Averell Harriman of New York turned up at the governors' conference at Atlantic City the other day. Unlike some of his fellow scramblers in the Democratic politathlon, Governor Harriman has been a relatively slow starter, e.g., he has no primary victories to flaunt since he has entered no primaries. But he did his best to assess the mood of the assembled governors and thereupon expressed his pitch in metaphor: "There are a lot of ball games being won in the ninth inning this year."
Then he passed around to each of his fellow governors three spanking new baseballs freshly autographed by 1) the New York Yankees, 2) the Brooklyn Dodgers and 3) the New York Giants.
CAMERA IN THE CAFETERIA
Since TV's coverage of sport all too often swamps the viewer in a wash of garrulity and suds, it is a pleasure to salute the all-but-faultless performance turned in by NBC and its reporters during two solid hours last Saturday as some of America's finest track and field athletes ran, jumped, and spun the discus at Los Angeles.
Occasionally, the camera had too much to watch at once—and went on a flitting tour, like the eye of a man who stands before the dessert racks in a cafeteria, unable to choose firmly between cherry pie and shortcake. The hop, step and jump boys were clearly too remarkable to miss but, the camera seemed to think, too implausible for attentive study; so they made their screen appearances (and disappearances) with the impromptu of interloping kangaroos. But such moments of indecision were rare, and, as anyone who has ever attended one knows full well, a track meet is a little like the dessert rack in a cafeteria anyhow.
NBC's cameras unerringly caught and held and etched in the memory of millions the fine drama of Tom Courtney's great victory over Arnie Sowell, the muscular blaze of Bobby Morrow and Lou Jones, the splash and courage of the steeplechasers and the rest.
The televiewer of a track meet still lacks one thing the grandstand watcher does not wish to be without: a program in his fist that gives him the names, the numbers, and a sense of preview. (We hope you had your copy of last week's SI handy). But what television can do well was well done last Saturday. And for those who watched on their color sets, the afternoon must have helped justify the investment.
In the Olympic crew trials, four schoolboys (high school) came within two feet of catching a Navy crew manned by Annapolis graduates seven years older. The boys were entered in the four-oared-shell-with-coxswain event. The Gunnery (never properly referred to as the Gunnery School) is an ancient institution of high repute, so small that the absence of eight students in an eight-oared shell would seriously deplete the student body.