girls' teams, the Australians, in their lime-green shirts and bush hats, are
rated the most dashing but rank with the Italians as the least tidy, while the
French, in their Balmain frocks, are the most chic. The Koreans are the shyest,
blushing when other girls see them in dressing gowns. And the English are the
least self-conscious, rushing around the quarters in pants and bras and wearing
the shortest of shorts outdoors.
perhaps the neatest in their V-neck dresses, are also, alas, the most confined.
Their coaches have refused to give them shopping money until the competition is
over. Lest this alarm Avery Brundage, it seems fairly well established all will
get the same amount—win or lose.
In a written diagnosis of its football prospects for this fall, an Atlantic
Coast Conference university uses the adjective "great" 19 times:
"great receiver," "great passer," "great tackle,"
"great guard," "greater desire to be a great team." But the
report concludes: "Impossible to make an over-all evaluation of the team in
advance. Line strength unknown."
VOICE OF THE
you," the voice on the Baltimore radio growls, "that Courtney is the
worst in the business on pop fouls. He smells up the whole joint. Richards must
be daydreaming when he plays him. Why would Richards keep Triandos, the best
catcher in the league, on the bench and play Courtney, the worst? Richards has
gone nuts on platooning."
The voice is that
of Bennett (Benny the Fan) Levine, a dress-shop operator turned sportscaster
whose 10-minute show, Bricks and Bats, is heard after every Baltimore Oriole
game. By candidly saying what he thinks, Benny has brought the fresh (and all
but unknown) breath of criticism to the air waves, where sportscasters usually
sound like (and often are) paid employees of the home club, and has captured a
phenomenal 38.6% of all listeners in the Baltimore area. "Look," he
will say, "that Richards is getting $50,000 a year to know when to take
pitchers out. So he leaves 'em in too long." Or "No wonder we're
looking for a right fielder. They don't play anyone out there long enough to
get his batting eye."
Benny claims he
is not second-guessing. "What I say on the air about a play or mental
lapse, I say when it happened—just like any fan. That's why people like
me." And how does Oriole Manager Paul Richards enjoy Bricks and Bats?
"He doesn't discuss it with me," says Benny, "and I don't discuss
it with him."
hundred prisoners gathered along the third baseline of a New York prison
recreation field one day last week and heartily cheered 20 fellow inmates who
were simultaneously challenging the U.S. champion. The scene was Riker's
Island, the champion was Bobby Fischer, and the game was chess. The occasion
probably was the first chess exhibition ever held in a prison, and the crowd
certainly was one of the largest ever to see a U.S. chess match, in or out of
stir. The match came about because the aging American champion—he is now 17
years old—has developed sociological interests he did not possess when he first
won the title at 14.
looked tough. A kindly-featured pickpocket opened with the Najdorf variation of
the Sicilian defense; a sturdy outdoor type, in for grand larceny, opened a
good game with the French defense. Play started at 6:41; at 6:57 the player at
the 15th board gave a startled cry. He was checkmated. Heartless roars of
satisfaction at his discomfiture came from the bleachers.