In Columbus a faculty committee at Ohio State fired a thunderbolt in the form of a mimeographed report on big-time athletics. "Skill in any form," the report said, "is marketable in our society.... Because college sport as we know it here is a two-million-dollar-a-year enterprise, whether we like it or not, it is foolish to expect that the program can continue at that level without letting the atnlete in for some portion of the gain."
Ohio came to a rolling boil, PROFS URGE PLAY FOR PAY, the headlines said, and one cynical undergraduate suggested that the Ohio State football players organize a labor union and demand industrial compensation for their injuries. The university could pay the bills, he said, by selling stock in the football team. On the West Coast, Joseph Kaplan, UCLA's faculty representative in the Pacific Coast Conference, said he thought an amateur athlete ought to be defined as one who showed neither financial profit nor financial loss on his college career. Mr. Kaplan suggested further that since faculties have failed to solve the problems of recruitment and compensation, the athletes themselves ought to have a go at it. "I'm confident," he said, "that their proposals would be modest and practicable."
In Des Moines, E. K. Jones, secretary of the State University of Iowa's football-boosting I Club, was forbidden by the Big Ten commissioner ever again to have dealings with prospective Iowa athletes, because he had used his private plane to transport a boy to the Iowa campus. And the
Des Moines Register
noted, more in sorrow than in anger, that the new press box in the Iowa stadium is going to cost half a million dollars.
Then Saturday came, and football, which for days had just been talked about, was played. There were upsets all over the map, with the biggest one, of course, down in Oklahoma. The subject of football had been kicked around, passed back and forth, and fumbled all week long, but the game itself was magic still. It was a pretty sure thing that Ike wished, when the afternoon was over, that he had stayed in Oklahoma till Saturday.
In this age of highly purposive electronic calculating machines it is pleasant to spread the word of a simple little calculating device—hereafter, we suggest, to be known as Handivac—which has no other purpose than mildly mystifying entertainment. The only equipment required is pencil and paper, and any number can play. Here, as set forth by Mrs. Daniel S. Pelletier, handicap chairman of the Women's Metropolitan Golf Association ( New York), is the way to proceed:
1. Write down your club handicap. (If you don't have a handicap, make one up.)
2. Multiply the handicap by two.
3. Add five.
4. Multiply the total by 50.
5. Add the figure 1707 to that total.
6. Subtract the year of your birth.
7. The first two figures of the result should give you your handicap, the second two your age.
Tip for those playing the game next year: add 1708 instead of 1707.
Frank Lane roared into Cleveland at gale force, scattering the dust and cobwebs that too many years of unimaginative management had settled on the Cleveland Indians. At 61 (he'll be 62 on February 1), an age when most men are gratefully plodding down the homestretch to retirement, Frank Lane was taking on a new job, a new challenge, a new chance to demonstrate his extraordinary baseball knowledge.