"If my parole comes through, I'd like to play for your team," wrote one man. Said another: "I'm not fast and I don't have much ability, but I try like hell." So ran dozens of earnest entreaties to the new American Football League's Los Angeles Chargers, an embryonic team still looking for players. On the chance—the very off chance—that some of the wishing might make it so, the Chargers held a tryout open to all comers. Those who came included a piano tuner, an undertaker and a watchmaker. They came in everything from old jerseys to B.V.D.'s. And they came in a splendid assortment of 207 shapes and sizes. Sadly, only three were kept. But happily, each had the opportunity, however brief, to make like a pro and fulfill a long-smoldering dream of glory.
IN A RICH VARIETY OF OLD SHIRTS (AND SHORTS), CHARGER CANDIDATES AWAIT TURN IN BLOCKING EXAMINATION. WOULD-BE PROS CAME FROM ALL OVER U.S., PAID THEIR OWN EXPENSES, SPENT FOUR DAYS DISPLAYING TALENTS ON BURBANK, CALIF. PLAYGROUND
STRAINING MIGHTILY, TWO HOPEFUL LINEMEN, ONE TALL, ONE SHORT, LUMBER DOWN TRACK AS COACHES CLOCK THEIR TIME. ALL AT CAMP RECEIVED CARDS TO PROVE THEY TRIED OUT FOR TEAM
Irate Watchmaker Chet Hamlett, piqued by taxing calisthenics, eased his 300 pounds through 50-yard sprint trial at a slow trot, grunted: "I thought we was here to play football."