What he did not say was that Chandler Hovey, the 81-year-old Boston banker who owns the boat, gave Mosbacher and Easterner a fiercely frustrating season. In the first big race Mosbacher was handicapped by inadequate racing gear and coveys of Hoveys swarming around the boat. He still managed to beat the defending champion, Columbia, and the top contender, Weatherly.
This should have been a signal to Mr. Hovey. He should have decided that day whether he was going to continue sailing Easterner as a family boat and forget about the America's Cup. Or he should have given Bus and Easterner the things they needed to keep on winning and become one of the finest of all cup defenders. Things like new sails in time for major regattas, not two or three weeks late; things like a new boom to replace the limp, cumbersome sail-stretcher the boat now has; things like getting rid of extra berths and bulkheads and inefficient double shrouds; things like putting the very best crew aboard—and the Hovey clan ashore, where it belongs in a big-time race.
But none of this happened, and Easterner pooped along through summer, winning occasionally because no boat with Mosbacher steering is going to lose them all, but losing too often because no family fun boat can dominate in America's Cup competition. So, at the end of summer, the skipper quit. We want to wish the Hoveys happy family sailing. After all, it is their boat.
VIVA LA DIFERENCIA
At this moment, somewhere between Mexico City and Guatemala City, a 31-foot, 10-ton Army-surplus amphibious truck is rumbling along, filled with eight college boys, an electric banjo, assorted ukuleles and drums, 300 pounds of dog food, a dog and all the good will in the world. The expedition, informally approved by the State Department, is officially called "Operation Americas" and it is going all the way to Buenos Aires. The crew will live aboard the "duck" the entire time, traveling by road where there are roads, mushing amphibiously into the water wherever necessary. At each stop the crew members will sing folk songs. They are doing all this, said a spokesman, "to show the peoples of Latin America that we are no different than they are." Huh?
The University of Texas football team was far, far from home when it played way out in Berkeley, Calif., and it had brought along no cheerleaders. One of the Longhorn rooters rushed over to San Francisco to Bimbo's 365 Club, which until now has been known mainly as the site of a nude girl about a foot high who lives in a goldfish bowl. The enthusiast hired six cuties from the chorus line. Clothed (playsuits and high heels), they appeared on the field, kicked and squealed the team to a 28-3 victory over Cal. With a little bit of luck, this could get to be a trend.
EVERYBODY GETS HURT
Sam Snead was fined $500 and suspended six months for playing in a pro-amateur tournament in Cincinnati. The PGA said he should have been playing (if he played at all) in a PGA tournament at Portland, Ore. The ruling cost Snead his place on the prestigious Ryder Cup team for next week's matches in Great Britain.
"I felt as innocent as a babe in the woods when I went up to Cincinnati," Snead drawled the other day. "I wrote Portland three weeks before their tournament, gave my regards to everybody, and told them I wouldn't be coming out. The Cincinnati invitation came at the last minute and I figured it wasn't anything more than a glorified exhibition. So I went. Five minutes before I'm set to tee off someone tells me I'd better get permission from the Portland sponsors, so I sent off a wire right away. When I finish 18 holes I come into the clubhouse and there's the answer: 'Permission not granted.' " Snead pulled out of the event on the spot, but the suspension came anyway.
The code which Snead violated is spelled out clearly in the PGA bylaws, and there is no doubt about its applicability here. It states that any player who has won a PGA-approved or co-sponsored tournament in the preceding calendar year must receive permission to duck any regular PGA show in favor of another event. The rule is designed to protect PGA sponsors who seek to enlist the best fields for their tournaments. But does it work that way? Golfers who generate as much excitement as Snead can take in as much money playing exhibitions and making appearances as they can competing on the tournament circuit. In this case the punishment is in reality being inflicted on the sponsors of tournaments held between now and March, when the suspension expires. They would gladly give up a dozen Joe Zilches if they could count on the Sneads to bring in the crowds. This penalty merely hurts the sponsors it is designed to protect.
A PLAN TO SAVE THE MINORS