CFLers: Get a name and lose the horse

July 19, 1994|By PHIL JACKMAN

Reading Time: Two Minutes.

CFL suggestions: Get a name, quick . . . Lose the horse . . . Cut the price of those $19 and $21 tickets, which are worth about 19 and 21 cents, in half, immediately . . . The public address is for game information, which was sorely lacking Saturday night, not a constant stream of ads and contest announcements . . . Make us a star or two, pronto . . . Deport the classy gentlemen who parade around with the repulsive signs . . . Subdue the owner . . . Make parking cars on the stadium lot bumper-to-bumper a no-no . . . Stop trading and attempting to capitalize on past glories and indignities heaped upon the original Baltimore Colts; John Unitas doesn't play here anymore, honest.

* Ah, yes, the moonshot. The Orioles had played in Chicago and were headed for Kansas City on the way to an undefeated regular season (no, they were only 109-53) and Neil Armstrong's step onto the moon was on the mind of every player, the coaching staff and the manager. Imagine an entire flight when no one complained about not being credited with a hit or griping that he shouldn't have been charged with an earned run.

Earl Weaver made the occasion. He insisted the accomplishment was a hoax, rocketing to the moon was an impossibility. He was dead serious, as his father had told him when he was a little kid that no one could ever get there. Everybody kidded that, indeed, the moon was made out of cheese and the dandy little manager smiled knowingly.

* Is Jesper Parnevik's name going down in sports history right next to Billy Joe Patton, Bobo Holloman, Ingemar Johansson, Dick Wakefield, Larue Martin and Clint Hartung, a one-shot wonder rarely to be heard from again.

By blowing the British Open to Nick Price Sunday, the Swedish golfer is well on his way as a result of his massive blunder of not bothering to check the scoreboard and know his situation at the end. ABC commentator Jack Nicklaus was as astonished as the millions of viewers who sat there with their mouths agape.

"I'm amazing his caddy didn't say something on the 18th tee," said Nicklaus. "You have to know where you stand over the last couple holes because it dictates how you play strategically."

Parnevik gave the impression he had just lost a $2 nassau, not a "major," which often sets up a player's career. "I thought I was behind all the way," he said with an accompanying smile.

Meanwhile, Price, in the next twosome, got a birdie at No. 16 and thought he was tied. He went out of his way to check out a scoreboard, which informed him of Parnevik's eagle at No. 17. "I had to get my heart slowed down for the last two holes," said the victor, who rammed in one of the great putts of all time, a

40-plus footer, for a matching eagle, then parred the home hole for the win.

Someone said something about experience being a factor. Bull. Not knowing the score and situation in any sport is unforgivable and cannot be brushed aside as a "rookie mistake."

* Tell you what kind of a ballplayer he was, Cesar Tovar, who died over the weekend of cancer at age 54. In 1967, when Carl Yastrzemski led the Red Sox to the "Impossible Dream" pennant with a Triple Crown season (actually, a 2 1/2 ), he got all of the votes for MVP save one. It went to Tovar, who hit only .267 with six home runs and 47 RBIs, but obviously impressed someone with the other things he did on the ballfield.

* Juan Antonio Samaranch, president of the International Olympic Committee, dropped a scoop of sorts the other day when he off-handedly remarked that boxing would remain an Olympic sport for the foreseeable future. Chances are, 90 percent of interested parties weren't even aware that the heave-ho was being contemplated. Someone tell Juan that sports aren't dropped by the Olympics, the list just keeps getting longer and longer.

* You had to enjoy Mike Mussina's comments with regard to some of the faulty measurements showing up on the outfield walls at Camden Yards, described by a writer as being in "fun." Not likely. Mike's a hard-nose and the team player representative and he's not apt to be kidding when he reveals, "I'm leaving when I'm up for free agency."

He's preparing the Orioles for a couple of tough arbitration battles, then the flight to the open market. The line about the ballclub selling tickets to an official measurement of the field's dimensions between games of a two-admission, day-night twin bill against the Indians next month is typical management sniping by a player rep.

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