THE HAT TRICK
First there was Casey Stengel stepping up to bat before a jeering Brooklyn crowd, lifting his cap and letting a live bird fly out. Now there is Jim Rosario, outfielder for the Phoenix Giants.
Playing at Albuquerque's Sports Stadium, Rosario lost his cap as he attempted a shoestring catch of a sinking liner, lost his balance and fell. When he got up to retrieve the ball it wasn't in sight. While the runner raced around the base paths Rosario searched frantically. Unable to find the ball, he finally picked up his cap in disgust. Under it was the ball—but by this time the batter was safely at third with a triple.
One of Maine's esthetic attributes is the eerie call of a loon on a quiet summer night. It has a quality of madness in it that is not otherwise duplicated in nature.
But there is one loon in Maine who is winning no friends to his arias. He is at it again—feasting on ducklings, baby horned grebes and the like on Lake Winnecook. It is a trait not entirely uncommon among adult loons but unusual enough to warrant resentment among bird lovers. They would like the killer loon to go away.
Jim Davis and his wife Alice recently watched a loon devour several ducklings out of a flock of nine before the mother could get the rest of her brood into tall grass.
Last summer they had seen what they assumed to be the same loon gulp down eight ducklings. The mother duck saved but one of her brood.
This spring they saw about 23 horned grebes swim to shore and start feeding when suddenly the loon came up in the midst of them with outspread wings. He missed his meal because the birds were adults and took off in a hurry.
Only the other day the Davises were attracted by another commotion and, sure enough, it was the loon chasing a mother duck and 10 ducklings. Davis rushed to his mooring, started his outboard and raced to a position between the loon and the ducks.