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SCORECARD
October 02, 1961
CHILDISH PROFESSIONALS
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October 02, 1961

Scorecard

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INSIDE LEFT OUT

When five Hungarian newsmen arrived in Madrid last week to cover a European Cup soccer match between Vasas of Budapest and Real Madrid, they had to face a terrible problem in journalistic technique, Iron Curtain-style. Ferenc Puskas, a Hungarian refugee, was playing inside left for Real—and for real. But there wasn't supposed to be any Ferenc Puskas. The Hungarian government's official line is that he was killed trying to escape several years ago.

Officials traveling with the team warned the writers that they'd be wise to kind of not mention Puskas in their stories. Real won 3-1, and the anxious journalists were able to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Puskas, just as emotionally disturbed as the newsmen, played poorly and didn't score.

SAVE OUR MONSTERS
Nature lovers will be pleased to hear that the monster of Bassenthwaite is still frolicking and gamboling in freedom, despite the best efforts of some British scientists to do the poor thing in. The monster lives in Lake Bassenthwaite in the vicinity of Cumberland, England and is reportedly 13 feet long, with three humps and a head like a python's. Two weeks ago knife-wielding skin-divers from the Sellafield atomic station made a search of the 70-foot-deep lake and found nothing but six golf balls, a fishing rod and an eel. Mr. J. Moffat of Thornthwaite, who says he has seen the monster from as close as 15 feet, announced: "I am still convinced it is in there. If I catch it I shall make sure it is put back." Thanks to conservation-minded men like Mr. Moffat, there will always be a good supply of monsters.

CHI CHI THE GREAT

"In two year, Se�or," said Chi Chi Rodriguez to Seattle Times Sportswriter Bill Prochnau, "I weel be the greatest golfer in all the world." Munching vitamins the way some primitives chew betel nuts, the 116-pound, 5-foot-7 26-year-old (whose given name is Juan Antonio) makes continuous antic hay on a golf course. He whistles while he plays pro tournaments with a set of women's clubs. He shouts across the fairway at players and spectators. When he sinks a putt, Chi Chi gallops to the cup, takes off his straw hat and covers the cup, then peeks eagerly under the brim. "Si, it is still there," he exclaims.

To date Chi Chi has taken in $4,000 playing his brand of golf, but he is certain that within two years he will be the leading money winner. His ambition is to return to his native Puerto Rico and teach little boys to play golf. "They like to have money for candy, you know," he says. Chi Chi himself was a caddie when he was 5 years old and so poor he had no candy. After caddying, he was a boxer and then a "great" baseball pitcher.

"Tell the girls to write Chi Chi a letter," he told Prochnau. "I want to have babies, many babies. I weel make one a golfer, one a baseball player, one a football player. But most of all, you know what I want? I want one boy to be heavyweight champion of the world." He is looking for a "beeg, beeg girl." RSVP.

NO SECRETS, PLEASE

"All I know," said New York Titan Quarterback Al Dorow, rubbing his jaw, "is that Ramsey [Buster Ramsey, the coach of the AFL's Buffalo Bills] hit me hard. How hard? Hard enough to knock me off my feet." Dorow, one of the American Football League's leading passers, was recalling an incident during the Bills-Titans game two weeks ago. "I was out of bounds—10 yards out of bounds—when Richie McCabe of the Bills tackled me. I threw the ball at his face because it is senseless for a guy to tackle you 10 yards out of bounds. Maybe I shouldn't have thrown the ball at him; the tension gets you sometimes. But a coach slugging you? Wow!"

The incident in Buffalo was the first genuine controversy the AFL has had, and last week charges and countercharges filled the air. When the Titans viewed their exchange copy of the game films, provided by the Bills, they saw Ramsey starting after Dorow and then—presto—fadeout. When the Titans went to the American Broadcasting Company to look at the kinescope of the game—presto—no kinescope.

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