If racers are the ultimate gamblers, then Fittipaldi will go down as the best there ever was at knowing when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em. Surely that savvy will not fail him now that he has pulled off his biggest miracle.
Playing a Round
We recently took note (SCOROCARD, July 29) of the vodka-spouting-nude-woman-ice-sculpture brouhaha at the Lakewood Country Club in Rockville, Md. But some male golfers in the Washington, D.C., area are still in need of a few sessions on the sexual-sensitivity range. A charity tournament at the Ridge-view Country Club in Centreville, Va., last week featured topless female caddies and the auctioning of young women to accompany male golfers in their carts.
The tournament, organized by Bill Bayne, the owner of a topless club in nearby Arlington, was held as a benefit for the American Heart Association, which denied any knowledge of the nature of the event. Bayne defended it. "Guys like to be around a pretty woman, riding with them," he told the Washington Post. "They've got nude tournaments all over the country." And if "they" ever hold a major, chances are it will be in suburban Washington.
While covering basketball at the Olympics, senior writer Alexander Wolff was conscripted into additional duties, as a basketball analyst for BBC Television. His report:
"Due to illness, one of our commentators has returned home. We are looking for a journalist/broadcaster with in-depth basketball experience who could do colour commentary."
I responded to the notice out of a sense of mercy: If this document fell into the hands of Dick Vitale, it would be curtains for the King's English. But just when I could have used a little limey in my larynx, I had a frog in my throat—a case of strep diagnosed by a physician who cleared it tip with antibiotics and, in the Olympic spirit, a shot of a steroid called Decadron.
My play-by-play partner, Clive Tyldesley, warned me that I couldn't assume much hoops knowledge among our viewers. Our insomniac audience—the 10 p.m. tip-off for Dream Team games came at 3 a.m. London time—would hear Clive speak about how the Brazilian women fell 10 points "adrift" of Italy before "the interval" and then found themselves "easing eight points clear." To you and me, Shaquille O'Neal weighs 301 pounds; to Clive's viewer-ship Shaq is "21½ stone." John Stockton is a Sine "user" of the ball; Reggie Miller "fastens a shot into the basket"; and Charles Barkley's Phoenix Suns finished "mid-table" in their division.
This was all too baffling, so I stuck to providing color, not colour, Late in the rout that was the U.S.-China men's game, I made a convoluted reference to how the Dream Team was denying China most-favored-nation status. Clive winced, and I could imagine the mocking remark my words must have occasioned in Nigel Martzke's column in the London Daily Belch.