ATHLETIC BANQUET

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Some rude enough to question my qualifications.. Gross snickers-- "Ask his wife.. her bowling average higher." My reply, simply, "Chivalry not dead".

Heard ^rude whispers about balls bouncing off chest li&e buckshot . .Some hold against me fact that 14-yr. nephew knocked me out of tennis tournament. Again I reply, simply my way of bridgning the generation gap, We really great champions must give younger lads a chance, boys like S. Moffett, 0. BalSom. Younger set

This mature, unselfish attitude toward sports came at early age. I was 3* ©u k. Anyway, the yr my bro- ther suddenly turned out to be bigger than I. Where- upon with infant selfishness he began to take advantc "S fights because he has to; I because I like to".

Such experiences would have crushed anyone but a true champion, which I guess is why I was asked toni^ Coach asked me to add "All I am, owe to coaches".

(Or, not to say that? Can't hear since bashed my ear with tennis racket serving.)

Fortunate indeed to have man like 0. as coach. A living legend, ^ut there was one football game he'd like to forget. Everything went wrong. His fumbled] they recovered; they fumbled, they recovered. And f referees against him. Penalty, penalty. Mad, he holla out- -on 1st down ’--Kick. They’ll penalize you for anything else. Referee came over: "Coaching, sidelirJ Cost you 10 yds." B. : "Enow-nothing so-and-so. That proves what kind of referee. Coaching sidelines diifye. yut , Jieteree, "listen d, for kind of coaching you'rf-i doing, its only 10 yards."

Incidentally, n women's side, I overheard Coach Ericsson forget basketball and try to tell girls how to bowl. "Careful not to knock down all pins with ■ first call, or they'll take second throw away from yc|

As I was saying, its coaching like that that makes great champions like me.

1 reaUy

Athletics = 2 2 2

CP

I want to take issue with 2 athletic myths, widely believed, but dangerously misleading. 1-the myth of the bad guys, the other, myth of v-ood o-uys. Both fa Is

The first, the myth of the bad mays, we owe to Leo Durocher: "Nice guys always lose". He put it into words, but he spoke for a lot of people who think goodness and guts don't go together, and that in athletics, where winning is what counts, the tough, rough old tobacco-chewing veteran who knows how to shave the rules and flash the spikes will always edtee out the lily-pure, the tender conscience. That's what separates men, boys; pros, amateurs. You've got to be willing to play dirty to win. That's the image many have of real athletics, where they play for keep not for fun. Is it true? Many a beginner has thot so. When 16-yr. Bob Feller came to Cleveland Indians ft so innocent he felt he had. to have some dirty ha^it 'to mark him as a pro, not a baby. He tried chawing- tobacco, but couldn't stand it, so he chewed licorice instead, hopping people would think it was tobacco.

I Then he grew up and found out that it was his fast j i ball, not tobacco that made him a pro, and he gave up Lthe licorice.

New anyone can think of examples of champions who won by playing dirty. But when it comes down to the finals, the real champions, most of those never quite make the grade. Durocher was an is a great coach- - but not the greatest. I won't try to pick the greatest, but when they pick him, one who'll be way ahead of Durocher* in the running will be Branch Rickey, a nice guy who didn't lose. A man so honest and fair that all by himself he made organized baseba break down the race barrier and take in J. Robinson. He was that kind of a nice guy, and he also managed to win more often than Durocher, in spite of th<= h'ca

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Put drivii Bow s gan c Wooc€ loutl he w< hist!

ny ’*< "To ! when aba; is '( day ( True, in '( shoo- lose1 a 101 It W! char; wroti

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a ha disa don1 shou

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life

Ho ones had it h

Or take basketball. For Coach of Year, '69 was a race between Rupp (Ky.) and J. Wooden (UCLA). I got an inside picture of the race last month in the US. Christian Conference, in Poconos, hard to cet to, so they sent a driver to take me around. When I firs saw him I wondered how he could curl up in car--6'9" •

"~ut too short . .Against Jacksonf ille , all 3 of their forwards were taller than I." He was Steve Patterson and I should have recognized him, for his picture was on Newsweek cover that' week for winning Natl. Champs.

end

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Put wasn't he too nice to be a champion? After all driving a missionary around for a Chri? tian conference! How square can you get? I was Interested when he be- gan comparing the two great coaches of '69, Rupp and Wooden. Rupp is a blustering, hard-drinking, dirty- mouthed nice-guys-never-win type. And

he won so consistently that he'll go down in baseball

Wooden? Just the opposite. "John! so square he's divisible by 4" (Jim Murray )| is something you do with a shovel, and

when he says always wears

history. What about ny Wooden,

"To him, 'dig'

its cool’ he

A3

a shirt and tie, and his worst

oe

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means the sun isn’t out, nei

swear-worc

is "Gracious sakes" . He even goes to church every Sum day of his life. A born loser, if there ever was one True, he won when he had Alcindor, who couldn't. But in '69, with Alcindor gone, coach-pf-the-year was a shoo-in for a rnan like Rupp, because "nice guys always| lose". Besides, who should take Alcindor’ s place but a 100 % nice guy, a real S.S. type, Steve Patterson.

It was the kiss of death. But they won. National champs. No. 1. "And Johnny Wooden," the columnists wrote, "is the best basketball coach in the world,"

So forget the bad guy myth. Nice guys don't lost.

around

i

and

Now if you expect me to turn a hard pitch for the good guys, you're going disappointed. Like "Nice guys always win". xl .w don't, an§t more than they always lose. Or perhaps I should stand up and tell you to get wi th it for old

come up with to be They

ca

S . P . S life.

No, ones .

because if you win in sports, you can win in

the good guy myths are Life .lust doesn't fit

just as bad the slogans

had its share in producing leaders of men, it has produced its bums and deadbeats and

as the other Sports has women- -but cheaters

end gamblers, too, I don't think Bobby Moore stole that bracelet. Have you been following World Cup news| The British, possibly best in the world, are out to repeat, and may very well be best team in world. Theil ■ star and captain is Bobby Moore, Now, just beforel the championship matches in Mexico, he gets himself arrested in Colombia for stealing a

.bracelet . see ,

lou

not

he may necessa r i ly

-l don’t think he did it

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But

emera Id he might

have

be a champion at soccer, but that doe's make him a champion in life.

Do you 1-mow bow Cleveland Indians got their name? From a great player of the 1890s, an Indian. So good whole country idolized. The greatest. Then sud- denly he wasn't so great. Baseball he could take, but not life. rirst drink, then woesen, then debt and scandal and worse--and he died at ^0, a tramp cadging for drinks back on the reservation.

No, I’m sorry but I can’t guarantee that if you just win for SFS, you're a winner and a leader for life. But I can do something better. I can tell you that if you go at athletics in the

right way, with the right perspective, win or lose , you’re off to a good start for life.

Even if you lose? Yes. Suppose you try and fail. There was a cadet at West Point who had his heart set on varsity football, but the best he could do wa 2nd-strinp substitute. Then came day the long, gray line was to meet its old rival of those days, Jim Thorpe and his Carlisle Indians. And toward middle of game, Army's star and hero was knocked out, and coach sent in his 2nd-string substitute. His dreams were coming true. His chance at last. Then the bubble broke, the cookie crumbled. On first play he broke his leg. They carried him off field, and he never played football again. A failure. But today no one remembers the name of the star, the hero of that year's Army team. Forgotten him. But no one wbo doesn ' t know the name of the failure-- the 2nd string substi tute--Dwlght D. Eisenhower, 3^th pr*es. of the U.S.

You see, win or lose in sports, the lessons you learn from athletics, if you really learn them, can help you all your life. And I’m only going to men tic one, and then quit.

When Branch Rickey was asked what makes a good athlete great, he used to answer: the conviction that what you’re doing is worthwhile, and the con- suming desire to be good at it. And he illustrated it by comparing two ball-players, a boy named

Walker who had all the physical attributes to be a i champion, and Ty Cobb who was a champion.

1

Athletics 5' S' 6

Ty Cobb, he says, once beat his St. Louis team in the 11th inning in a most unusual manner, nothing like it in the record books — a home run, as it were, without even hitting the ball. Cobb got on first on bails, and ''then scored the winning run x\rithout ariothe ball being pitched. By sheer adventure and skill he forced two wild throws by St. Louis players — suddenly darting for second, keeping on unexpectedly for third his characteristic ten-foot, slide, and he was heme before St. Louis knew what was happening.

, In that same game, Walker, on Branch Rickey’s team hit what should have been a home run, and was thrown 1 out at third. He hit a hard line drive, watched it for a minute, instead of running, which cost him 20 feet, took too wide a turn and lost another 30 foet, then thinking his ball was over the fence he slowed .r down to a jog, only to have the ball bounce back into ", the hands of the fielder. He speeded up too late, slid into the wrong side of third, and fcaxg right int< , the ball in the hands of the third baseman. But if he had played it right, he’d have been far enough a rc head to score a home run standing up.

If

"What was the difference between Cobb and Walker", asks Rickey. "They had the same age, weight, height and running speed. Walker had an even stronger arm at bat then Cobb. Yet one was a champion of champion the other never came to anything. The difference," said Rickey, "is that Cobb wanted to do something so much that nothing else mattered. Walker only punched the clock" (Faith Made Them Champions, p. 3)*

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May, 1972

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AfHLSiXOJ & LIFE

It is a privilege indeed to be invited to an athletic banquet like this, My wife, who is entirely too literal about things like stop- watches and bowling averages, professed to be surprised tnat 1 was invited* MYou at an athletic banquet, M she said* and coiiupseu. in a fit of giggling* But it would be false modesty to pretend tnat it was any surprise to me.

As one of the great natural Ithletes of our nay x feel very much at home at an affair like Lais, i mingle naturally and unaffectedly with champions.

I don* t want to brag about my' past records: long dong- po arid back by sedan chair in less than four hours ( 1 wore cut ten relays of chair-bearers on that one}; and here's one that will stand forever: two hours and four

minutes from East Gate to South Gate through Jity Hall plaza at rush hour by' taxi. 1 fainted from air-pollution as 1 crossed the finish line, but I made it.

But these triumphs of the past din.f t satisfy me. i am still a practicing athlete. Jogging. And I wish jileen would throw away chat stopwatch, the keeps telling visitors that i io the mile now in 20 minutes — not counting the rest stops. Sheer slander.

To bo ; a little mere truthful, i must admit that I really never have bean able to get athletics cut of zoy blood, beginning back with tennis and soccer in high school and college;, and now in my old age getting bitten with the bowling bug. I've learned a fewl few lessons in the process, too.

I won't go quite as far as Bart Starr. In a tribute to his coach, the late Vince Lombardi cf the Groan Day Packers, Starr says that he finds in sports wthc values that .:ad ..A jricu gr at: it td toughness, commitment

to cell save e, determination to vin, pride, loyalty, self- sacrifice, dedication and religion," ( .1. Get tury, Apr 1, *72, p. 389* quoted by R.J. Bueter) He covers just about the whole sat erf ront \rith that list, and I am not quite ready to credit athletics for everything good and pure and beautiful in life. But Starr is right in this, at least. Sports doc s teach some mighty important lessons about real life.

Host of theta are obvious lessons, lessons that anyone with an ounce of intelligence should Ionov already. But hov often it takes the sharp self- di sclo cure, the moment of truth that cones only from ope::., intense athletic competition to ; drive the lessons home, and make us admit to truths we might otherwise have avoided.

1. Life hard work and practice, for instance. Thit* 3 the first lesson of the athletic life. It is also the lessen we would most like to avoid. Everybody knows that there is no substitute for training and conditioning in athletics. Every beefy knows it, but almost everybody xjcuIv... rather txy to make It on natural ability aland. Et Joesn't work.

Jim .yan has the best runner* s legs in the world. They made hi® world champion in the mile at an incredible 3 minutes, 51»1 seconds. But it took more than great natural legs to do that. Ryan runs from 100 to 115 miles practice jv exy reek. 115 miles a week, —just to run one mile when it really counts. Practic ei

Some people say that Ben Hogan was the most perfect golfer that

Athletics

2

ever playea the game. Others like Amie Palmer and Jack . icklaus have had more powerful game, but no one could match little Ben Hogan for precision of swing and perfect timing. It wasn't a natural ability, though. Hogan didn't have a natural swing. He did, however, know how to "or , an 1 he understood the imoortance of detail. "He'd even memorize the grain of the grass on every course he played, if it would help his game,” said one of his caddies, once. Since ne did ntt have a natural ’wring, he know he would have to a ev elope one, and ne worked out s system which he called "muscle mmoiy"-— memorizing a stroke muscle by muscle through hotars cf solitary practice. His theorv was this: if you oractic^ one shot lor.;, enough, and

witn enough concentration, your muscles Till eventually simply memorize the stroke so that it becomes almost automatic. And that was how Hogan, "the golfing machine" as they called him, was bom. One reporter wrote cf him, ttHe swings with the business-like authority of a machine stamping out bottle tops.'* (J. Sherrill, in Faith Made Them Champions, p. 92~5)

put hard work ana practice are not enough — whether in athletics or in ij.jLe. x have seen television rent ays of the Portland Mile of two or three years ago. mere was Jim Ryan, world chmnion, 115 miles of practice every week, the best running legs in the world of trr* sports— and he was running aead last. So far* behind that he finally committed the unforgiveable sin ana simply cropped out. He didn't finish his race. Why? He had the natural ability, the training, the hara work, the practice. Why did he quit/ He haa lost his motivation. "1 just osyched out,” he said.

So the second lesson about life that I have learned fro 1 sports is the importance of goti^ation.

Branch Rickey, who broke the color barrier in baseball by bringing Jackie rk>b\nsoo into the majors, and who coached some of the greatest teams in baseball history, was once asked what makes the difference between a champion and an also-ran. "The difference?", he said. "The champion is the one who has 'a consuming 1 eel re to be great'". And ne told a story about Ty Cobb to illustrate it.

fears ago, he said, when I was managing the St. Louis Browns 1 lost a game to Detroit in the last half of the 11th inning. And I lost it in a very unusual way— nothing like it in the record books: a homerun,

as it were, without even hitting the ball. Gobb «*ot on first base on four balls, and jnen scored one winning run without another boll being pitched. By sheer adventure and skill he forced two wild throws by St. Louis players. First, he suddenly took off from first for second with the . speed for which he was famous, then instead of stopping at second, he unexpectedly just- kept running on for third and made it in a roaring ton -foot. slid©, then in the dust and confusion jumped uo and took off fo1** home before St, Louis quite knew what was happening,

in that same game, Rickey said, a olayer named talker on Rickey' s team did just the opposite. He hit what should have been an in side- the- park homerun, and was thrown out at third. He hit a hard line drive.

Athletics - 3

watched it for a minute instead of running (that ~ost him 20 feet), took too wide a Tfcwr turn at first (and lost another 30 feet), then, thinking his ball was over the fence he slowed do’ o to a jog, only to have the ball hit the top inch of th** fence and bounce back. He speeded up too late, si*d i±ito the wrong side of third, right into the ball in the hadda of the third baseman.

But if he had played it right he’d have been far enough ahead to score a run standing up. “Wirt was the difference between Ty Cobb and Walker,* asks Rickey. “They bad the same age, weight, height and running speed. Walker even had a stronger arm at bat than Cobb. Yet one was a champion of Mi a la 1 >i<M a. The other never came to »,* said liickey,

"is that Cobb wanted to do son ebbing ro much that not'iin0 else mattered." Walker only punched the clock". (Faith Made Than Champions, p. 3)

The difference was motivation. And in life, as in sports, find something supremely worth doing, then do it with all your heart and mind and soul. It is the only real :ny to live. Ar. ything else is only "punching the clock" and going through tho motions. It’s not living.

One x-txn final lesson. wc,n can always dz hotter. do matter how good you may be now, don’t think you can stop working and coast the rest of the way. Coasting only takes you down hill.

This weekend they vd.ll be mniing the Indianapolis j00 "back home in Indiana" where my father come from. I can remanber when the fastest time in the Indy 500 was 74 miles an hour. Suppose they had stopped there.

?4 miles an hour! "hew! That*'’ fast enough! I s it. Today any old beat up Volkswagen can do better than that. You con p3r;ays do better. In 1962, only ten years ago, the winner at Indianapolis first "ierccd tho IjO mile per hour barrier, twice as fast as 74 ^.p.h. Last year the time was 1?8 mph — 100 mph faster than -when I was a boy. Bit they can do still better. Last week Bobby Unser in hi* Dan Ourney Kagbe, a four- cylinder turbo-c.harged OFfenhausex’, whipped through his !0~mile, h*-lap qualifying trials at 196 miles an hour. '*>en the slowest of the 33 who qualified beat last year* s record 178 m.o. h.

You can do better next year than this. And you’d batter. I don’t care how well you’ve done at S. F, S.— athl otic s, grades, activities, you name it— you can do still better. In fact, if you don’t, you ray not even be in the race next year. Like the Indianapolis *oo, this year’s record is likely to be next-year* s dropout line.

But to keep on doing better, you are going to need something more than natural ability, more than hard work, something errs mar'- that high motivation. Let me elo se by suggesting this on op cent'Tioe as the; ; i.bisj a motto for life for sport: «m»cn and *port,mx>roon. Tt tells of the "one thing more" that everybody needs.

"They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as «agl es; they shall run and not be vraary;

walk and not faint* • (Isa. 40*31). It is the Bible’s credo Ter athieues.

ATHLETICS & LIFE

May, 1972

It is a privilege indeed to be invited to an athletic banquet like this. My wife, who is entirely too literal about things like stop- watches and bowling averages, professed to be surprised that I was invited. "You at an athletic banquet," she said, and collapsed in a fit of giggling. But it would be false modesty to pretend that it was any surprise to me.

As one of the great natural tthletes of our day I feel very much at home at an affair like this. I mingle naturally and unaffectedly with champions.

I -dan* t --want -to brag aborat^flv past records: long dong- po and back by sedan

chair in less than four hours,! I wore out ten relays of chair-bearers on that one)j J^nd here’ s one that will stand forever: two hours and four

minutes from East Gate to South Gate through City Hall plaza at rush hour by taxi. I fainted from air- pollution as I crossed the finish line, but I made it.

-M Bert'the^e triumphs of the past .don't satisfy me. I am still a practicing atffl^e.^ J^ggiSSg. ' And I wis£ Eileea| jgjqialcl throw away that stopwatch. She keeps telling visitors that i do the mile now in 20 minutes— not counting the rest stops. Shee-g” slander. A (u* Lyif'

X I t U*,, L* CrfVjLlA* , lij a -w v^j T 4. '' I***- . ^3 Vt\A&h. 3 ' N-df/ ,

To be ;a little more truthful, 1 must admit that I really never have been able to get athletics out of my blood, beginning back with tennis arid soccer in high school and hcollegte, and now in my old age getting bitten with the bowling bug. I've learned a £bx! few lessons in the process, too.

I won't go quite as far as Bart Starr. In a tribute to his coach, the late Vince Lombardi of the Green Bay Packers, Starr says that he finds in sports "the values that rade. . America great: mental toughness, commitment

to excellence, determination to win, pride, loyalty, self-sacrifice, dedication and religion." (Xn Century, Apr 5» ’72, p. 339. quoted by R.J. Bueter) He covers just about the whole waterfront with that list, and I am not quite^ready to credit athletics for everything good and pure and beautiful in life. But Starr is right in this, at least. Sports does teach some mighty important lessons about real life.

Most of them are obvious lessons, lessons that anyone with an ounce of intelligence should know already. But how often it takes the sharp self- disclosure, the moment of truth that comes only from open, intense athletic competition to ; drive the lessons home, and make us admit to truths we might otherwise have avoided,

1. Life hard work and practice, for instance. Th&t' s the first lesson of the athletic life. It is also the lesson we would most like to avoid. Everybody knows that there is no substitute for training and conditioning in athletics. Everybody knows it, but almost everybody would rather try to make it on natural ability alond. It doesn' t work.

Jim Ryan has the best runner* s legs in the world. They made him world champion in the mile at an incredible 3 minutes, 51*1 seconds. But it took more than great natural legs to do that. Ryan runs from 100 to 115 miles practice every week, 115 miles a week, — just to run one mile when it really counts. PracticeJ

Some people say that Ben Hogan was the most perfect golfer that

Athletics

2

ever played the game. Others like Amie Palmer and Jack Nicklaus have had more powerful game, but no one could match little Ben Hogan for precision of swing and perfect timing. It wasn’t a natural ability, though. Hogan didn’t have a natural swing. He did, however, know how bo worx, and

bance of detail. "He’d even Memorize the grain of the grass on every course he played, if it would help his game," said one of his caddies, once. Since he did n<bt have a natural swing, he knew he would have to dev elope one, and he worked out a system which he called "muscle memory"-- memorizing a stroke muscle by muscle through hokics of solitary praciice. His theory was this: if you practice one shot long enough, and

with enough concentration, your muscles wall eventually simply memorize the stroke so that it becomes almost automatic. And that was how Hogan, "the golfing machine" as they called him, was bom. One reporter wrote of him,

"He swings with the business-like authority of a machine stamping out bottle tops." (J. Sherrill, in Faith Hade Them Champions, p. 92-5)

%. But hard work and practice are not enough — whether in athletics or in life. 1 have, seen television replays of the Portland Mile of two or three years ago. There was Jim Ryan, world champion, 115 miles of practice every week, the best running legs in the world of ±sp sports — and he was running dead last. So far behind that he finally committed the unforgiveable sin and simply dropped out. He didn't finish his race. Why? He had the natural ability, the training, the hard work, the practice. Why did he quit? He had lost his motivation. "I just psyched out," he said.

So the second lesson about life that I have learned from sports is the importance of motivation.

Branch Rickey, who broke the color barrier in baseball by bringing Jackie Robinson into the majors, and who coached some of the greatest teams in baseball history, was once asked what makes the difference between a champion and an also-ran. "The difference?", he said. "The champion is the one who has ’a consuming desire to be great'".

And he told a story about Ty Cobb to illustrate it.

Years ago, -he said, when I was managing the St. Louis Browns i lost a game to Detroit in the last half of the 11th inning. And I lost it in a very unusual way — nothing like it in the record books: a homerun,

as it were, without even hitting the ball. Cobb got on first base on four balls, and then scored the vanning run without another ball being pitched.

By sheer adventure and skill he forced two wild throws by St. Louis players. First, he suddenly took off from first for second with the’, speed f<»^ wbi-eh Ll : .b, he was famous, then instead of stopping at second, he unexpectedly kept running f on for third and made it in a roaring ten-foot slide; then in the dust and confusion jumped up and took off for home before St. Louis quite knew what was happening, ft ^ ... v

In that same game, Rickey said, a player named Walker on Rickey’ s team did just the opposite. He hit what should have been an inside-the- park homerun, and was thrown out at third. He hit a hard line drive,

Athletics

3

watched it for a minute instead of running (that cost him 20 feet), took too wide a 3±nr turn at first (and lost another 3° feet), then, thinking his ball was over the fence he slowed down to a jog, only to have the ball hit the top inch of the fence and bounce back. He speeded up too late, slid into the wrong side of third, right into the ball in the harids of the third baseman.

But if he had played it right he* d have been far enough ahead to score a run standing up. "What was the difference between Ty Cobb and Walker," asks Rickey. "They had the same age, weight, height and running speed. Walker even had a stronger arm at bat than Cobb. Yet one was a champion of Isk champions. The other never came to anything. The difference, " said Rickey,

"is that Cobb wanted to do something so much that nothing else mattered."

Walker only punched the clock". (Faith Made Thera Champions, p. 3)

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The difference was motivation. And in life, as in sports, find something supremely worth doing, then do it with all your heart and mind and soul. It is the only real way to live. Anything else is only "punching the clock" and going through the motions. It* s not living.

54 W<ta 'fc.i beir VxAtt ’••*r l>'e *• la -

One $£zk final lesson. You can alway s do better. No matter how good you may be now, don’ t think you can stop working and coast the rest of the way. Coasting only takes you down hill.

This weekend they will be running the Indianapolis 5^0 "back home in Indiana" where my father came from. I can remember when the fastest time in the Indy 500 was 74 miles an hour. Suppose they had stopped there.

74 miles an hour! Whew! That's fast enough! Is it. Today any old beat up Volkswagon can do better than that. You can always do better. In 1962, only ten years ago, the winner at Indianapolis first pierced the 150 mile per hour barrier, twice as fast as 74 m.p.h. Last year the tine was 178 mph — 100 mph faster than when I was a boy. But they can do still better. Last week Bobby Unser in his Dan Gurney Eagle, a four- cylinder turbo- charged OFfenhauser, whipped through his 10-mile, 4-lap qualifying trials at 196 miles an hour. Even the slowest of the 33 who qualified beat last year' s record 178 m.p.h.

You can do better next year than this. And you'd better. I don't care how well you've done at 3.F.S. — athletics, grades, activities, you name it — you can do still better. In fact, if you dcnf t, _ ou may not even be in the race next year. Like the Indianapolis 500, this year's record is likely to be next-year' s drop-out line.

But to keep on doing better, you are going to need something more than natural ability, more tha^haiyd wprk, rso^.et^ing ever ore that high motivation, . ^ a motto for life thing more" th -ter

Xtsmen and sportswomen. It tells of the "one

hi at everybody needs!-? «

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"They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint", (Isa. 40:31). It is the Bible’s credo for athletes.