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Original Issue


The Yankees were not the only ones to wind up on the losing end in the four-game rout by the Dodgers. As almost every fan must know by now, the players on the two Series teams share in the gate receipts for the first four games. What every fan may not know is that if the Series had gone a full seven games, the commissioner's office, the two league offices and the Dodger and Yankee owners would have made a whacking haul. But with the Series over in four, estimates are that the commissioner's office lost out on $222,000 and the two league offices $314,000 each. Del Webb and Dan Topping, the Yankee co-owners, and Walter O'Malley, the Dodger owner, also missed $314,000 rake-offs. Tears, anyone?


Sometimes it can be disastrous for two men to get the same idea at the same time. Take the case of Sam Bailey, the University of Tampa athletic director, and Captain Garforth Mowll of the Port of Tampa Authority.

Unbeknownst to each other, they both set out to improve relations between the U.S. and Mexico. Bailey invited Mexico City's National Polytechnic Institute to play a football game at Tampa. The team would arrive a day early, put up at the Floridian Hotel, sleep late, visit August Busch Gardens, then rest for the game that night.

At the same time Captain Mowll invited a group of Mexican engineering students to visit Tampa. They would put up at the Tampa Terrace Hotel, rise early to tour the port, visit Busch Gardens and then enjoy a Spanish lunch at the Columbia Restaurant.

Captain Mowll's representative, in an error not yet explained, woke up the football team instead of the engineers and took the players, none of whom spoke English, off to the waterfront, where they spent all morning studying such port techniques as unloading bananas. Meanwhile, back at the University of Tampa, Bailey was searching for one missing Mexican football team. By further grace of coincidence, the two groups of Mexicans, players and engineers, happened to meet at the Columbia Restaurant, where cooks had to double production of yellow rice and chicken.

Yes, it was the football team that showed up for the game that night, but the Mexicans tired visibly in the final period and lost to Tampa 33-14. They are, however, the best-informed football players in all North America on the location of channel markers in Tampa Bay.

The success of a young harness horse named Bervaldo at Freehold Raceway in New Jersey is of particular interest to those who find significance in parallels. One of the horse's owners is Jack Nicklaus, the pro golfer. Nicklaus' start on the pro golf circuit was nothing less than astounding, but already Bervaldo is well ahead of his master's pace. In his first start for Nicklaus, Bervaldo finished third and won $96. Nicklaus won only $33.33 in his first tournament. The golfer had to wait until his 18th event before finishing first, but the horse was a winner in his second.


A couple of years ago baseball fans were talking about the lively ball. Now bowlers—well, a handful of bowlers anyway—are griping about the lively pin.

According to Bill Taylor, a Los Angeles bowling teacher, present-day scores are much too high, and he attributes the startling increase to the recent introduction of plastic-coated, high-impact, high-velocity pins. "They bounce farther and faster and deflect faster," Taylor says, aghast. "The scores are fantastic. The plastic-coated pin is the equivalent of a golf cup three times the regulation diameter, so that everyone sinks his putts."

To plead his cause, Taylor has helped to found the National Committee for Honest Bowling Conditions, which now has 30 members and has published a 22-page booklet with such eye-catching chapter headings as "Has Your Daughter Shot 300 This Week?" and "Coming Soon: The Weaker Breed."

Taylor blames manufacturers for the lively pins, but he also puts it to alley proprietors for artificially inflating scores. Some proprietors, he says, round off the bottoms of pins so they will topple easily, and others sand a groove in the lane to guide the ball to the pocket. As Taylor asks in Chapter 5, "Will Bowling Join Wrestling As a Fake?"


According to popular belief, Cam's lupus, the wolf, is a fierce beast given over to eating Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother and chasing Russians in sleds. All that is so much blather, says Farley Mowat, the Canadian writer and biologist, in a book appropriately titled Never Cry Wolf (Atlantic-Little Brown, $4.95).

Mowat did his research for the Canadian government, which was alarmed by reports from trappers that wolves were gobbling up caribou herds to the point of extinction. Literally dumped into the arctic Barrens by a bush pilot, Mowat was lucky enough to stumble across a wolf family near by. Setting up a tent with a view of the den, he was able to study the family at work and play for half a year. There were the father, a stately, dignified wolf that Mowat named George; Angeline, the mother; an unattached male dubbed Uncle Albert, and four pups. Almost the first thing that Mowat learned was that, instead of being nomads, George and his brood were settled creatures who lived on an approximately 100-square-mile estate. Unless invited, other wolves did not cross the boundary lines, which were marked off by George and Uncle Albert periodically—much in the manner of dogs making the rounds of the neighborhood.

The wolves led a well-regulated life, with George and Uncle Albert doing most of the hunting at night. Sometimes Uncle Albert baby-sat while Angeline went off with George. The wolves were curious about Mowat, but they never bothered him, even when he crawled into their supposedly empty den to explore. (There is no authenticated record of a wolf ever killing a human in the Canadian north.)

For the most part, Angeline fed her pups on field mice which she would regurgitate by the dozens after a hunting trip. Wolves ate very few caribou and if anything, they kept the caribou herds fit by knocking off the halt, the lame and the blind. The real culprits were the trappers themselves, who slaughtered caribou by the thousands to feed their sled dogs.

Despite Mowat's pro-wolf report, the Canadian government has stepped up its wolf-control program with cyanide poisonings by air. Like children, the government apparently believes in fairy tales.


Let us say the clock is ticking off the last seconds before half time and you as the quarterback have moved your team to the enemy three-yard line. You have absolutely no time-outs at all, but you want to stop the clock.

Well, what you do in the Southwest and Big Eight conferences under a new interpretation of an old rule in 1963 is send your team to the line of scrimmage without huddling, take the snap from center and then hurl the football straight into the ground. The crowd may boo, but the clock will be stopped and you will not be penalized five yards for intentionally grounding the ball.

This very play occurred in the Kansas-Texas Christian game this season, and Kansas was able to score a touchdown because of it. Now more coaches are prepared to use the exact same "kill the clock" play when necessary.

Interestingly enough, however, Delaware Coach Dave Nelson, secretary of the National Collegiate Athletic Association Rules Committee, says that the rule for intentionally grounding the ball is unchanged. A passer must have a target when he releases the ball or face a penalty. What the Southwest and Big Eight conferences have done, of course, is to convince game officials that it is not illegal or unethical for a passer to ground the ball purely to stop the clock. Exactly how the conferences did the convincing is not clear at this time. In any event, confusion and disagreement are rampant. What the NCAA needs are a sensible set of rules and c-l-e-a-r interpretations that all conferences—and coaches—can live by.


An old-fashioned feud is going on in the mountains of central and western Pennsylvania between sportsmen and coal mine operators. During World War II, coal operators began strip-mining on a lavish and profitable scale. They tore mountains asunder with zigzag trenches and left the countryside strewn with heaps of rock, slate and clay. Acid water filled abandoned trenches and ran off to pollute rivers and streams.

This summer the state legislature and Governor William Scranton finally put through a bill requiring mine operators to terrace or backfill the trenches. Conservationists and sportsmen hailed the law, but the operators claimed it would make business unprofitable in an area that is already depressed economically.

Seeking revenge against sportsmen who lobbied for the law, the operators have now barred hunters from 500,000 acres of land owned or under lease, and they have put armed deputies on guard. Much of the land is in prime hunting country. Last year about 5,000 deer and 49 bears were taken in Centre and Clearfield counties alone. Sportsmen say that the areas involved would take in more money from hunters than they would from mining, but at this point only the deputies have the guns.


A Texas promoter named Richard L. Minns last week unveiled his Spa health and beauty resort for men and women in Dallas. The first spas, Minns discovered in the course of setting up in business, catered to Roman nobility in ancient times, and to give his Dallas sweatshop "authenticity of decor," a fancy way of saying class, he went to Rome to buy some replicas of ancient statues.

There, alas, he found the statues were too fat. "Venus de Milo," says Minns, "was a little hippy." After buying $100,000 worth of replicas, he suggested to the Italian sculptors that they slim Venus down to Dallas sylphdom—18 inches off the hips, 13 off the waist and maybe about 11 off the shoulders. "The rest of her," he airily told the Italians, "is O.K." While he was at it, he also suggested that the sculptors do some extensive remodeling of the Apollo Belvedere, David, Aphrodite, the Discobolus and the Three Muses.

The sculptors screamed about American lack of taste, sensitivity and soul and refused to lift a chisel. Equally indignant, Minns said Venus de Milo was a bad example for Dallas dames, and, besides, David did need that fig leaf. But the Italians still refused to make any alterations, and so Minns shipped the statues back to Dallas. There they stand, brass plates warning that their measurements are not recommended to patrons. Even in Texas, Minns is compelled to do as the Romans do.

Local sportswriters named Fred Brown, a University of Miami end, Florida lineman of the week for his play against Purdue. After seeing films of the game, Miami coaches demoted Brown to the second team.



•Air Force Football Coach Ben Martin, on the academy's radically designed chapel: "We don't know whether to pray in it, for it or at it."

•Roger Maris, on his feud with the New York press: "I notice they take a thousand pictures of me, but the papers always use the ones in which I'm not smiling."

•Bo Hagan, Rice assistant coach: "Playing LSU is like going home late. You know you'll catch hell, but there's not a thing you can do about it."

•Steeler End Lou Michaels, afraid of what his mother would think of his $100 fine: "When she gets my paycheck, she's' going to want to know how come I'm punching somebody when it costs 100 bucks."

•Michigan State Coach Duffy Daugherty: "Football is not a contact sport—it's a collision sport. Dancing is a contact sport."