Little League Dept.
Johnson & Johnson, the Band-Aid people, have put out a little booklet for Little Leaguers entitled Baseball First-Aid Guide which contains useful information for treating such expected ball field injuries as dislocated fingers and heat exhaustion, but there is one entry which sounds an unexpected note and which, indeed, may reveal a hitherto unpublicized side of Little League play.
"The effect of human bites," the Guide notes laconically, "can be as serious as animal bites."
Home Truths in Keokuk
The man in the stands has often speculated on what ballplayers, managers and umpires say, holler and snarl at one another. He need not speculate any longer; now they can be heard! Set in a concrete housing beneath a perforated home plate in Joyce Park, home of the Keokuk (Iowa) Cardinals of the Class D Midwest League, is a microphone which picks up sounds made within a 30-foot radius. Monitored in the press box, these sounds are broadcast over the park's public address system. The microphone was installed by Cardinal Manager Don Shupe to add interest and stir up the crowd, but, sad to relate, the crowds have been small and placid, the sounds disappointingly commonplace and discreet.
Say catchers to pitchers in Keokuk: "Let's shake it up" or "You're the baby" or "Throw the old garbage in here." And what does the irate manager say to the umpire? In Keokuk he says: "Just because you missed one you don't have to make up for it with another." Says the irate catcher to the umpire: "You saw that play. You can change it. That man was out. The ball was waiting for him." Replies the umpire: "Watch the mike."
All of which goes to show that if you tune in on Class D ballplayers, you get Class D chatter.
Hail, the 'Columbia'
It was the brightest, warmest day of the spring when this country's first America's Cup yacht to go down the ways in 21 years was launched at the Nevins Yacht Yard, City Island, New York last week. The Columbia's keel touched water at 1:06 p.m., E.D.T., June 3 outside the launching shed where a final shine had just been put to the 70 feet of white egg-smooth hull and gleaming bright-work.
Minutes before, Mrs. Henry Sears, wife of the No. 1 man in the New York Yacht Club's Columbia syndicate, had recited "I christen this boat Columbia, and may she sail with great success," and had brought the champagne bottle down with a vigorous chop. The champagne spattered her green dress, Mrs. Sears blinked, the Nevins yard whistle blew, the horns of yachts in the harbor answered, and Columbia floated on the water with Sailing Master Fred Lawton at the wheel, a red rose from Mrs. Sears' bouquet in his lapel.