James of the Plaza, of New York, has been appointed official hair stylist for the New York Jets. Asked what he planned to do about players wearing crew cuts, James said, "They all get hairpieces made out of AstroTurf."
Reggie Jackson, of the Oakland A's, was obviously happy after his dramatic three-run homer beat Texas 4-2. "There's no feeling like hitting a home run to win a game," he said. "It's better than making love." Jackson was challenged on the point. "If you hit home runs like that," he retorted, "you can get all the love you want."
Boston Bruin Goalie Gilles Gilbert found that his face mask was pressing his bangs down over his eyes, obstructing his view, so before the Bruins' first playoff game against Chicago he got a trim. Then he went out and clearsightedly gave up four goals, losing 4-2. Now what? An AstroTurf wig?
On top of the news that the World Team Tennis franchise in Boston will henceforth be called the Lobsters (heh, heh), we have an even more unsettling piece of information. The World Hockey Association leader in penalty minutes this year was Gord Gallnt of the Minnesota Fighting Saints.
When Philadelphia 76ers' President Irv Kosloff called the coin toss in the NBA draft, he said "heads." That cost him No. 1 choice—and rights to negotiate for Bill Walton. The coin came up tails. Then they reenacted the fateful flip three more times for the cameramen. Three straight times the coin came up heads.
Clyde enjoys driving through heavy traffic under the basket, but New York streets are too much. Although he owns a $20,000 Rolls-Royce, the Knicks' Walt Frazier takes the subway to work at the Garden. The train seems to have fewer people and less graffiti than usual, but when was the last time you were in the same car with a straphanger who could rest his chin on the strap?
Terry Lowry, a 17-year-old, 132-pound wrestler for Spirit Lake (Iowa) High School, diets during training to make his weight limit, but that doesn't mean he misses out on any goodies. Lowry puts his share of pies, cakes and such in a box and freezes them. At the end of the wrestling season he eats every last bite of them. That brings his weight back up to 160 pounds very nicely, just in time for the football season.
Defining the word "pride" at a University of New Mexico basketball banquet, Hot Rod Hundley had a better-than-average personal example to offer. "I live in Phoenix, and every day when I'm home a 4-year-old boy and 5-year-old girl from across the street come knocking at my door," Hundley said. "I have a hoop up in the backyard and they want to challenge me. They want to play horse and one-on-one with me, an All-America who played six years with the Lakers. And to show you the kind of pride I have—they never beat me!"
As a major league shortstop, Mike Tyson of the Cardinals never should have fallen for the hidden call trick. But lolling in his room at the Bellevue Stratford in Philadelphia, Tyson was all unsuspecting. "Somebody called me and asked if the air conditioning was working, and I said, 'I don't know.' So the man on the phone said, 'We'll send someone up.' Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. When I opened it, I was facing a shotgun and a handgun." The two robbers tagged Tyson for his wallet, containing $80, and a $150 tape recorder belonging to roommate Mike Thompson. But within hours the Philly police, touching all bases, picked up a suspect trying to use one of Tyson's credit cards. Tyson discounted the theory that he had been ripped off by a vengeful Philly fan. "I haven't been playing that good," he said.
Heinz G√ºnther, a West Berlin restaurant owner, bet $185 that he could roll a barrel containing 105 quarts of beer 9.3 miles within 12 hours. That wasn't the beer talking. G√ºnther accomplished the feat in just five hours.
You would think Bob Boyd, basketball coach at Southern Cal, could at least forget about cross-town rival John Wooden when he goes home at night. Not so. The city fathers of Placentia, Calif., Boyd's town, have named a street for UCLA's Wooden. They have even gone so far as to name another street for Wooden's wife Nell. And the Woodens don't even live in Placentia; they live in Santa Monica. Boyd remains philosophical. "They'll probably want me to cut the ribbon," he sighs.