MONDAY JANUARY 1, 1962, SPORTS
Copyright 1962/THE TIMES MIRROR COMPANY
Comes the Resolution
First off, does anyone know where the Alka-Seltzer is? Also why that cat has to stamp his feet like that?
If you think I’m going to try to write a column with this noise in my head, you have just lost. My brain feels like a window shade somebody has just snapped up and it’s rolling around on the roller.
I know it was New Year’s Eve and all that, but if I ever drink any of that bottled liver solvent again, they should throw a net over me.
On the other hand, I need something to drown those butterflies putting on an air show in my stomach. The swelling in my head is going down but only when I keep the ice bag on straight.
I don’t know why it is we start every New Year out like this. I guess because things have nowhere to go but up from there.
The year got off on a pretty good note. Some people from Alabama invited me down for a New Year barbecue. But they didn’t say whose. And I’m not going down till I find out whether I’m the guest-of-honor or the entrée.
One thing that makes me sore as the New Year starts is here all these years I was reading Tarzan and I never caught on. I mean, I thought maybe they had gotten married by Dr. Livingstone. I presume, or Dr. Schweitzer. Who’d ever have thought the Apeman would turn out to be a Playboy? Just goes to show you. It’s more fun going ape than you think.
I guess the classic thing to do this day is dredge up a lot of hokey resolutions you have no intention of keeping. I have vowed to be nicer to people and one of the reasons is I got a Christmas card from my friend Charlie Maher and his wife addressed “to our favorite calumnist.” Actually, I’m a base calumnist — a third-base calumnist.
But that’s going to change. And while I’m at it, I think I’ll make some resolutions for others, too.
Like, Sonny Liston should contribute to police hospitalization instead of causing it.
The Mafia should take orphans not make them.
Harry Wismer should take his foot out of his mouth long enough to close it.
Floyd Patterson should join the Kennedy Peace Corps.
Someone should enter an Edsel in next year’s Indianapolis 500.
The Rams should rebel against their trainer for rubbing them the wrong way.
The Cubs should hire nine more managers and fire the players.
Jackie Robinson should make the Hall of Fame unanimously or Baseball should blush.
The Polo Grounds should be fun again with Casey Stengel abroad in it, but he’ll have to go some to be funnier than his team.
Bob Waterfield should smile. On second thought, I can’t think why.
The Dodgers should win the pennant. Or they should call in the cops and evict THEM from Chavez Ravine.
The Alabama football team should beat some team you never heard of 66-0. They should be ashamed of themselves but won’t be.
The USC Trojans should go to the Rose Bowl.
They should match the Major and the Chief of Police and let Polly Adler referee.
Roger Maris should hit 50 home runs and the papers describe it as a “slump.” Anyone else hitting 40 will get the MVP award and a parade up Broadway.
Sandy Koufax should win 30 games.
The government should make the Washington Redskins hire a Redskin.
Charlie Dressen should be back in baseball, a one-man community sing. The cast of characters is dull enough without benching live ones like Casey and Charlie. The trouble with guys who don’t speak their minds is they don’t have any to speak of.
The Phillies should lose 23 more in a row to show the last time was no fluke.
Alejandro Lavorante should get an apology from me.
San Diego should get a professional football team. Some colleges I know should get an amateur one.
I should shut up. And you should all have the happiest and most prosperous New Year ever.
Reprinted with the permission of the Los Angeles Times
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