Actually, there is an SDS chapter at A&M, but it has about six members. On the other hand, there are 3,000 members of the Cadet Corps, although military training is no longer compulsory. The Cadet Corps comprises only a fourth of the student body but, says Basketball Coach Shelby Metcalf, it does much to shape university thinking and traditions. "Their dress and behavior set the pace," Metcalf says. "The corps forms the nucleus of our school spirit. Discipline is getting popular again. Mothers and their sons are interested in schools that stress it. It's going to help our recruiting. No doubt about it."
NUTS IN MAY
There is always a lot of talk about the dull, faceless players in major league baseball nowadays, but the talkers apparently have never heard of Moe Drabowsky. Moe, one of the heroes of the Baltimore Orioles' 1966 World Series sweep of the Los Angeles Dodgers, achieved a special kind of fame earlier that season. Finding himself next to an unattended intrastadium phone, Drabowsky called the rival Kansas City bullpen, pretended to be Kansas City Manager Alvin Dark, and ordered Pitcher Lew Krausse to warm up. A few minutes later the real Dark phoned his bullpen to ask why Krausse was throwing, and the ensuing confusion delighted Drabowsky and practically everyone else who heard the story—with the possible exceptions of Dark and Krausse.
Now a member of the Kansas City Royals, Drabowsky came into Baltimore in mid-May with his new club and appeared in midseason form, funwise. During a Friday night game the shed in which the players sit in the Baltimore bullpen was noisily bombarded by baseballs and stones, all thrown by Moe, who had left the KC bullpen and had stolen along behind the scoreboard to within firing range of the Orioles' area.
Genius inspires imitation. Two days later, during a Sunday afternoon game, a loud explosion suddenly rocked the Kansas City bullpen. The Royals thought at first that some kids in the bleachers had tossed a cherry bomb, but as the smoke cleared sharp-eyed observers in the press box spied two Baltimore players retreating along the invasion route behind the scoreboard to their own bullpen. Later the Orioles' Pete Richert, who visited Vietnam during the off season and is therefore a student of military affairs, issued a communique: "After being bombarded, certain persons in the bullpen decided we would have to find some sort of retaliation. We proceeded to retaliate." His teammate Eddie Watt was more succinct. "We smoked him," he exulted.
Drabowsky was more proud than peeved. "I figured it had to be Watt and Richert," he beamed ( Richert had once been his roommate). "They're the only two crazy enough to do stuff like that."
And Moe had the last word. "The best time to go behind the scoreboard," he advised the apprentice bombers, "is at night, when you can't be seen from the press box."
All this brings to mind the letter Drabowsky received in 1966 after the episode of the phone call. An appreciative admirer wrote him and said, "Baseball needs more nuts like you."
Maybe so. The fans certainly enjoyed it. On the other hand, if antics like these are not merely offstage noises but something that baseball desperately needs, then the game itself must be in a sad way.