Baugh was not talking last week. But in a 1991 SI story she hinted at the pressures she faced in trying to make the transformation from golden girl to working pro. "When I was young and single, I was easy to promote as a sex symbol," said Baugh. "But now I'm just a player who's married with three kids. [She now has six.] The only way to get a sponsor is to earn it by being a good player and winning tournaments." But though she finished second 10 times in 23 years on the tour, she never won, failing to live up to the promise she showed as an amateur. She may have spent too much time posing for cover shots and too little time on the practice range. And even when she was at her best, her tee shots left her yards behind her competitors. An eating disorder may have been a factor—she never carried more than 115 pounds on her 5'4½" frame.
Those close to Baugh say she has long been in denial about her eating and drinking problems. Her husband, South African golfer Bobby Cole, whom she divorced in 1985 and remarried four years later, told SI that she occasionally induced vomiting to look slimmer before fashion shoots. And tour golfers have whispered about smelling alcohol on her breath during competition. Last June, as Baugh worked as a commentator for ESPN at the Oldsmobile Classic in East Lansing, Mich., she was asked to leave the tower by producer Larry Cirillo. "She was incoherent, and after 20 minutes I had to pull the plug on her," Cirillo says. An LPGA official later found Baugh dazed, huddling on a cart path. Four months later, Baugh played in her last LPGA tournament, tying for 18th at the Fieldcrest Classic in Charlotte.
Family and friends took it as a promising sign that Baugh entered a treatment program. "This has probably saved her life," said Cole. "But we'll have to wait and see."
Home Is Where the Hope Is
At a public-housing summit convened in Arlington, Va., last week, Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) Secretary Henry Cisneros honored eight "heroes of public housing" selected by his department. The eight were born or lived for a period in public or assisted housing. One of them was Jimmy Carter, who two decades before he became president lived in public housing in Plains, Ga., during a lean period in the family peanut business. Two others were Miami Heat center Alonzo Mourning, who grew up in public housing in Chesapeake, Va., and WBC welterweight champion Pernell Whitaker, who spent his childhood in the Young Park project in Norfolk, Va. "What matters isn't the size of your house or how much it costs but how much love is under your roof," said Whitaker, who, with four sisters and two brothers, was raised in a three-bedroom apartment by his parents, Raymond and Novella. "Dreams are the same in public housing as they are in a mansion."
The first ESPN Club will open June 30 in Orlando. The network may eventually use the sports bar as a broadcast setting, but the primary activity (aside from drinking) will be TV-watching. There will be 70 monitors placed around the joint, including six in the women's rest room and eight in the men's. Says Charlie Hardiman, an executive at Disney, ESPN's parent company, "The bathrooms are not to be missed." With all that TV viewing going on, we offer this reminder: Neither are the urinals.
Paying for Restricting Pay
In May 1995 in Kansas City, U.S. District Judge Kathryn Vratil ruled that NCAA Bylaw 11.02.3 violated antitrust laws. The bylaw limited to $16,000 a year the amount that Division I schools could pay certain assistant coaches in sports other than football. Vratil's judgment called for the NCAA to pay each coach affected treble damages (the difference between $16,000 and what the coach likely would have made had the bylaw not existed, multiplied by three). With 305 Division I schools, damages could run into millions of dollars. The NCAA appealed the ruling but also rescinded the restricted-earnings bylaw the following day.
Last Wednesday, with the appeal still pending, Vratil threatened to levy a fine against the NCAA that could run to $30,000 a day. The penalty would be assessed for resisting orders to provide information on athletic department budgets and salaries; the numbers are needed to determine the monies to be paid to the assistant coaches. The judge doesn't buy the NCAA's argument that it has no authority to force schools to turn over the data. And in a March hearing, she lambasted NCAA executive director Cedric Dempsey for a memo he sent to member institutions requesting information from schools while making it clear they were under no obligation to respond; Vratil characterized the memo as "contemptuous, malicious and calculated to severely delay and frustrate the discovery process."
An NCAA spokesman says that private schools are particularly reluctant to release financial figures, apparently referring to athletic powers such as Duke, Notre Dame and USC, which would presumably prefer to keep their formidable athletic-department bottom lines confidential. In any event, the judge last Wednesday bypassed the NCAA and directly instructed all Division I schools to supply the information. She said that on July 5 she will start levying a fine against the NCAA and its lawyers of $100 a day for each school that fails to supply the information. "In the event of any failure to comply with this order, the consequences [to the NCAA] will be severe," said Vratil. It may be time for the NCAA to limit its losses and settle.
The Wonder Years