Now you don't see Calumet Farm turning loose one of its Kentucky Derby winners, or a dog breeder releasing his best-in-show after Westminster. So the Seattle Post Intelligencer editorialized: "The real meat of Mr. Stebley's thought lies in his capacity to grasp the fundamental urge of even a frog—the urge to go back where he came from.... Nothing is so good as a water lily pad to a fellow who grew up on a water lily pad. So the frog is free, a champion gone astray, perhaps, but a free frog, nonetheless."
Here, too, that is viewed as an agreeable turn of events.
COURAGE AFTER FOLLY
Umpires Ed Runge and Bill McKinley were having a few drinks in a gaudy bar on Baltimore's famous "Block" when they were approached by two young women with an old proposal. The upshot was an excursion to a motel in nearby Beltsville, Md. There the four were surprised by a blackmailing pair of ex-convicts with a camera who offered two propositions: they would take $5,000 for the negative of their picture, or the umpires could arrange to fix a game or two on which the blackmailers would bet.
Having behaved like the greenest country bumpkins, Runge and McKinley repaired to their hotel room in Washington's Sheraton Park Hotel and began behaving like responsible men. The following day, while the umpires were working a game in Washington, the blackmailers slipped a glossy print of the picture under their hotel room door. But it was too late for intimidation. Runge and McKinley already had thrown them out of-the game by reporting to their league and to the Maryland police.
American League President Joe Cronin commended the two men for their actions after their initial mistake, and granted them leaves of absence to fight the case in court. The attitude around the league was that this was one of the few times that blackmail victims had had the guts to fight back. A lot of baseball men admired this, and a lot of them felt that the books were now balanced on the whole sorry affair, raw courage canceling out raw folly.
THE CURSE OF CUS
Who should show up at the Olympic boxing matches but that sly old talent scout, Constantine (Cus) D'Amato, manager and discoverer of Floyd Patterson. D'Amato studied the style of Cassius Marcellus Clay of Louisville, winner of 43 straight fights and a gold medal, and then asked a group of fight buffs a question: "Who does Clay remind you of?" No one could think of a fighter who resembled the gangly, cha-cha-cha-dancing 18-year-old except Mr. D'Amato. " Hurricane Jackson," he said with a straight face.
Let's hope that Cassius Marcellus will survive this kiss of death.
WHAT EVERY GIRL SHOULD KNOW