Word: sportingly
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Boston Reporter Johanna McGeary, who filed on the America's Cup races for our SPORT story written by Associate Editor Frederic Golden, had only one previous run-in with sailing. While in the Peace Corps in Panama, she sailed with San Blas Indians in a wooden dugout canoe equipped with a flour-sack sail. Arriving in Newport not knowing a boom from a bilge pump, she quickly picked up enough expertise to follow the final trials. Says McGeary: "I decided to pass up the chance to sail in the America's Cup press regatta scheduled for the first...
...chance to be a winner. In periodic "bracket" races on all the tracks, entrants are classed as A, B, C or D drivers according to their best average times (none slower than 62.00). Winners in each class get up to $100 in prizes. Inevitably, in Southern California, the sport attracts non-track stars, notably James Garner, Connie Stevens, Flip Wilson (he didn't flip), David Cassidy and sundry rockers, who to date have won no prizes. Henry ("the Fonz") Winkler went off the track on his first lap. But the best customers, the Malibu managers maintain, are the nonfamous...
...series of case studies designed to illustrate exactly just what type of person runs the companies thatrun your life. Maccoby's answer--that American companies are presided over by a passel of hyperactive, hypercool chess players who are only in the business world for the thrill of the sport--may sound a bit farfetched, but his research and analysis are intriguing enough, and his writing breezy enough, to carry his more dubious conclusions. And, if when you finish you still don't quite believe that Daddy Warbucks is alive and well and living in the executive suites of America...
...with both people and technology, the Gamesman combines the attributes of the other types but infuses them all with a gambler's nerve and a yachtman's strategic flair. Like the proper British fox-hunter, though, he insists through it all that he's only in it for the sport, old chap, and of course we won't skin him when the hunt is over...
...group of jocks stand on the Weld stairs. "Soccer!" one shouts, "What kind of wussy sport is that? Look no hands! Nah, I'm just shittin' ya." His companions laugh. Someone spills a half-empty can of warm beer all over the steps. It runs down to the pavement and puddles at the feet of a pretty blonde, surrounded by six or seven men. She is listening to them, but the look in her eyes says she really isn't there...