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Original Issue


If Pentagon aides start studying the sports page with a little more care in the future, nobody in Washington will be surprised. The new boss of the Army, Secretary Stephen Ailes, is an ex-Princeton 150-pound footballer and a compulsive sports fan who plays squash every day, never misses a Redskin game if he can help it, shoots golf in the low 80s, loves tennis and maintains several carefully stocked fly-fishing ponds on his Martinsburg, W. Va. farm.

"You want a card?" asked the impatient dealer at a Las Vegas blackjack table last week. "What you got in the hole?" asked the player, outraging every rule of every casino as he tried to makeup his mind. "Come on," said the dealer, "either take a card or fold." Whereupon Heavyweight Champion Sonny Liston reached across the table, turned over the dealer's hole card, saw it was a 10, compared the dealer's total of 18 to his own total of 16 and announced, "O.K., hit me." He lost.

Like a couple of kids who started out playfully poking each other, California's Governor Pat Brown and Nevada's Governor Grant Sawyer suddenly were slugging it out in a verbal toe-to-toe and meaning it. The row began when Brown and some of his co-staters jokingly suggested that they annex Nevada and call it East California. Sawyer and his friends countered by urging California to give back the town and county called Nevada that lies within its boundaries. By last week, as the punches got harder, Brown accused Nevada's gamblers of polluting a lake that belongs to California. I Sawyer countered acidly that if this was the California attitude he was willing to forget plans for a jointly operated park along their border. Besides, he charged, there were more gamblers in one California county than in the whole state of Nevada.

Under the heading NOBLESSE OBLIGE and in phrases of a gallantry seldom seen on sports pages, France's L'Equipe noted that international screen idol Maximilian Schell, stopping off in Istanbul with his good friend Princess Soraya, had "drawn on spiked boots" to take part as a journalist in a match against a team of local soccer referees. "It was he," said L'Equipe, "who saved the honor of the journalists." Translation: Max kicked the goal that beat the refs 1-0.

With things the way they are in Zanzibar, it is a pretty good idea for politicians to keep fit—against the need of a quick getaway. That, perhaps, was what Foreign Minister (pro tern) Sheik Abdul Rahman Mohammed Babu was thinking as he plied a brisk paddle (right) in a recent regatta in Dar es Salaam harbor.

It was definitely leap year on the nation's bowling alleys. In Minneapolis the crack Golden Valley Lanes' ladies bowling team spotted Minnesota Twins Rich Rollins, Lee Stange, Lenny Green, Dick Stigman and Jimmie Hall 62 pins and beat them by a total of 2,773 to 2,765. Meanwhile, Mrs. Andrew Fisher, the mother of North Dakota's famed quintuplets and the lone woman on the Aberdeen Lanes' six-man Western Corral team, signed up for her 11th National Bowling Tournament.

"Do you have a tennis court here?" asked Chuck McKinley as he and his Davis Cup teammate Dennis Ralston dropped by the White House. "I don't think so," said their host, President Lyndon Johnson, but he promptly was set straight by an ex-champion, Mrs. Pauline Betz Addie, who had accompanied the victorious cup players. "There's a cement court out there somewhere under the snow," she told the President. "Could be," he replied. "I've only been here 50 days, and I'm not sure just what's in this place."

With the football season safely out of the way at last, the University of Kentucky's new president, Dr. John Oswald, revealed that he is a frustrated quarterback at heart—and a pretty fair one at that. "I'm going to call the first play of the first game," the former DePauw footballer told a friend at the start of the season, "then return to academic matters." So what happened? On the first play Kentucky got a touchdown.

The logic employed by the Great Red Hunter seemed irrefutable as always—if you didn't listen too closely. "The American imperialists," roared Comrade Khrushchev with a homeric laugh, "are getting hoarse shouting that events in Panama are Fidel Castro's doing. But Comrade Castro is not in Panama; he is here in Kalinin, vacationing with me and shooting wild boar."

"I just love football," cooed the 25-year-old Texas schoolteacher whose name used to be Norma Knobel, and that is a good thing. For in order to qualify as the future Mrs. Lamar Hunt, a distinction she attains this week, the former Miss Knobel had to accompany the pigskin-happy owner of the Kansas City Chiefs to no less than 30 football games in one season alone.