Crime at the Globe

I first met Bud Collins, who writes for the Boston Globe, at a professional tennis tournament at Longwood last summer. It was the same day that a letter had appeared on the Globe's editorial page. somewhat of a billet-doux to Collins from Mrs. J. D. Garrott. It was a masterpiece of outraged matronhood.

"If ignorance is bliss," it read. "then Bud Collins must be in his element. He is very ignorant." I loved it. Bud, as it turned out, loved it too. "Listen," he advised, "it shows they're reading you."

Collins is the darling of tennis journalism, and he was making the rounds in style, resplendent in white duck trousers and a knit shirt. We had several minutes of light conversation, and he seemed to be fairly reasonable, Mrs. Garrett notwithstanding.

So I was quite pleased to see him last week advocating the seizure of Harvard Stadium by eminent domain, as an easy solution to the homelessness of the Boston Patriots, who play football on occasion.

It seems that even though the Patriots have trouble filling Alumni Stadium on Sunday afternoons, they crave the facilities at Harvard, because it would allow them to stay in Boston. There is a rule that requires member clubs to have a stadium that can seat 50,000, and Alumni Stadium can't come near that capacity.

Harvard is the only institution with such a stadium, and since the Boston city fathers and their friends in the State House aren't terribly enthusiastic about building a facility. Harvard is the last hope of "big time" football in Boston.

Harvard, understandably, is not very cooperative, so Bud figures that eminent domain is the solution. I agree with him, because it is also the solution to our problem at the CRIMSON.

Ben Beach, our whiz-kid sports editor. Dave Logan, who handles the money, and myself, who gives grief to both, were talking about the situation the other day.

We're pretty interested in expanding the coverage and circulation of the CRIMSON. but to do that we need a larger facility. And since I'm the Harvard sports correspondent for the Globe. the boys were wondering what I could do to procure the Globe plant in Dorchester, my home town, for our use.

It was a natural. I felt. Since the Globe's morning and evening editions are basically the same, with the addition of the stocks and Joe Concannon in the afternoon, the problem of time should be reduced. The pressmen could put out the same paper, with the two appropriate changes, early in the morning and no one would notice. Then, the boys that put out the CRIMSON would take over, and put out the six heavy editions a week that the city needs. The Globe, unfortunately, has proven that it is not enough of a newspaper to do the job.

"Right!" Logan roared. "They aren't fit to clean our typewriters."

So if the thing works out. I'll get together with Bud and make a deal. We'll wield our considerable influence with Nathan Pasey, who runs the place, Dean Watson, who helps him, and Dolph Samborski, who keeps the jocks in line. Bud, with his impressive silver tongue, will woo Mr. Taylor. Mr. Winship, and Fran Rosa, who basically run the Globe.

So the solution is perfect. We get the Globe, and the Patriots get the Stadium, with ample practice time and free towels from Jimmy Cunniff, who owns Dillon Field House. Everybody's happy. The Patriots and the CRIMSON, two institutions with proud traditions, and even prouder futures, will join hands across the Charles, for all mankind.