
This is an article from the June 25, 1973 issue
That sloppy sound heard recently was Baltimore football fans licking their chops. In the wake of some highly controversial moves, Colt General Manager Joe Thomas announced that he was going to host a radio talk show on which listeners would be able to phone in questions and comments. Just what a lot of people had been waiting for. But, stop! It will not be that inviting. Thomas has decided that all questions will be monitored and that they must not pertain to coaching or performance of the team. "For instance, I will probably spend two or three minutes explaining the points of, say, the waiver system," Thomas says, "which should then provoke questions along those lines." Or sleep.
Bachelors Johnny Bench of the Reds and Mike Reid of the Bengals were among 17 prominent Cincinnati men nominated by the bunnies of the local Playboy Club recently for Father of the Year.
Now here is another classic baseball vignette somehow gone wrong. The University of California at Irvine has just won the NCAA college division World Series and Catcher Terry Stupy's girl has climbed atop the dugout to give him a kiss. But while removing the tools of ignorance, Catcher Stupy apparently loosened his belt, with results that are hard to ignore even in their decline.
Joe Namath's beanery in Birmingham is only a few doors up the street from one run by Pat James, former assistant football coach at Alabama. Namath has the bigger image, all right, but James is a better yarn spinner. One of his latest tales involves an old bruin he met up in the Arkansas hills. Seems that the bear was known as Paul. "How come?" James asked. "Wal," said the bear, "a long time ago I wrestled a young man in the little town of Fordyce. His name was Paul. I beat him, and they've called me Paul ever since."
And if you can bear it, there is the true story of Noah Thomas, a Mentor, Ohio policeman who had a chance to win $1,500 if he could outwrestle a 760-pound Alaskan brown. Not only did Thomas lose, he took a real licking. After pinning Thomas, the big bear turned giant puppy and slobbered all over his victim. Leaving the crowd roaring, Thomas ran home to bathe.
Cynics figured that the only reason why the Louisiana State basketball team did so well this season—the Tigers were the surprise of the Southeastern Conference—was that the players were dumb enough to believe in the corny maxims of new Coach Dale Brown. Now it develops that the team had the smarts. Four of the five starters—Bill Whittle, Collis Temple, Wade Evans and Ed Leblanc—made the SEC academic team. Too bad they never met some other Tigers, Occidental College's. Four of the six seniors on the California squad—Doug McAdam, Jack Peterson, Dennis Losin and Don Lillegard—made Phi Beta Kappa. With all those smart Tigers, the game would have been played in a think tank.
Lost in the aftermath of this year's Indianapolis 500 was what spectator Barry Goldwater had to say before the race. Asked if he would like to try driving ore of the cars, the Senator and Air Force Reserve jet pilot said, "Nope. When I go over 50 miles an hour, I want to be in the air."
Always looking for an opening, Washington Redskin Quarterback Sonny Jurgensen thinks he's picked one out in the Watergate affair. An off-season real-estate representative, Jurgensen says, "From what I read, there are going to be a lot of houses for sale soon."
If you order steak at the Flying Clipper restaurant in Aberdeen, Md., don't put ketchup on it. The chef is Giovanni de Simone, a former Italian amateur boxing champion who had a 61-3 record in the ring including 31 knockouts, and if there is one thing that makes his sauce boil it is a person who douses one of his creations in ketchup. He sees red.
Atlanta Mayor Sam Massell has set up a fleet of bicycles, called the Pedal Pool, and recommended that all city employees use bikes for trips of less than two miles to save fuel during the so-called gasoline shortage. Massell exempted himself from the suggestion, however. "That would be a little difficult, since I travel with a security aide," he said lamely. "I don't think we have a bicycle built for two."