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September 10, 1962
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September 10, 1962


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The arrival of the professional football season (preseason games have been drawing huge crowds) again brings into focus the extraordinary impact the game has had on America in the last decade. A striking aspect of this phenomenon is the-hold pro football has developed on men at the executive and professional level—the men who run things, who deal with people, who have to attune themselves to constantly changing factors within the supposedly stable world in which they work and operate.

For fairly obvious reasons, these men are fascinated by the pragmatic efficiency evident in pro football, the precision, the attention to detail, the continual appraisal, procurement and training of personnel, the discipline and control wielded by coaches and their assistants, the constant challenge of new ideas and new developments and the reaction to that challenge, the counterchallenge.

These men like pro football because it is a business, beyond the emotions of college football and free of the charges of hypocrisy and overemphasis. They like it because it is a profession, to which its members are almost totally dedicated. And they like it because it is a sport in which greater questions of cause and effect are caught in microcosm and in which the outcome is uncertain until men. in play, have pitted their brains and their bodies against other men.


The Houston Colts put on quite a show for early arrivals in Cincinnati's Crosley Field recently. First, Pitcher Hal Woodeshick and Catcher Jim Campbell almost had a fight when Campbell tried to hurry his teammate out of the batting cage. Woodeshick refused to be hurried, saying, "I'm taking my cuts."

"What for?" said Campbell. "You're never around long enough to bat."

Woodeshick went for Campbell and the two had to be separated.

Then Infielder Bob Aspromonte, upset because First Baseman Norm Larker wouldn't let him use one of his bats, threw it the length of the dugout and broke the knob end. Then he pulled all of Larker's bats out of the rack onto the concrete floor. Larker didn't go for Aspromonte—just for Aspromonte's bats, pulling them out of the rack and flinging them to the floor, too. When none broke, he took one and started hitting it against the concrete steps.

"What in hell is going on here?" suddenly roared Manager Harry Craft, and an uneasy peace settled over the Houston Colts.

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