Despite hitting the off-season banquet circuit with its fare of greasy chicken and pasty potatoes, Minnesota Viking Offensive Guard Ed White reduced his weight from 288 pounds to 253. How?
Says White, "I'd sit there with my celery stalks and glass of water and the waiters always looked depressed. I had to tell everyone I was afraid of contracting Dunlap's disease." Dunlap's disease?
"It's a condition," White explains knowingly, "where your belly done laps over your belt."
By means of an experimental camouflaged infrared beaming device no bigger than a brick, the National Park Service and the Forest Service are now counting the visitors using their woody tracts to determine how many rangers are needed in each area. Just how the device distinguishes between a hiking Sierra Clubber, a wandering moose and a falling tree limb is not clear. In this dehumanizing day, when there is less distinction between real people and deadwood than there should be, perhaps it does not matter.
We are, after all, within a decade of 1984, the fateful year, as forecast by George Orwell, when a Big Brother will be watching everyone. If the Park and Forest Services continue on their present path, by 1984 they will probably have a refined device that can tell a man from a moose, and will have added a voice box to shout instructions to those of us who seek peace in the woods. "Dress up the column! Move it along!" the Voice will shout. "And you there, Second Class Scout Harold Werbley, you left your mess kit back at Station Four."
We dare the parksters and foresters to plant a counter near Walden Pond. Their good intentions notwithstanding, if the ghost of old Henry Thoreau is still around—and we pray God that it is—the evil eye would be smashed to absolute smithereens.
BOY BIKE BACK HOME
Sports reporters are born, not made, although some occasionally are taught how to spell. The Memphis Press-Scimitar recently ran an account of a bicycling incident by 11-year-old Harrel Epps Martin, who can leave future spelling problems to the copy desk to solve as long as he maintains his brisk, sensitive, fact-filled style. Here is Harrel's report:
"On last Thursday night I went to the store. Came back home. Put the Roadrunner on my porch. Went in the house to put down packet. Come back. The Roadrunner was gone. The Roadrunner my five-speed bicycle. I cryed and prayed.