We all took Julie Andrews's tuneful advice in The Sound of Music and climbed ev'ry mountain. There are plenty of bona fide firsts left in rock climbing, but a been-there-done-that mentality has crept into mountaineering, and it doesn't appear that the Great Sherpa in the Sky is creating any new real estate with a view. Now the emphasis seems to be on doing a climb faster or doing more climbs in a shorter period of time.
Still unconquered is 23,440-foot Latok I, the north ridge of Latok in the Karakoram Range of Pakistan, not far from the renowned K2. Michael Kennedy of Carbondale, Colo., and his four-man party came within 500 feet of the summit in 1978 before turning back because of inclement weather. "The worst part of the climb is the 800-foot vertical ice wall from the glacier to the summit," Kennedy says. "It's technical climbing the whole way, with no breaks, so you need the right combination of weather and timing."
BALL GAME'S OVER
There is hardly a stadium built more than 10 years ago that isn't on the endangered species list. Fans don't love plastic-grass, multiuse ballyards like Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia anymore. We don't want Eighth Wonders of the World like Houston's Astrodome. We don't even see the need to preserve old ballparks like Detroit's venerable Tiger Stadium, which will be replaced in 2000, and Boston's 85-year-old Fenway, which—if the Red Sox have their way—could be razed soon after the millennium.
Instead we want new ballparks that just look like Fenway, faux-old ballyards like Baltimore's Oriole Park at Camden Yards, urban confections designed to soothe the eye and fatten a franchise's wallet. Fenway, by contrast, is a classic, replete with nooks and angles and the Green Monster and a sense of proximity to the players that no other stadium offers. Despite players' complaints about the park's old, dingy locker rooms and weight-training area—"Blow it up. Blow the damned place up," says Red Sox first baseman Mo Vaughn of Fenway—the game will be forever diminished if the old girl disappears.
This season the San Francisco Giants were the only major league team to schedule a traditional two-games-for-the-price-of-one doubleheader at home. Teams say a twin bill can cost them up to $800,000 in lost ticket, parking and concession revenue—and that fans don't like two games back-to-back anyway.
That's the dirty secret of the doubleheader: Despite sports-writers' occasional braying, there is no populist push for its return. "You look at the length of games, especially the slow pace of a lot of American League games, and sitting through one regular nine-inning game is sheer misery for many people," says Orioles assistant general manager Kevin Malone.