Ralph Drollinger, the 7'1" sophomore who will fill Bill Walton's size 15 shoes at UCLA next season, is no carbon copy of the famous redhead. The heights Drollinger aspires to, aside from those in basketball, are mountainous. "Someday I hope to climb in all the major ranges in the world," says Drollinger, whose father owns a mountaineering equipment shop in San Diego. He has climbed Mount Whitney, at 14,495 feet the Abdul-Jabbar of mountains in the 48 states, and twice has attempted the Matterhorn. Drollinger admits that Coach John Wooden "has sort of hinted that he doesn't like me doing it," which is the first news ever that Wooden is afraid of height.
A multistory motel is being built overlooking the Dallas Cowboys' practice field, and rooms on the upper floors offer a comfortable vantage point for spies interested in observing Dallas workouts. Cowboy officials refer to the motel as the George Allen Memorial Center.
Speaking of Allen: "He loves dogs like he loves linebackers," says Redskin spokesman Joe Blair. Unfortunately. Love me, love my dog is no encomium in the condominium where the Washington football coach dwells. Five neighbors in the exclusive Merrywood-on-the-Potomac town-house development, where Allen rents a home that would sell in the $200,000 range, have filed suit against him. They want George to call off his red-dogging 100-pound Weimaraners, seen here with Allen's son, Greg. The dogs, they say, terrorize the neighborhood, overturn trash cans and attack neighbors and guests. Plaintiff Betty Ann Leith said the dogs forced her to stop riding her bike, tore the dress of a guest entering her home and snatched another's pocketbook. They wanted a piece of the gate receipts, undoubtedly. Allen did not reply to letters, and the police said Merrywood was private property, hence they declined to act. "I enjoy watching Redskin games myself," said neighbor Josiah Lynch Jr., "but my wife hopes that they lose so Allen will get fired and leave."
Spooning out more happiness medicine in a recent sermon, Dr. Norman Vincent Peale used a female tennis enthusiast of his acquaintance as his example. It seems the lady played a good game but felt extreme tension during tournaments. "She lacked rhythm," Dr. Peale noted. A friend suggested the lady hum The Blue Danube waltz as she played, and it worked. A Memphis golfer heard the Peale sermon and adapted the message to his game. He now hums Let Me Call You Sweetheart while playing. Good news. It has improved his score by several strokes. Positively wonderful. But what about those of us who are very ho-hum hummers?
A lot of bettors wouldn't think of touching a gray horse, let alone a polka-dot one. So what are they going to think when they see a trotter with stripes? Busch Gardens in Tampa and Trainer Jim Paton have just such a beast, named Stanleyville Steamer, and on April 5 he makes his debut in a match race. Steamer is not a horse designed by Bill Blass. He earned his stripes legitimately. He is a zebra. Stanley was unusual in the first place, a zebra who didn't mind being ridden. Someone wondered whether he might also like to pull a cart, so they sent him off to Paton, who taught him how to trot in 16 weeks. Admittedly, Stanley Steamer is a bit slow yet. He does the mile in six minutes.
A new twist in female athletic participation emerged, accidentally, at a Delaware high school indoor track meet. Sue Dickson of Tower Hill School drew the inside lane in a heat of the 880. At the gun she moved out smartly against the remainder of the field—11 boys. At the end of the first lap, however, Sue was running 12th. On the third circuit of the four-lap race, she rallied and did pass a male opponent. He immediately dropped out of the race. Twenty yards farther on, Sue passed another runner and he too dropped out, humiliated. Sue didn't pass any more boys, but her coach, Bob Behr, is pondering new strategy. If Sue expends her finishing kick in the middle laps of a distance race and manages to pass all her opponents, maybe she'll be the only finisher and the automatic winner. But that may be only a passing fancy.
After 18 years as basketball coach and loquacious humorist at Oklahoma City University, Abe Lemons this season moved to Pan American University in the Texas Rio Grande valley. Being that close to the border, Abe took in his first bullfight recently in a small Mexican town. "It's like playing UCLA," he reports. "You just try to hang in. Then it's all over and they drag you around the ring and haul you out by the tail."