The image of Liston, of course, is overwhelming, even as a youngster battering an opponent in the Golden Gloves. Of special interest is the film of his fight, the one he calls his toughest, with brawling Cleveland Williams. It is a rare sight to see Liston taking a pounding. But strangely, perhaps, the most impressive shots of all are of Sonny in training. Liston skipping rope to the thundering music of Night Train is menace personified.
Basketball Coach Horace (Bones) McKinney of Wake Forest is perhaps the most excitable of his excitable breed. When a game is on, he just cannot sit still. He is up on his feet, pacing the sidelines, waving his arms, exhorting Wake Forest to victory. Four years ago, the Atlantic Coast Conference passed a rule aimed at curbing his antics: a coach had to stay on the bench or a technical foul would be called. Try as he might, Bones could not stick to the rule.
Last week Bones announced he would strap himself to the bench with an automobile seat belt for a home game against Maryland. "If I'm going to stay in this business," Bones said, "I'm going to have to do something about the tension."
When the game started Bones strapped himself in with a red belt selected to match the flaming red socks he wears for luck. For most of the game he only fidgeted with the belt. Then, with only nine minutes remaining and favored Wake Forest kicking away the game, the referee made an unfavorable call. Off went the belt, up raged McKinney, but to no avail as Wake Forest lost, 91-82. Bones will probably continue to buckle down at home. There is little else he can do. Last season he told an assistant to pull him down by the coattails if he stood up. The assistant did as ordered, only to have Bones snarl threateningly, "Take your hands off me."
The downhill race in Alpine skiing has become a sport for the young, fearless—and some say foolish—athlete. Wearing a crash helmet, the downhill skier bends into a tuck on the steep straightaway, his nose just above the snow, his skis streaking at better than 70 mph. Last week in Innsbruck, the evening before the men's downhill course opened, a Swedish expert warned, "The downhill is becoming too much."
His words were proved true the next day. Ross Milne, 19, of Australia, only three years a skier, was killed, and two members of the Liechtenstein team were gravely injured. Milne, swerving to avoid another racer, hurtled head first into a pile of rocks.
Says U.S. Alpine Coach Bob Beattie: "The real problem is that the Olympics have reached the point where they need to put the less experienced racers into another grade and let them qualify. The course was beautifully prepared, but it was dangerous because you go off the course when you fall, and there is no snow on which to land. Finally, there was no control at the starting gate. Too many slow ones got on at the same time as too many fast ones."
For human safety, the Olympic downhill field must be cut to a class A group of no more than 30. This does not contradict the idea that racers of all countries be given a chance. The chance should be to compete, not to be killed.