Steaks & Stymies

When Ben Hogan and his U.S. Ryder Cup golfers came ashore from the Queen Elizabeth at Southampton, meat-rationed Britons swallowed hard at the sight of the team's 600 steaks, plus bacon and hams, which went through customs duty free.

As non-playing captain, Ben tried to explain: "We aren't going to eat all those steaks ourselves . . . We want to do some entertaining and give your British golfers some." Nobody swallowed the explanation.

For a week, every time the Americans picked up a London paper they read about their well-stocked larder. Cracked Hogan, coldly: "Next time I guess we'll have to leave our clubs at home and just have a meat show." The little Texan, not recovered from his near-fatal auto accident, was playing no tournament golf, but he was still a bad man to cross. Good-neighborliness dwindled to zero last week when Hogan demanded a look at the British team's irons before the matches--and pointed out that some of them were illegally grooved. An all-night argument over one set of British clubs was settled only five minutes before the first match teed off.

Over fog-shrouded Ganton course, the aroused British gave the heavily favored Americans a jolt. In Scotch-foursome play (where partners alternate hitting the same ball), a pair of 41-year-old Englishmen nosed out the cream of U.S. golfers--Sam Snead and Lloyd Mangrum--and won, one up. At the end of the first day's play, Britain led, three matches to one.

The U.S. needed all the vitamins they had brought along, and something else besides, to get back in front on the next day. Snead had to fire a snappy 68 to stay abreast of Britain's little Charlie Ward for the first 18 holes; Sam finally won, 6 and 5. But the best match of all was the last and deciding one, between Mangrum and Fred Daly. Said Mangrum after 18 holes: "This Irishman is tough; I had a 65 and I'm only one up." After lunch, Mangrum fell one hole behind before the pace told on Daly, who blew up and lost, 4 and 3. That match sunk the British (seven matches to five) and saved the neat little gold cup which has been in U.S. possession for 14 years.

At Ardmore, Pa., for the first time in the history of the national women's amateur golf championship, a 15-year-old girl stroked her way into the semifinals. Comely Marlene Bauer of Los Angeles, winner of the National Girl's Championship last month (TIME, Aug. 29), had oldtimers recalling the cool poise of the youthful Bobby Jones (who played in his first Nationals at 14). But after getting to the semifinal round, Marlene's firm grip slipped; on the second hole, she took seven strokes in her match with Dorothy Kielty, a fellow Californian from Long Beach. Though Marlene came back strong on the last nine, she was down one on the 18th, and beaten. In the finals, tournament-wise Dorothy Kielty, winner of last year's Western, met her match. Mrs. Dorothy Germain Porter, 25-year-old housewife of Westmont, N.J., beat her 3 and 2, became the first mother to take the title since Glenna Collett Vare took it 14 years ago.

Tough Guy

At the end of nine rounds, Rocky Graziano sat in his corner, his face smeared with blood and bewilderment.The reform-school graduate who used to thrill Manhattan crowds with his ferocious, windmill technique was losing his first major fight in New York after a three-year exile. "You've got to knock him out," warned his manager, while he smeared carpenter's wax on a cut above Rocky's left eye. Growled Graziano, impatiently: "I still got one round, ain't I?"

A few seconds later, Rocky charged out to attack blond Charlie Fusari with the urgency of a man fighting a swarm of bees. He got over a looping right to Fusari's chin, followed with a fusillade of rights & lefts. Fusari went down and the crowd of 31,092 came to its feet, filling the Polo Grounds with a frenzied roar. Rocky's dazed foe took a count of nine, came up wobbly and was chased into a corner by the most furious killer (in appearance, at least) in the prizefight business.

There it ended, with Referee Ruby Goldstein rushing in to throw his arms around helpless Fusari and save him from further mayhem, just 56 seconds before the fight was scheduled to end. In his dressing room, triumphant Rocky climbed upon a table the better to see and be seen by the mob of reporters and photographers that crowded around. Crowed Rocky, waving a hand for silence: "Don't I do a job on those welterweights? . . . especially salamis from Jersey, who are my special meat."

Ringsiders were left to wonder what would happen next time Graziano fought someone his own size. Fusari, a welterweight who is twelve pounds lighter than Middleweight (159 1/2 Ibs.) Rocky, had made his heavier foe look ridiculous for most of the first nine rounds. Some of Rocky's haymakers missed by feet, not inches. In the second round, he missed a right so awkwardly that he landed on the seat of his pants--with a slight shove from Fusari. For playing the role of punching bag, and almost upsetting the dope, talented, clean-living Charlie Fusari collected $24,437 (compared to Rocky's $42,765) and a chance at the welterweight crown.

By winning his first big fight in New York since he was banned in 1946 (for failing to report a $100,000 bribe offer), Roughhouse Rocky regained his old form as the best drawing card in fightdom. He will probably continue to be until the day he is foolhardy enough to fight a good man his own size--somebody like Sugar Ray Robinson.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.