"I'm neither a genius nor an egghead," Joe insists. "I'm just a guy of ordinary intelligence who studied hard and made good grades."
As for all those bowl games—at least 14 for the colleges alone this past season—Joe disapproves. "I don't believe in bowl games," he says. "They don't prove anything and they take so much time that the players' studies go to pieces. If they held one postseason game, the week after the season ended, to decide the national championship, that would be fine."
That head isn't egg-shaped. It's level.
DARWIN GO HOME
There is a new book out called African Genesis which says, in essence, that man is not the best of the animals but the worst. These days man rarely loses a moment in proving out this very thesis in his dealings with his own kind; but seldom has there been a week, like this one just past, when man has gone to such lengths to prove his inclination to the meddlesome or absurd.
Item: London Lawyer Joseph Yehuda persuaded a friend who owns a pig farm to let all the pregnant sows spend their accouchements in the same sort of mechanical hammock in which Yehuda has been sleeping for years. "A feeling of relaxation pervades my whole body and I wake up feeling fit and fine," said Yehuda in behalf of his hammock. "As the body swings to and fro all the cells are shaken gently—no exertion, no strain, no fatigue. So I feel that a sow kept swinging during her pregnancy would produce better-quality stock."
Item: In Bristol, England, Zookeeper Stan Evans was discovered, bucket in hand, crouched next to Stephanie, a two-ton black rhinoceros. What was he doing? He was milking Stephanie. Why? So her milk can be analyzed to find a substitute that can be fed to baby rhinos whose mothers are killed by poachers.
Item: A group of Russian wolf hunters in Atjubinsk Oblast, Siberia (where else?) knocked off 300 wild wolves by teaching pet wolves to utter parental cries and mating calls. When junior or the roving husband comes home in response, blooie!
Item: A representative of Oxford University's Bullingdon Hunt Club gets a regular allotment of wolf urine from the London zoo. The cost is seven shillings sixpence a pint, and the club has always been glad to pay, since no other scent gets half the response from the club's hound pack during drag hunts. This week the zoo, wielding its monopolistic power, raised the minimum quantity to a gallon, which costs �3. There being no other source, the club must accede. What to do with the surplus has not yet been decided.
PIRACY IN PARADISE