COME ON, YO-YO!
Minor league baseball returned to the greater New York area last week, to the immense satisfaction of 7,155 cash customers at Jersey City's big Roosevelt Stadium. Former Giant and Dodger fans found themselves following with interest a contest between a team representing Jersey City and one from Columbus, Ohio—and, in fact, it was an almost flawless occasion. The weather was superb, golden light falling on the deep green of the salt meadows, buildings silhouetted like stage sets against the shimmering waters of Newark Bay, a band, a parade, ample parking, alert (if slightly stage-struck) players and a good game.
In three days, the Havana Sugar Kings of the International League (in fourth place) accomplished the rapid transfer to Jersey City, printed tickets, signed a television contract (home games televised into New York during Yankee road trips) and pretty much took New Jersey by storm. The reason for leaving Castro's Havana was simply put by ex- Milwaukee Brave Jim Pendleton: "You couldn't concentrate on playing ball down there. You could feel the hostility in the air."
There was certainly no evidence of any in Jersey City. True, a Miss Delphine Lisk asked her boss for permission to attend the welcoming parade and was thereupon fired, but the mayor appointed her Miss Jersey City, and she rode in the parade herself. Transformed from the Sugar Kings to the Jersey City Jerseys (subsequently changed to Reds), the team traveled by night from Miami, got an hour's sleep, paraded through the city, listened to speeches, signed autographs and, as the lights came on and the crowd really roared, played the Columbus Jets to a standstill for seven innings. The roar of the crowd was a little confused, since there were few Latin Americans present and the others did not know how to pronounce Izquierdo or Azcue. But everyone soon learned that Jersey City's brilliant second baseman, Pompeyo Davalillo, was called Yo-Yo, and solved the problem by shouting "Yo-Yo! Yo-Yo!" no matter what was happening. Columbus won 8-3.
THE SIX-MINUTE MILE
If track men can run the mile in four minutes, how fast should football players be able to run it? Five minutes? Six minutes? An hour and a half? Dallas Cowboys' Coach Tom Landry decided to find out. He measured off a mile course on the turf at the Cowboys' training camp in Forest Grove, Ore. and told the boys to get out there and break the six-minute barrier.
None did. The best time was 6:19 by Greg Altenhofen, rookie end from Oregon. Slowest time was a 9:06 by Bob Griffin, Arkansas center. The University of New Mexico's Don Perkins, who has run the hundred in 10 seconds flat, collapsed after five of the six laps, walked the rest of the way. Landry intends to keep the boys at it, and if football fields are ever lengthened to 5,280 feet, the Cowboys will be a team to be reckoned with.
USES OF ADVERSITY
Trying to qualify for the Portland (Ore.) City Amateur Golf Tournament last week, Kelley Stroud took a mighty swing on the par-3 16th hole, splashed his ball into the water. He took another cut, put another ball in the water. A third swing, a third dunking. Once more Stroud teed off. This time he fired a 148-yard shot straight into the cup. With penalties, it was a perfect hole-in-seven.
ANYONE CAN PLAY
Gamesmanship is the fine art of bugging one's opponent without specifically breaking rules. It is rampant in the major leagues. During the recent All-Star Game in New York, Brooks Robinson of the Baltimore Orioles, sitting in the Yankees' dugout for the first time in his life, was one of the first to notice New York's contribution to the art. "Hey," he said, "it's air-conditioned!" As Robinson well knew, the visiting team's dugout is hot and humid and unblessed by such modern conveniences. The result, via gamesmanship, is a slight psychological edge, a feeling of comfortable superiority, for the Yankees.