- TOP PLAYERSOffensePABLO S. TORRE | August 20, 2012
- TAMPA BAY buccaneersENEMY lines WHAT A RIVAL COACH SAYSJune 28, 2012
- Faces in the CrowdJune 11, 2001
YOU CAN'T WIN 'EM
ROCK 'N' WILT
Wilt chamberlain, the University of Kansas' tall basketball player, may have a weakness, but Nebraska Coach Jerry Bush is willing to join the legions today who are convinced it is not perceptible.
Bush tried to kindle his own team—and perhaps upset Wilt's basketball rhythm—with the help of Nebraska's 100-piece marching band the other night. "Brahms, Bach and Sousa have to go," Bush decreed. In place of Stars and Stripes Forever and the Washington Post March, Bush persuaded the band to play Riff Interlude, When the Saints Go Marching In and Rock Around the Clock.
Bush made one disastrous miscalculation. He failed to note from scouting reports that Chamberlain's favorite pastime—after shooting baskets and driving his car—is listening to his collection of more than 100 records, mostly jump. More observant fans detected that the beat was backfiring during the pregame warmup. Chamberlain's sizable left foot was beating a strong tap-tap-tap to the jump music. By tipoff time, Wilt was rocking. He rolled in 26 points by game's end, and Kansas had a comfortable 69-54 victory.
"Man, I went for that heavy beat in a big way," Wilt said after the game as he signed autographs for Lincoln's small fry. "You know, I got quite a few rock 'n' roll records myself." Bush and his Cornhuskers found out too late. But they have done basketball a slight service by proving one more way not to stop Chamberlain.
IN WINTER SLUMBER
These wintry days a white shawl of snow covers the rolling contours of the Inverness golf course. Inside the nearly empty clubhouse only a skeleton staff is on duty to dust the furniture and trophies while occasionally in a dim corner of the banquet room two elderly members will be hunched over their game of gin rummy as a third stands by to kibitz. Inverness seems to be in deep, silent hibernation, but there is a restless twitching to its slumber, and the nearby city of Toledo (Glass Capital of the World) feels it. In just four months Inverness will be the eager, frenetic host to the U.S. Open golf championship.
Scratch the average Toledo businessman, and you will scratch a member of this or that "committee for the national open." One group of committeemen have already sold $62,000 worth of tickets with the help of bookies, taxi drivers, bankers and brokers, and they expect to peddle another $60,000 worth to large corporations who will pass them out to their good customers or anyone else they may want to butter up. Other committees are painting signboards and scoreboards, distributing posters for store windows (no self-respecting Toledo store would be without one), selling ads for the program and otherwise making sure that the 1957 Open will be the greatest boon to Toledo since the creation of Lake Erie.
A 57-year-old broker named James J. Secor kindled this flaming civic desire. Three years ago after 30 personal visits to USGA officials he landed the open for Toledo. Then he drafted 250 of the city's business peers—fellows like Robert A. Stranahan, Jr. (sparkplugs) and Jules Lippman (textile leather)—to man the 22 committees. "You got to work to make an open a success," explained Secor, who has had to abandon his leisurely winter routine of playing bridge, shooting a few duck and fishing for bass in southern waters. "You can't sit on your tail and wait for people to come to you. And you've got to appeal to the public. They're the ones that pay the freight. How do you appeal to the public? Well, you put up plenty of ladies' rest rooms right on the course—no standing in line. Another thing you do is put up major league scoreboards, call out the United States Marines, sell beer for 20 cents, anything that'll give the public a better time out there on the course."