The Aga Khan curtailed his racing after a heart attack on a Calcutta-bound plane in 1952, but he was still to create another sensation with his unbeaten wonder horse, Tulyar, another Derby winner, which he sold for $700,000 to the Irish National Stud. The Irish later sold Tulyar to an American syndicate, and he is expected to stand in Kentucky once he recovers from an illness that almost took his life this past spring. Despite sales of epic proportions—41 brood mares in one lot to Rex Ellsworth last year—there were still 350 foals, yearlings and horses in training at the Aga Khan's stables in France and Ireland.
Weighing 200 pounds in his prime, the Aga Khan at the track suggested a bland, smiling Oriental idol wearing a gray topper. Last spring his health sharply declined and his weight dropped to 132 pounds, but as recently as last month he flew to Paris to watch one of his fillies race at Chantilly. He was unable to walk, and saw the race—in which his horse placed third—from his green Mercedes parked near the finish line. Then he flew to Geneva, where he was to die within a few weeks. Having chosen his grandson to be the next Aga Khan, he left to legend and the timers' clocks the inheritance that was equally important to him.
THE SPIRIT OF NOTRE DAME
The speech was simple, the syntax loose-jointed, and when it was over you knew Terry Brennan would never win any prizes as an orator. Yet his simple sincerity had briefly opened the door to the mystique of Notre Dame football and given a group of Detroit businessmen a glimpse into the reasons why this particularly American game is such an important part of the life of South Bend—and, not incidentally, why Notre Dame has made itself such an important part of the game. As a varsity halfback just after World War II and now as head coach, Brennan has had an ample diet of both victory and defeat at Notre Dame. So he was peculiarly fitted to talk of the urges and impulses that keep Notre Dame spirit alive at all times.
"You can see the obvious things that sport teaches, such as physical courage or teamwork," he began, "but there are a couple of things that might slip by. One thing is a sense of loyalty. A sense of loyalty makes a group become a winner, and there's no better way to develop it than in athletics. Another thing is respect for authority. You have to have it in football or you just don't last. Another thing is self-discipline. You've heard a lot about desire in players—the will to win. That desire has to become developed through self-discipline. Sacrificing time to practice, sacrificing a few bumps and bruises. You can't find discipline in better form than on the playing field.
"The best thing for kids is to strive to be the best, to want to win and be a success," he said. "You can't win all the time, and kids have to learn that, too, but they should never stop trying, never stop trying to get up after they've been knocked down.
"At Notre Dame the word desire gets translated into self-discipline. So does spirit. The will to win is one of the most important things you can have. At Notre Dame we try to teach a way of life, as well as turn out doctors, lawyers, engineers and businessmen. We try and teach our boys to lead, to make something of the values they have learned, to stand up and be counted. I think that's the big secret of Notre Dame, the thing which brings the school close to the team—that same will to win they both have together. Sometimes that will to win is tested pretty hard, like last year when we had a rough time. But a year from this fall we should be back to normal.
"Competition in sports and business is a lot the same—in battling one another we are trying to do the right thing. Here, we all believe in three fundamental things—a belief in God, a belief in the immortality of the soul, a belief in the life hereafter. We're all a team in believing these things, and I hope when the game is over, the squad doesn't get cut."
FULLER EXPLANATION DEPT.
When the pennant friction between the Brooklyn Dodgers and the Cincinnati Redlegs ignited some rousing rhubarbs at Ebbets Field last week (see page 21), the telescopic eye of television brought the action right into your living room, no farther away from you than the ashtray or the footstool. You could practically count the fillings in the teeth of the umpires, managers and players as they jawed about this and that every couple of innings—particularly the time Junior Gilliam was called safe at first and the time when Don Zimmer was called out on a pickoff—but you might as well have been in mid-Atlantic for all you learned from the announcers. "Ho-ho," one or the other of them would laugh, "this is really something. Well, sir, you really see a little bit of everything when you come out to Ebbets Field. Yessir, this is really quite a show."