LETTERS

ON TARGET
I commend Jack McCallum on his statement in the NBA preview (Scouting Reports, Nov. 7, 1988): "From first man to 12th, Detroit is the best team in the NBA." McCallum also predicted, "You will find [the Pistons] next June—winning their first NBA championship."
JOE GOODMAN
Bryn Mawr, Pa.

TORONTO'S DOME
Toronto's SkyDome is an amazing structure (Raising the Roof, June 12). However, as a baseball purist, I would like to hear one good reason why real grass couldn't have been installed.
BILL BAHRENBURG III
Rye, N.Y.

•The Blue Jays say that artificial turf was used "because grass doesn't grow well in an enclosed environment, and the dome is mostly closed."—ED.

If the SkyDome is the baseball stadium of the future, then I want no part of baseball. Thousand-dollar-a-night hotels, McDonald's hamburgers, artificial turf and ugly retractable roofs are not baseball. Baseball is real grass, hot dogs, Wrigley Field, Milwaukee's County Stadium and open air—always!
HARRY G. BROWN
Madison, Wis.

CALLING COSELL
Like Franz Lidz, I, too, yearn for Howard Cosell (POINT AFTER, May 29). I am sick and tired of watching bad calls, bad plays, poor coaching and poor sportsmanship go uncriticized by sports broadcasters. Positive situations should also be covered with insight.

For the NBA fan who had the pleasure of watching the regular season on WTBS, which featured the knowledgeable duo of Rick Barry and Skip Caray, it seemed unfair to have to listen to Brent Musburger and the rest of the mediocre CBS crew cover the NBA Finals. Unfortunately, WTBS and ESPN have the talented commentators, while the major networks get the important sports events. Ted Turner, please help. Buy a major network and hire Howard.
C. LEE WARFIELD III
Richmond

Lidz revealed a lack of understanding about what fans look for from sports. Bob Costas, Al Michaels and others are right on the mark when they treat sports as entertainment. A ball game is not a news event but a relaxing diversion from the crises of the world. That's why Co-sell was so hated. He took the enjoyment out of the game with his pseudointellectual babblings.
CRAIGE WRENN
Franklin, Tenn.

TRAILBLAZERS
As the proud dad of a woman jockey, I loved Gary Smith's story on Julie Krone (She Who Laughs Last..., May 22). My daughter Abby and I are good pals of Julie's. She has done an incredible job with her obvious ability and also as a spokesperson and media personality for racing.

I feel Abby is entitled to some acknowledgment as a trailblazer too. She had four Grade I stakes wins in a row on Mom's Command at Belmont and Saratoga, in addition to her stakes win at Belmont on my horse Shananie on Oct. 5, 1985, the day Mom's Command was officially retired. In fact, Abby's 1985 New York Filly Triple Crown sweep with Mom's Command (A Crown for the Fuller Fillies, July 15, 1985) might have gained her more headlines if Boris Becker had not won Wimbledon on that same weekend.

Abby now divides her time between her three-year-old son, Jorge, and riding my horses and a few others. We're still hoping to breed one good enough to return to Kentucky the first Saturday in May with Abby in the saddle.
PETER FULLER
Boston

HIGHS AND LOWS
LSU's fireballer, Ben McDonald, seems to have overcome the "apocalyptic" grand slam he allowed during the 1987 College World Series (Time for Big Ben, May 29), and everyone around McDonald seems to be convinced that the experience made him a better pitcher. But what about Stanford batter Paul Carey? He was as high as McDonald was low following the game-ending blast. Would it have been better for Carey if he had struck out? Where is Paul Carey today?
KEVIN J. MCCARTHY
Chicago

•Carey, who just completed his junior year at Stanford, led the Cardinal in batting for the season with a .333 average and earlier this month was drafted by the Detroit Tigers. As we went to press, he had not signed with the Tigers and was planning to return to Stanford for his senior year. He was also invited to try out for the U.S. national team. He did, and will be playing for it this summer.—ED.

PHOTO

JOHN BIEVER

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