LEAVES OF A SPORTSMAN’S NOTE-BOOK

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 173, 12 October 1927, Page 15

LEAVES OF A SPORTSMAN’S NOTE-BOOK

A pat on the back has been earned by the medical profession for its support of the Summer-Time Bill. The profession really has been self-sacrific-ing in its hearty support of the measure, for if the general public gets all the benefit that is possible from daylight saving there should be smaller accounts for fees from our doctors. Dairy-farmers are not the only people who will have to make some adjustments when summer-time comes into being. Kitchen-gardens and flower-beds will not claim the attention of all the men who will be seeking a little recreation in the open air after their day’s work. If daylightsaving becomes permanent, there should be a steadily-increasing demand for more playing-areas, and summer sports organisations will face a problem. Indeed, it would become a duty for city councils to provide municipal sports grounds on which men and women would be able to get a couple of hours tennis, bowls or cricket on any afternoon in the week. It will not be merely on Saturdays that the benefit of summer-time will be felt. Boy, find our tennis rackets and cricket gear and our fishing-rods! Most Important! Preparations for the new season of Association football in Great Britain were in full swing when the last mail that came to hand left London. Soccer “fans” were very busy sending mascots to the captains of their favourite clubs. It seems that this is really essential! Some captains are so superstititious that they attach great importance to their' mascots. Well, our own mascot for the coming cricket season will be a china duck’s egg. Somnolent Well! Well! We have been led to believe that world’s championship tennis at Wimbledon is an exciting game. But now that illusion has been 'shattered. It seems that tennis at Wimbledon is a somnolent sort of business. It sends even linesmen to sleep. Criticism, in American papers, of the management of the last Wimbledon tournament has led English journals into an admission that there was much room for improvement. We hear, now, that the linesmen at Wimbledon are “notoriously bad,” but the limit was reached this season. A London paper makes this further admission: “There were many ridiculous decisions ras the result of inattention or ineptitude, and, while the incident caused much laughter at the time, the fact that one of these officials who had dozed off fell from his chair during a rally in an important match is alone an indictment against the casual method adopted in selecting these people.” Surely the remedy is simple! Electric chairs should be provided for the linesmen—but perhaps not the sort that the use. “Tinned Sport” It will be interesting to see how the coming of “tin hares” will fare in New i Zealand. ' The promoters who have announced that they will extend their operations irogi Australia to this Dominion seem to be very optimistic, and no doubt the novelty of the thing will carry the sport for some distance. But they will not have in their favour one factor which has helped in c their countries —facilities for public gambling. Without legalised bookmakers and without the totalisator, they may find that the absence of the human element from the sport may cause “tin hare” racing in this country to flop when the novelty has worn off.

Jolly Young Waterman A correspondent of an English paper .reminds us that Thomas Doggett, who gave the coat and badge that are annually rowed for on the Thames, was an actor of repute, who was much interested in sport. The first coat and badge were won by Broughton, who was a waterman before he became a prize-fighter. This annual rowing match is the subject of a ballad-opera, by Charles Dibdin, first performed at the Haymarket in 1774. Tom Tugg is one of the characters, and he is a candidate for the coat and badge. He sings a rollicking song of which the first verse is as follows : And did you not hear of a jolly young i waterman , Who at Blackfriars Bridge used for to ply; And he feather'd his oars with such skill and dexterity, Winning each heart and delighting each eye: He looked so neat, and rowed so steadily, The maidens all flocked in his boat so readily, And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air That this waterman was ne'er in want of a fare. * * * A Spoil-Sport The first dog in England to be warned off—and it answers to the name of Picaroon—has caused quite a stir in the best dog circles. It was dealt with for staging battles during the progress of races. Up to the latest advices it has not shown any signs of contrition. Mere humans, such as jockeys, boxers, footballers, etc., would have pined away in a terrible melancholy and thus lost their old capacities. Not so Picaroon. He takes what might be called the “dogmatic view." Looked at with really black looks by the officials after the warning-off business, he simply bridged the edge of his kennel and thumped his tail as if to say: T have done nothing wrong. J simply took the right of self-expression into my own paws. You make us the underlings in this tin-hare fun for humans. We are the martyrs.” However, the spectators in the betting ring cursed the brute soundly as a “human spoil-port.” That is sport! Prime Canterbury A story from London: One of the New Zealand cricketers started off his innings in dashing fashion, but was quickly dismissed as the result of a tame stroke. “Ah,” said one* of the spectators, “He came in like a lion, and went out like a Canterbury lamb.” * * * One Thing in Common The business of matching two heavyweight boxers for a 10-rounds fight for a huge purse, with the world’s championship thpown in as a sort of side-issue, has at least one merit in

common with the old-time sport of arranging fights to a finish for the championship AND a moderate purse. It yields a topic of conversation—indeed, plenty of material for argument among those people who love esntroversy. Bsing a simple soul with a liking for making a few remarks now and again, but without enough energy for «controversy, I am not going to enter into the controversy over the DempseyTunney fight. But I would like to comment on the difficulty of deciding whether or not Tunney would really have been counted out if 15 seconds had not elapsed between the time he was; sent to the boards in the seventh round. Tunney might have appeared to be “out,** but, unless he were oblivious to what was going on about him:, he Avould be taking the greatest possible advantage of the count. It is not at all clear that he could not have risen nine seconds from the time he was knocked down. Of course, it is clear that Dempsey had. only himself to blame if he had really knocked Tunney out, and then left himself in such a position that he could not profit by the knock-out. But it is possible that Dempsey saw that Tunney was not really “out,” and hoped the fallen man would rise before the referee could order Dempsey himself back, for the count to begin, so that the challenger could get in a deciding blow. But that does not account for Dempsey taking six seconds to get away from his fallen opponent. Really, there seems to be no explanation of the fact that the experienced Dempsey, who should be well acquainted with the rules of boxing by now, stood over his foe for six seconds before he retired and allowed the count to be started. Hi* Next Hurrah! Luis 4.ngel Firpo has found a new role. Indeed, he thinks he has found a new sport. He is to tour Europe in a motor-car, and he hopes to enter 14 countries in an at-

tempt to break a record. The minor details are not decided upon yet. except that he is to start from London. One is glad to hear of this new outburst of Luis for his farmer invasions into various departments of sport have grown tiresome. However, one cannot deprecate his originality. lie knocked Dempsey out of a padded ring—some say he pushed him out Then he tried boxing—he couldn’t box. Then he tried retiring as a sport. He is alleged to be the champion steakeater of Buenos Aires—about 241 b at a sitting, including trimmings. It looks like being Luis Firpo, champion motor-tourist next, and then—well we w*ill wait and see. Stymied! Here is a bright story from an English paper. The reconteur prefaces it w T ith a declaration of its absolute truth. In a certain golf club (south not of Tweed but of Trent) some joyous member announced a competition in the dull season. Actually it was a spoof competition, but those entering were told only that they had to play a medal round and that the prize would depend on the number of strokes taken at a certain hole not particularised. When the round was completed it was disclosed that the prize went to the player who had returned the largest score at the hole privately determined, and that to him was awarded a prize of 10s “to be spent at the bar.” The bar was well supported by thirsty members when the hero of the occasion came along. “Steward,” said he, “will you kindly give me a small glass of (a certain) beer? And —-er —” (thirsty meiftbers edged a little nearer) Steward, perhaps you will be so good as to chalk it up. I have won a prize which I understand is to be spent at the bar. Perhaps you will be good enough to let me know when I have expended that sum.” He drank his beer thoughtfully and went home. The promoter of the competition is now wondering whose joke has been the more successful.