Sporting Stomachs: big
Here is Mario Sajdak of Chicago about to consume 36 oysters liberally sprinkled with clams, 12 crabs, a tureen of vegetable soup, six broiled lobsters, a salad for four—also four servings of green beans almondine, broccoli with asparagus and artichokes—plus an 18-ounce sirloin steak garnished with three double lamb chops and 18 French pastries. All this is billed at Diamond Jim's Restaurant as "Diamond Jim's Dinner" for $130. Sajdak's tab, however, worked out to plus-$l,370, because he won $1,500 on a bet that he couldn't eat it all.
Sporting Stomachs: small
Baltimore Police Commissioner Donald Pomerleau has a shape-up list. After a look at departmental waistlines, Pomerleau ordered copies of the famed grapefruit diet mimeographed and distributed. By the hundreds. The department's P.R. man, Dennis Hill, says golf-playing, ex-Marine Pomerleau "is not trying to intimidate anyone. He tried the diet, found that it worked and wanted to share it." He's all heart, that Pomerleau, all heart. No belly.
Sporting Stomachs: cast iron
Well, sure, it's frustrating to enter the annual fraternity Toad Hop at Arizona State and then have your entry refuse to hop. But that's the last time Captain Nemo will cross his owner, Tim Hoban, a mean middle guard on the football team. When Nemo (a frog, not a toad, by the way) would not jump, not even a little bit, Hoban simply pulled him out of the lineup. And ate him. Alive.
There they are, at 33,000 feet, and Eastern Airlines' Captain Herbert (Smokey) Stover is asking First Officer Tom Zinn, "Do you hear that thumping?" Zinn hears it. They check the instruments. Everything normal. But thump, thump, thump. Is the landing gear shaking loose? Has an access door sprung open? Is the tail fluttering? Nope. They execute a neat, if sweaty-palmed landing. Then a stewardess tells them about their goofy passenger: "This guy locked himself in the lavatory," she says, "and jogged for 20 minutes in there!"
Meanwhile, things are just as strange at sea as in the air. Abe Baum of Fort Lauderdale, Fla. has borrowed a 24-foot Aquasport from a friend who owns a marina, and here is Abe now in the Fort Lauderdale Billfish Tournament, hooked into a 127-pound broadbill swordfish. But as Abe fights the fish, the captain of the Aquasport happens to notice that the boat is filling with water. He calls for help, whispering over the radio so as not to disturb Abe's concentration. Another boat eases alongside, and Abe—in water up to his knees by now—switches boats, never letting go of the rod, never missing a crank of the reel. Hurrah! Abe boats the broadbill and Abe wins first prize! And his friend, who was hoping for a little free publicity for his marina, gets it! Well, actually, that part of the story is sort of too bad.
And speaking of boating, those three guys paddling a canoe down the Potomac during the recent confusion in Washington were not protesters. They were Congressmen Walter Flowers (D., Ala.), Lawrence Coughlin (R., Pa.) and Bob Mathias (R., Calif. and FODC—former Olympic decathlon champion). It was a great idea, except that the police got a little uptight about the sign on the canoe, the one saying "Cannon or Bust." Flowers, Coughlin and Mathias had to explain that the former meant the Cannon House Office Building, to prevent the police from doing the latter.
Clay Earles, owner of the Martinsville (Va.) Speedway, long ago quit awarding trophies to winning stock car drivers. He gives them beautiful grandfather clocks instead. And Richard Petty's latest Virginia 500 victory means that he now has 10 of them. "Would you believe a grandfather clock in the bathroom?" Petty asks.
In Huntingdon, England thieves broke into the John Bigg home and stole a bunch of silver. They didn't get the gold, though—the Grand National Trophy that Bigg's horse Oxo won back in 1959. They didn't get it because, Mrs. B. has been quoted as explaining, "My husband is so proud of the trophy that he takes it to bed with him."
For years midshipmen at the Naval Academy have been sloshing war paint on their statue of Shawnee warrior Tecumseh for luck before the annual Army game—and now it turns out the statue is not of Tecumseh at all. It's really Tamanend, who is supposed to have brought corn to his people, invented the canoe and signed the treaty with William Penn—an Indian so peaceful he was known to the colonists as St. Tamanend. A good guy, obviously, but no wonder Navy's record against Army hasn't been too hot lately.