It seems the
Knicks' superswinger Dick Barnett harbors a passion for chess, picking up games
wherever he can. He has just accepted a challenge from a man in Cleveland, whom
he will play by mail ("He said he was a chess nut, and so am I"), and
he would like someday to play Bobby Fischer, just for fun. A spokesman at
Fischer's chess club in New York has observed dryly that Bobby "won't play
for less than half a thousand dollars." Barnett is not that big a chess
nut.
Sonny Jurgensen
has shaved off his sideburns and chin whiskers. It was a simple, private
ceremony. "I was only offered $1," he explained. "By my
wife."
Once again Adolph
Rupp has wrested a great performance from a five-man team. Toast-master at a
testimonial dinner for Earl Ruby, retired sports editor of the Louisville
Courier-Journal, Rupp had as speakers four former Kentucky governors—Lawrence
W. Wetherbee, A. B. (Happy) Chandler, Bert T. Combs, Edward T. Breathitt—and
incumbent Louie B. Nunn. Rupp gave his men their pre-speech instructions and
introduced them. When the proceedings were over he said, "When I die I
wouldn't mind if they put it on my tombstone, 'This man got five governors to
speak—and finish—in 36 minutes.' "
Come July M.
Charles Masson, owner of one of New York's most highly regarded French
restaurants, will take leave of the massed flowers, polished crystal and amber
mirrors of La Grenouille to serve as chef aboard his old friend Huey Long's
Ondine for the Trans-Pacific race from San Pedro, Calif. to Honolulu. Masson's
nautical experience is extensive—he served both in the French and U.S. merchant
marine, and for nine years he was maitre d' aboard the S.S. Independence—but
all that was, on the whole, a more vertical experience than cooking on the
Ondine may prove. As crew member George Davis wrote Masson, "The menus you
have suggested sound excellent—a sailor's dream. However, you will only be able
to prepare these elegant meals if the yacht remains upright..." Masson says
philosophically, "The men have indicated that they want mainly steaks, but
I will probably try to pretty them up with some shallots to make them look
desirable."
While M. Masson
is off being a sportsman instead of a restaurateur, Giants placekicker Pete
Gogolak will be busy doing the opposite. At the owner's invitation, Gogolak is
learning the restaurant business from the bottom up at the 21 Club in New York.
For several years Gogolak spent his springs doing graduate work in hotel
administration at Cornell, and his summers working in hotels before attending
to football in the autumn. The Army interrupted him, but at 21 Pete will have
ample opportunity to catch up on his sauce b�arnaise—he has already worked as a
busboy and been observed misguidedly pouring brandy on a lobster and setting it
afire. This, 21 points out in self-defense, is a dish not found on their
menu.
"There has
been, and let us acknowledge it, a spiritual flabbiness from which our fathers
would have fled," said Richard Cardinal Cushing of Boston at the beginning
of Lent. "We have become in some measure 'fat' Christians whose religion
does not overmuch interfere with our comfort." Cushing, that practical good
man, recommended "holy jogging" and "spiritual pushups" for the
pre-Easter season, and those of his flock who have heeded his words should be
starting to shape up. If His Eminence can talk them into a few extra weeks they
should peak just about in time for the Boston Marathon.
"Would you
find out who's going to win the NCAA basketball championships?" came the
request from outer space, but the best earth could do for Commander James
McDivitt, Michigan '59, was a couple of regional scores. "Davidson beat
Villanova 75 to 61 and Miami of Ohio beat Notre Dame 63 to 60," Control
reported, and later snuck in a regular-season score: " Ohio State beat
Michigan 95 to 86." "Oh, listen," McDivitt said unhappily, "I'm
not going to be able to live with my wife. You know she's from Miami. If
Michigan got beat and Miami of Ohio won, I'm in trouble when I get home."
McDivitt thought it all over and came home anyway.