AND THEN THERE WERE MANY
The rivalry between Arnold Palmer and Gary Player goes far beyond any single golf tournament, however exciting. The U.S. hasn't seen two players with such personal color since Ben Hogan and Sam Snead were at the top of their games in the early '50s. Palmer and Player are both products of junior competition, Palmer having learned to play at an early age in this country and Player having developed in South Africa. Both love the long game (Palmer will soon be out with a book titled, Hit It Hard, and Player says, "My game is an attacking game and whether it comes off or it doesn't come off in any tournament—well, I'm only 25"). Palmer gained the first of his two Masters' titles at 28, and Player got his Masters at 25; the median age for a Masters champion is 33.
The Palmer-Player battle two weeks ago drew 27% of the entire Saturday afternoon television audience and 19% of the audience on Monday. We believe that with their boldness, color and skills, Palmer and Player will be drawing young men from the jukeboxes and hot rods, and that instead of having to wait for three people to get off the first tee golfers may soon have to wait for 10.
ONE MORE TIME
Few were surprised last week when the Boston Celtics moved easily to their third consecutive National Basketball Association championship. Bill Russell, Tom Heinsohn, Bill Sharman and all the rest of the Celtics managed to beat the St. Louis Hawks in five games.
Yet, as is always the case with the Celtics, the man most people were talking about after the final game was 32-year-old Bob Cousy, who had to be helped from the court. Cousy had been suffering from an acute sinus condition, and after the game he lay on a training table retching, crying and gasping for breath, while his teammates celebrated noisily about him. Soon, however, he recovered and said to a reporter standing near by, "There must be an easier way to make a living."
We doubt, however, that Cousy will find one in 1962.
Who's got the world's strongest stomach muscles? Conflicting claims were registered in Houston a few days ago by Pepper Gomez and Angelo Poffo, resulting in what might appear to be a peculiarly one-sided contest. Both men are professional wrestlers; Pepper is from Houston and Angelo from Chicago. At a TV broadcast from the stage of the city auditorium in Pepper's home town, Angelo, who has done 6,033 sit-ups and has made Believe It or Not, scoffed at Gomez' abdominals. The indignant Gomez challenged Poffo on the spot. Poffo's manager, Bronko Lubitsch, forthwith climbed to the top of a ring-post turnbuckle and leaped from a height of four and a half feet onto the supine Pepper's stomach. Pepper's face turned blue, but his stomach remained in place. Then the 230-pound Poffo hoisted himself up on top of the turnbuckle and jumped on Pepper. But, apparently dizzy from the height, he missed and landed on Pepper's neck. Se�or Gomez was trundled to the hospital with a bruised esophagus and bruised feelings about strong-stomached friends who can't jump straight.
FRANKIE AND JOHNNY?
Heavyweight Sonny Liston's lament last week that he will quit boxing unless Pep Barone, his manager of record, releases him from his contract, can be viewed in a number of ways: naive, cynical and hopeful. It is Liston's contention, and an accurate one, that Floyd Patterson will not fight him unless he gets rid of his hoodlum goombars. Liston's laudable intention is to find a manager who will be acceptable to both Patterson and Senator Kefauver, before whose subcommittee there was testimony that Barone is a stooge and that Liston is controlled by Mobsters Frankie Carbo and John Vitale, among others.