It seems that the modern sports fan has to be equally proficient at reading the fine print of legal contracts and boxscores. Everyone is aware that those records contained in the dog-eared pages of newspaper boxscores are made to be broken. Events of the last week, however, have proven that, as far as sports go, the letter of the law is not made to be broken--only evaded.

On Monday past, baseball Commissioner Bowie Kuhn, the leading practitioner of legalistic high-wire acrobatics that would befuddle the Wallenda brothers, voided the sale of Oakland's ace lefty Vida Blue to the Cincinnatti Reds for $1.75 million. Kuhn nixed the sale, as he had an earlier deal for Blue's services between Oakland owner Charlie Finley and the Yankees, on the grounds that it was not "in the best interests of baseball."

The "best interests of baseball" is obviously a catchall phrase that eludes precise definition, but Kuhn was in this case attempting to maintain a competitive balance in the National League. His desire to prevent the Big Red Machine from running away with the pennant is an understandable one, but Kuhn will be hardpressed to justify the $400,000 ceiling he has put on the sale of players.

Moreover, Finley is not the first owner who tried to convert his ballclub into a bargain basement for the rest of the league--as chronicles of the life of Connie Mack will attest. Nor is George Steinbrenner of the Yankees the first owner who tried to bankroll a dynasty.

On the same day Kuhn cancelled the Blue deal, the Committee on Veterans elected Larry MacPhail and pitcher Adrian Joss to the Hall of Fame. Both will be inducted posthumously into the hallowed shrine at Cooperstown.

There is more than a touch of historical irony in the election of MacPhail and Joss this week. MacPhail was certainly no stickler for the rules while acting as general manager of the Reds, Yankees and Dodgers, and the election of Joss involved a direct violation of a time-honored rule.

A baseball impressario of the 1930s and '40s, MacPhail earned the reputation of "the Barnum of baseball." His unrivaled brinksmanship led to the scheduling of the first night game in Cincinnati in 1935. As the wheeler-dealer G.M. of the Dodgers in 1938, MacPhail made a series of transactions that would in the present era probably have incurred the wrath of Kuhn. Back in '38, MacPhail put $50,000 down on the trading block to buy first baseman Dolph Camilli from the Phillies. MacPhail also purchased Pee Wee Reese from the Red Sox and along the way acquired the likes of Joe Medwick, Whitlow Wyatt and Mickey Owen.

While Kuhn was invoking legal intangibles, the 18 electors on the Old Timers Committee were waiving the ironclad rule that a player must have competed in the big leagues for at least ten seasons to be voted into the Hall. Joss died of spinal meningitis in 1911 after having pitched for the Cleveland Indians for only nine seasons. The committee decided to ignore the letter of the law in Joss's case, in view of Addie's credentials. His career earned-run average of 1.88 is the second lowest of all time. In 1907 he won 27 games while losing only ten. His best season was the following year, when he won 24 while compiling a 1.16 ERA and twirling a perfect game against the White Sox on October 2.

Between the Legs

Around the same time Kuhn was dispensing justice, golf's Elysian Fields, previously untrod by the court bailiff, was becoming a battlefield of lawsuits. The Professional Golfers Association (PGA) recently decided to revoke a ruling that entitled every past winner of U.S. Open or PGA Championships from having to qualify before entering a tournament. The aging winners of these two foremost tournaments are now bringing suit against the PGA, and the list of plaintiffs includes such illustrious names as Sam Snead, Gene Sarazen, Ken Venturi, Don January and Dave Marr.

These players, all of whom won either the Open or the PGA prior to 1970, are incensed because they believe that the exemption that accompanied their prize money was part of a solemn contract that is now being retroactively broken. As of this year these old-timers will be required to play in at least 15 tournaments and earn at least $10,000 per season to maintain their exemptions. For a septagenarian such as Sarazen, it is well-nigh impossible to meet such "performance guidelines."

These players feel, not unnaturally, they earned their privilege fair and square, and no one should simply rescind them. As Bob Rosburg, the winner of the 1959 PGA, noted, "If you had told me, when I won, that I could have the exemption or the prize money but not both, I'd have taken the exemption."

The unproven tour players who must qualify every week before a tournament--known loosely as "rabbits"--argue that the older players are depriving them of a livelihood by lessening the number of openings in the field. The young players, to whom the aging stars of the past can no longer hold a candle, argue that in no other sport are contemporary players expected to compete with faded champions.

Yet it is the timelessness of the great golfer that lends the same so much of its mystique. Golfers such as Sarazen and Snead bridge the generations and put in perspective the achievements of past and present. It would indeed be a shame to lose the ageless pleasure of watching Sarazen amble along the fairways, wearing the plus-fours and argylls of a past epoch and grinning his Cheshire Cat grin.

As for the present brouhaha, Sarazen says, "I've been paying my PGA dues for 57 years. I've got this card which gives me a lifetime exemption from qualifying for a Tour tournament. Now they tell me it's not good."

In 1973 Sarazen played in the British Open as an honorary qualifier. The Open that year was held at Troon, where he had competed 50 years earlier in the 1923 Open. The 71-year-old Sarazen shot rounds of 79 and 81. After his final round he was strolling along the clubhouse veranda when he overheard two of the oldest members discussing his performance. "If I'm not mistaken," one of them said to the other, "Sarazen had a total of 160 for his two rounds in 1923--a 75 and an 85. This year once again he had a total of 160--a 79 and an 81. He hasn't improved at all over the years."

The court that hands down a verdict on the present lawsuit should certainly take this anecdote to heart.