Johnny Bower, goaltender for the Toronto Maple Leafs, took his wife's convertible to training camp in Peterborough, N.H. Mrs. Bower wanted the white car painted black, and Bower was checking around on prices when he ran into Coach Punch Imlach. "Give me $50 and I'll get the job done for you," Imlach volunteered. He did. He and a friend had the car painted red, green, blue, black, orange, fuchsia and yellow—with pink stripes and Maple Leaf decals adorning doors, trunk and hood. "Hi, John," Imlach greeted Bowers affably. "They've delivered your new car." Bower took a look and screamed, "What'll my wife say? I can't drive it back to Toronto like this. I'll cause an accident." The car did cause such an upheaval that Bower finally hid it in a parking lot and never even thanked Punch Imlach for the $3.50 change from his $50.
Golfer Sam Snead (above) has made the run from White Sulphur Springs to Greensboro, N.C. plenty of times, ordinarily just dropping by to win the Greensboro Open, but this time he came for the beginning of North Carolina's dove season. Sam had a brand-new gun, and there were plenty of doves in West Virginia. There was also a law against shooting them, a state of affairs that a hunter can stand for just so long. So Snead took off to Greensboro for a day's shooting with Mayor Carson Bain, bagging his limit of 12 doves and obviously enjoying himself, because he broke his own rule about sports that build up only one arm (in this case, the left). He will not fly-fish, for example, because the action is all in one arm. For his day of dove hunting, however, he got out there and cheerfully risked lop-sidedness.
John Mackey of the Baltimore Colts had a good day against Atlanta recently, but that evening things started going pretty much downhill. John owns a carry-out shop in Baltimore, and it was robbed, at gunpoint, of $75. The next day Mackey got over to the shop to check out his exact losses, only to find that during the night an apparently stronger thief had broken into the store. He had taken the safe, with $500 in it.
"We didn't see any Secret Service agents," said R. W. Gardner, secretary of the Harrisburg Beagle Club the other day. "If they were around they kept pretty well hidden in the brush." This, of course, left unprotected a 13-inch hound named Greeson's Chum whose owner was listed on his field-trial entry form as L. B. Johnson. Address: Washington, D.C. "It all turned out to be a lot of fun," Gardner went on. "First of all we called the judges together and kiddingly warned them about letting political or personal feelings enter into the decisions. Then someone suggested we might have played Hail to the Chief, but we didn't have any musical instruments." For all of Greeson's Chum's friends in high places he failed to take anything in the competition, and the best the judges could say for him was that he had a glossy coat and was in good shape. Perhaps LBJ should have come to Harrisburg to keep the dog company: former major league ballplayer Zeke Bonura ran his own beagle and took a first in the 15-inch hound class.
Maximilian Schell (below) is an actor who relaxes, if you can call it that, by working on his soccer. Schell is in Madrid to make a film, East of Java, and on his rest breaks he turns up at the Real Madrid stadium to practice with the team's famed Ferenc Puskas, who feels that Schell has a good deal of natural talent. Be that as it may, for the son of a poet Schell certainly appears to have a fierce feeling for the game.
The National Hard Crab championship seems to be as much in doubt as the World Boxing title. The National Hard Crab Derby was held in Crisfield, Md. recently, and a crab named Aloha knocked 42 seconds off the record, completing the 16-foot downhill course in 18 seconds flat. Aloha, however, was a Hawaiian sand fiddler, and after a Louisiana sand fiddler took the Derby in 1960 a rule was passed barring all but edible entries. Aloha squeaked through on a technicality—he might be included among exotic dishes in Hawaii. No exotic dish that Maryland's Governor Spiro T. Agnew is about to have any part of, though. Agnew presented the Governor's Trophy but said of Aloha, "He ran like hell, but I wouldn't eat him on a bet."
What is England coming to? Young Viscount Crowhurst, last year's captain of Eton's cricket team, wants to turn professional. Old Etonians have led county cricket teams as amateurs, but no one seems able to recall any of them joining the ranks of the salaried. A paid viscount is going to raise hob with the English distinction between "gentleman" and "player," the former being, of course, an amateur and the latter a professional, each with his own door to the clubhouse. If England keeps letting down the standards, before you know it some Englishman is going to fail to dress for dinner in the jungle.