Dog on the Field

Dog on the Field
by Lonie Bee
from October 18, 1941

One of the indignities of the job. Rover is going for a touchdown and ignoring the ref’s whistle. This 1941 cover is by artist Lonie Bee, who, although little known today, illustrated for magazines like Collier’s, Good Housekeeping, Cosmopolitan and Woman’s Day in the ’40s.

Ref Out Cold

Ref Out Cold
by Stevan Dohanos
from November 25, 1950

Stevan Dohanos, one of the best and most prolific of the Post cover artists, witnessed such a catastrophe at a Yale-Dartmouth game in 1949. Darned if the callous son of a gun didn’t immediately think, “ah, this would be a great Post cover!” But despite being steamrollered by a young Goliath, the real referee survived just fine. It’s a rough game.

Third Down, Goal to Go

Third Down, Goal to Go
by Thornton Utz
October 15, 1949

This bird’s-eye (blimp’s eye?) view shows how rough situations, like the one above, can come about. The football is nearly on the 0-yard line and the ref is in the way of a thundering herd rushing in to see what they can do about it.

It’s hard to imagine what it takes to paint a crowd like this. If you have an eagle eye, you’ll spot a lot of detail along that wall: coffee cups, pop bottles (glass—a complete no-no at sporting events these days), binoculars, and one man to the left using an umbrella to try to retrieve his hat. Thornton Utz painted this for a mid-October Post cover in 1949.

Football Pile-up

Football Pile-up
by Constantin Alajalov
from October 23, 1948

Russian-born artist Constantin Alajalov had a wry way of depicting everyday American life, which he happily did for many Saturday Evening Post and New Yorker covers. The poor ref in this 1948 cover doesn’t have a clue who to start whistling at.

Coin Toss

Coin Toss
by Norman Rockwell
from October 21, 1950

We can’t salute referees without this classic 1950 cover by Norman Rockwell. The artist liked to wander over to the local high school football field during breaks from the easel, and watch the kids play. This sunny October scene also boasts a fairly detailed crowd of noncombatants in the background.

But, Ref!

But, Ref!
by Lonie Bee
from October 22, 1938

Here’s another cover by West Coast artist Lonie Bee. In fact, the model in this 1938 cover looks like the same referee who was working hard to get that dog off the field in the 1941 cover. Bee did half a dozen Post covers, all with a sports theme. The title for this one is apt: But, Ref!

Now, sit back and enjoy the game—and maybe lay off the refs a bit.

Classic Covers: Saluting the Referees The Saturday Evening Post

Classic Olympic Images from the Post The Saturday Evening Post

International rivalries became a new hurdle in the Olympic games.

Amid the celebration of the 30th Olympiad, it’s worthwhile recalling the 1908 London Olympics, and and how it changed the international games.

The Fourth Olympiad was the first truly international Olympic games held outside of Greece. It was the first Olympics to include winter events and women’s gymnastics. It introduced the rule that prohibited individual competitors; only members of national teams were allowed to participate.

And it was at the London Olympics that international squabble first began to intrude.

The feuding began at the opening ceremony, when the British Olympic committee failed to fly a U.S. flag over the stadium. The American athletes saw this and were furious. When the U.S. flag bearer marched past King Edward and the royal family, he refused to dip his flag in salute.

The British officials responded to this insult with a gesture intended to “restore the importance of the monarchy.” They changed the route of the marathon so that it would begin at Windsor Castle, directly beneath the windows of the Royal Nursery, and end at the royal box where the King awaited the winner. The fact that the new route  added another 195 meters to the race didn’t seem important. (In fact, this precedent caused the Olympic committee to change the 25-mile marathon to a 26-mile event.)

Opening ceremonies, April 27, 1908.

Soon the complaining and protests began. After the Americans lost to England in the tug-of-war, they protested that the British team’s shoes were illegal. The United States also protested the pole-vault regulations, the official medal count, and the set-up of the 800-meter and the 1,500-meter race. And American runners were outraged when the British disqualified the American winner of the 400-meter race for foul play.

Fans from the United States added to the situation: Throughout the games, they displayed what the British felt was raucous, partisan cheering and generally poor sportsmanship. It was particularly noticeable at the finish of the marathon, as the Post reported:

When the Italian had fallen and Hayes, the American, had won, several more Americans came in, pretty fresh, then some runners of other nationalities, and, finally, an Englishman arrived.

The Americans were very sore over the treatment they had received, they had heard nothing for days but boasts that an Englishman could win the Marathon, and when the English runner finally did appear, way back in the nick, an immense American, leaning far out of his box, bellowed through a megaphone:

“Welcome to our fair city!”

Dorando Pietri struggling to the finish line with a little help from his friends.

The marathon is a story in itself. The leader was Italian Dorando Pietri who entered the stadium within sight of the finish line, but collapsed repeatedly. Two British officials stepped forward and ‘helped’ Pietri across the finish line. It might not have been an intentional effort to prevent the American Johnny Hayes from winning, but the American team didn’t see it that way. The Irish-American Athletic Club protested vehemently. Pietri was disqualified. Hayes won the gold.

The American team complained so often about biased British judges that the International Olympic Committee made a ruling—another first!—that future games would use judges from several different countries in future games.

Today it’s surprising to read of the intense, often bitter rivalry between Britain and America. But in the early 1900s, America’s sudden emergence as a colonial power in the Pacific challenged Great Britain’s global dominance.

Americans were still considered by many (including the future King George V) as rude and overbearing. Many in England didn’t like the American women who were marrying English lords for their titles. And Americans didn’t like the $220 million of U.S. wealth that accompanied these brides to England to shore up their noble husband’s estates.

Johnny Hayes, American gold medalist, when he was still trying to catch up with Pietri

Many Americans felt it was patriotic to dislike the British, even 120 years after the Revolution. Irish-Americans, who made up a sizeable portion of our immigrants, had more recent grievances with the United Kingdom. And now that the United States saw a possibility of becoming a global power, it needed to show it was the equal of England, and would tolerate no hint of American inferiority.

So it’s not surprising to find an occasional slap at Britain in Post editorials, like “The Desire to Win” from 1905. The editors said Britain’s sportsmanship, like its military, had become decadent because it was no longer interested in “excelling in all things, small as well as great.”

Then, shortly before the London Olympics, the English Olympic committee announced it would closely examine the qualifications of American athletes to ensure they were truly amateurs. The Post’s editors responded with a blistering editorial:

This is a proper and timely advertisement of a promise to do full duty. We hope [it indicates] the committee’s courageous intentions regarding entries from its own country.

Certainly American sportsmen trust the English committee will give its home athletes a more thorough inspection, as to their ethical qualifications, than has been the case in any previous competition of an international character.

Some Americans have taken this announcement of the English committee as a bit of mud-slinging, but, if so intended, as I doubt, it may be overlooked as another Swettenhamism.*

*This refers to a recent dispute in Jamaica. When a hurricane struck the island, the admiral on a U.S. Navy vessel sent marines ashore to protect the property of Americans. The island’s British governor, Alexander Swettenham, issued a harsh criticism, which asked how America would like Royal marines landing in New York to protect British property. He was soon ordered to issue an apology, but Americans remained incensed for months afterward.

Americans who are familiar with the athletic conditions of the two countries will not take very seriously any covert attack by Englishmen, who are hardly in a position to indulge in the smallest character-besmirching foray.

Well-informed Britishers know, to their sorrow, the depth of their athletic degradation. Outside of the Oxford and Cambridge Universities, track athletics in England reek with professionalism and dishonesty. There is an athletic association which pretends to govern the amateur sport of Great Britain, but it has proved wholly incompetent. The bookmakers rule at track meets, and their corrupting influences upon certain (and the best, athletically speaking) grades of non-university athletes have swept over the half-hearted efforts of the governing body.

If the London Olympic committee lives up to its advertised intention, the English team will have few prominent athletes outside of those who are numbered on the university lists.

The situation is different in America, where the Amateur Athletic Union holds the lines in a firm grasp. Here track athletic laws are made comprehensive and are honestly enforced, which is more than can be said for England. We have our troubles, it is true, now and again—and man is not infallible on either side of the Atlantic.

It will be well, if for the protection of its own athletes, the American Union scans with careful eye the list of English non-university entries.

Johnny Hayes and Humphrey O'Sullivan

1908: The Olympics Get Political. And Commercial. The Saturday Evening Post

Siblings Diana and Steven Lopez will represent the USA in the London 2012 Summer Olympics. They are shown here wearing sponsor Ralph Lauren’s signature U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Closing Ceremony Parade Uniforms.

In celebration of the upcoming 2012 Olympic games, the Post caught up with members of a very impressive family who will represent the red, white, and blue in London this July. It will be nothing new to the Lopez siblings—Jean, Mark, Diana, and Steven—as at least one member of the family has been taking home medals in taekwondo for the better part of two decades.

In 1995, the oldest sibling Jean won silver at the World Championships. He retired in 1998—after winning medals at more than 30 competitions—to focus on coaching his brothers and sister.

When the sport officially became part of the Olympics in 2000, younger brother Steven qualified and took home the gold. He repeated that accomplishment in 2004 and won bronze in 2008.

Joining Steven in 2008, Diana and Mark jumped into the family act by taking home a bronze and silver medal, respectively.

All four will be present this year–Jean as coach, Mark as both a training partner and alternate, and Diana and Steven as competitors. The Post was able to catch up with Diana and Steven for this Web exclusive interview:

On what it’s like to be in the Lopez family:

Diana: Growing up with 3 older brothers, I always had to be competitive just to be on the same mat. I always pushed myself really hard to be competitive. And my family is very competitive—whether it’s soccer, volleyball, video games, we all want to win. But it’s all friendly. We want what’s best for one another at the end of the day.

Something that we always remember is where our parents came from–Nicaragua–which is a third world country. We were born in Houston. My parents always told us never to take anything for granted and taught us how to be humble and grounded. And the future looks bright: my niece Alyxandra just turned 13 and is a junior champion in her own right. If the younger members of our family want to continue, they’ll have Olympic champion aunts and uncles to help. We’re the perfect family to help guide and push them to reach their goal.

Steven: We push each other. There’s a healthy competitiveness. When my brother made the national team at 17, I said ‘I’m going to be younger and better,’ and I made it at 15. I did it for him, because he always had aspirations, but he didn’t have an opportunity (the first year taekwondo was an Olympic sport it did not have a competition in Jean Lopez’s weight class). It’s a difficult, lonely, and hard road to be the best, and when you have teammates who are your siblings, it makes it easier. You all make the same sacrifices, and it’s a huge advantage because we’re traveling together so we always have home court.

On what motivates them:

Diana: It’s my own personal drive and will to keep going. We only have a short amount of years. I’m 28, and this is the time where I should be driving to be the best. I learned from my parents. They have a great work ethic, and they were always working hard for what was best for me.

Steven: I think largely it’s love of the sport; the joy in training. That hasn’t changed. I’ve been doing this for 28 years, and at times you don’t feel like waking up and training, but I still love the sport and want to compete at the Olympic level and to be the best. Being on that first place podium is one of the greatest feelings I’ve ever felt.

An Olympic Family Act The Saturday Evening Post

"Well, that cuts it to 423."
from July 28, 1956

"YIPPEE! Been playing for three weeks now and
I'd almost given up getting a hole in one."
from November 12, 1960

"I hope you don't think for one minute
that I enjoy these business trips!"
from May/June 2012

"I'll bet I couldn't do that again if I tried all day."
from June 11, 1955

"Guess again."
from April 1, 1961

from October 22, 1960

"Hey, I said I'd take the dog for a walk.
I didn't say where."
from May/June 2004

Cartoons: Golf—A Good Walk Spoiled The Saturday Evening Post

“100th Anniversary of Baseball” by Norman Rockwell

"100th Anniversary of Baseball"
from July 8, 1939

It would appear that this cover is historically inaccurate. The Saturday Evening Post decided that since Abner Doubleday “invented” the game of baseball in 1839, who better to commemorate the event in 1939 than America’s favorite artist, Norman Rockwell? Apparently the Doubleday story has no basis in truth, and the beginnings of baseball are rather nebulous. All this aside, we have to agree that the combination of the all-American pastime and the all-American artist is a happy one.

“Baseball Catcher” by J.C. Leyendecker

"Baseball Catcher"
from May 15, 1909

Giving life to this cover is none other than Rockwell’s friend and mentor, artist J.C. Leyendecker. This 1909 cover is not typical of Leyendecker’s often lavish and “artsy” style.

“Baseball Catcher Looking Up” by Robert Robinson

"Baseball Catcher Looking Up"
from October 1, 1910

Where did it go? We love the catcher’s mitt in this 1910 cover from Robert Robinson.

“Gramps at the Plate” by Norman Rockwell

"Gramps at the Plate"
from August 5, 1916

In this 1916 Rockwell cover, grandpa is taking no prisoners. We’re not sure how good a batter he is, but he’s one of the few players around in spats.

“Dad at Bat” by Alan Foster

"Dad at Bat"
from June 1, 1929

Dad gets into the act in this 1929 cover by artist Alan Foster. A littler overdressed, but good stance, pops.

“Island Game” by Stevan Dohanos

"Island Game"
from April 21, 1945

The U.S. Marine Corps did not let a world war get in the way of a good game. Okay, a contentious game. In the background to the left is Lt. Howard Munce who told artist Stevan Dohanos about this game when he was stationed in the South Pacific. Lt. Munce was an artist as well, and later fought at Iwo Jima. Notice the Corsair in the background getting patched up. We don’t know if the final call favored the Marine Air Corps or the South Pacific League.

See other great covers, including John Falter’s painting of the great Stan Musial in “Great Post Baseball Covers.”

Classic Covers: Baseball The Saturday Evening Post

The year that Rollerjam went off the air saw a rebirth of roller derby.  The modern incarnation of the sport was born in an Austin bar as approximately 100 women met for the first time to discuss a new, women-only roller derby league.  This beginning led to two leagues, one playing on a traditional banked track and the other on the flat track.  The flat-track leagues have taken off like wildfire, due in large part to the ease with which flat tracks can be constructed and relocated. The Women’s Flat Track Derby Association (WFTDA) currently has 130 full member leagues and 71 apprentice leagues.

Naptown Roller Girls. Photo by Tom Klubens.

Today, roller derby is growing by leaps and bounds.  New leagues are springing up all over the country and leagues that have been around for several years are pushing the sport to new levels of athleticism and strategy.  The days of showmanship and brawling are rapidly disappearing. There are still plenty of blocks thrown, tumbles taken, and injuries suffered, but now the sport is governed by a strict set of rules and enforced by league referees.   The women of roller derby are athletes that train and work as hard as athletes in any other sport.  While many teams still incorporate short shorts, make-up, and roller derby noms de guerre, just a few minutes at any bout will show you that this new incarnation of the sport is all about athleticism.  In an effort to further promote the sport’s commitment to strong athletics, the members of some teams have begun playing under their legal, given names and in standardized uniforms.

Members and apprentice leagues of the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association play by WFTDA rule sets and are refereed by WFTDA trained officials. An international rule set has been drawn up by USA Roller Sports (USARS), which is recognized as the national governing body of roller sports by the U.S. Olympic Committee and the International Roller Sports Federation. As the national governing body, USARS is the only organization that can petition for the sport to be entered into the Olympics, a goal they are currently working toward with roller sports already on the short list for inclusion in the 2020 games.

Meanwhile, banked track derby still attracts a large following and plays by a rule set created by the American Roller Skating Derby Association and the Bay City Bombers of California.

Naptown Roller Girls. Photo by Tom Klubens.

If you’re missing the days of no-holds-barred, rough-and-tumble derby, you’ll find it at a Renegade Derby league, whose no-rules philosophy encourages playing at any time, on any surface.  For those interested in the sport but hesitant to sign up for the tumbles and falls, there’s also Derby Lite, an organization that promotes physical fitness and roller derby skills without the impact or competition found in league play.

The game has evolved greatly in the last decade. The increase in regulations and rules have turned a wild, fast sprint around the track into a thoroughly strategized and competitive sport that forces teams to continually improve their tactics and skill level.

Women still dominate the flat track sport, dedicating hours every week to a sport they play out of choice rather than the desperation driven by the Great Depression.

Every year, teams from across the country compete in regional tournaments for a chance at the national title.

Roller Derby is spreading across the world as well, with leagues now active in over 35 countries. December 2011 saw the first Roller Derby World Cup, in Toronto, Canada, with teams from the USA, United Kingdom, European Union, and South America.

For a quick guide to the rules of modern derby as played by WFTDA leagues, watch this video, courtesy of the Naptown Roller Girls of Indianapolis, IN:

And catch a glimpse of flat track roller derby in action with this video of the Naptown Roller Girls filmed during the Northwest Central Region “Monumental Mayhem” Tournament, held in October 2011:

Since its revival in 2001 the sport has continued to attract women by offering them a unique arena to express their athleticism and inner rebel. The evolving sport represents both empowerment and opportunity, not only for those that participate, but for fans, spectators, and volunteers as well.

Special thanks to Strawberry Jam and CacaFuego of the Naptown Roller Girls, Beattie Sedgwick of the Circle City Derby Girls, and Craig Bailey of the Charlotte Speed Demons for their thoughtful input.

Roller Derby Renaissance The Saturday Evening Post

Roller Derby was just one more of the endurance contests that drew crowds during the Great Depression. Spectators, many of whom were out of work and available for long hours of watching, identified with the contestants who pushed their bodies beyond endurance for desperately needed cash prizes.

The idea of a skating marathon, or ‘derby,’ wasn’t new. As early as 1885, New York’s Madison Square Garden hosted a six-day race so grueling that two contestants—including the winner of the race—died afterwards.

Roller skating was extremely popular that year, as an item in an ’85 Post reported:

There are about 400 persons engaged in the manufacture of these skates, and the monthly product is not far from 300,000 pairs. The most of these cost about 55 cents a pair…and cost the skater $6. [$150.00 today]

There are about 50,000 rinks in the country, and the demand for skates is greater than the supply. The craze will, of course, die out. [April 18, 1885]

Some Americans worried that any pastime that was so popular, particularly among women, might be immoral. In May, the Post observed:

Roller-skating rinks—and the moral and physical dangers to which they expose especially their younger patrons— is growing a more and more common topic of pulpit and newspaper discussion in nearly every part of the country.

Even the Post editors were concerned about all this roller skating among the young people:

Long before the jammer girls: Ladies' Skating fashions for 1906.

As a vehicle for the promotion of impure associations or unbecoming conduct, it is no better than numberless other methods… for gratifying innate propensities to evil which are bound to find outlets wherever they exist.

What we want is genuine “temperance” in all things. Especially if this be the case with amusements. There is not more reason why people should become intoxicated with these than with alcoholic stimulants.

Wherever roller-skating is practiced, let there be good air, good order, good manners, proper hours, and becoming etiquette in associations, and no fears need exist as to proper, immediate enjoyment or ultimate benefits.

[May 16, 1885]

One editor, however, discovered roller skating had a surprising spiritual benefit.

A Brooklyn preacher has threatened to expel members of his church who visit the skating rink. And yet nothing will bring a man to his knees so quickly as a pair of roller skates.

[Feb 28, 1885]

When the roller-skating derby was revived seventy years later, it had two new, popular features.  The first was brawling; the short jams that peppered the bouts led, dependably, to fighting and tumbling on the track. The second attraction was women—teams of determined women athletes who weren’t shy mixed it up in the pack.

By 1950, the sport was enjoying a post-war revival. Four million Americans bought tickets to derby events that year, as John Kobler reported in a Post article. Another 2,000,000 watched it on television, where it was broadcast as often as five times a week.

The sport may have been co-ed, Kobler wrote, but it was the women who stole the show—iconic crowd favorites like Gerry Murray, ‘Maw’ Bogash, and the appropriately named ‘Toughie’ Brashun.

'Slugger' Kealey promises an opponent, "I'll get you for that."

Brashun, though standing only four feet eleven and weighing in at 119, has a renowned knack of bringing her knee into contact with an opponent’s jaw, looking all the while as guileless as a baby.

The ladies of the oval fear nothing in human form. They play an infinitely rougher, meaner, more vindictive game than the men, and bear grudges for years. Masculine tempers will now and then explode into brawls, but peace is usually restored in the locker room. Not so among the women. They will perpetuate vendettas with the implacability of Corsican bandits. The [league owner] encourages this state of affairs in the interests of showmanship and, if no genuine ill feeling exists, invents it.

The rivalries might have been faked, but there was nothing artificial about the stamina and spirit shown by the women.

When cut, the men sensibly reach for the iodine bottle; when fractured, they submit to X-rays.

The women tend to dismiss such trifles. The New Yorks’ Virginia Rushing—described [by the team owner] as “the debutante type,” —played four months after a pulverizing tumble before a nagging pain persuaded her to visit a doctor. X-rays showed a broken pelvis, the specific treatment for which is absolute immobility. Somehow the break was healing anyway and, after a brief rest, Virginia returned to the melee as sassy as ever. Toughie Brashun once ran a splinter six inches into her thigh, requiring prompt surgery. Hustled off to the hospital against her will, she refused to doff her roller skates either in the ambulance or on the operating table. She was back on the track the same night.

A number of the women skaters are married and have children, but did not let pregnancy interrupt their exertions more than necessary. Quite a few skated into the fifth month. None miscarried.

What leads women, many of whom seem normally feminine and in some instances downright dainty, to spend their lives at this breakneck profession would probably constitute an enlightening psychological study. The phenomenon is easier to understand on the economic level. Twenty per cent of the gross box office goes directly to the players.

Up Next: The Roller Derby Resurgence

Women of the Roller Derby: Morals, Manners, and Muscle The Saturday Evening Post

March is the time when vasectomies increase by 50 percent thanks to the much-anticipated opportunity for patients to “recover” in front of their TVs.

March is also the time when workplaces do some real number-crunching: on the expected loss in employee productivity (estimated at 8.4 million hours and $192 million last year); on money bet on office pools (a hefty chunk of the $2.5 billion in total sports wagering each year); and even on the number of times workers hit the so-called “Boss Button” (computer software that instantly hides live video of games with a phony business spreadsheet), which was activated more than 3.3 million times during the first four days of last year’s tournament.

But mostly, the NCAA Basketball Championship—better known as “March Madness” or “The Big Dance”—is a time that gives us something to cheer about beyond the game itself. If history and science hold true, no matter the outcome of the three-week tournament that begins in March, most of the millions who will follow its hard-court action will emerge as winners. “That’s because in the long run it’s really not the games that matter,” says Daniel Wann, Ph.D., a professor of psychology at Murray State University in Kentucky and author of Sports Fans: The Psychology and Social Impact of Spectators. “Being a fan gives us something to talk about, to share and bond with others. And for the vast majority of people, it’s psychologically healthier when you can increase social connections with others.”

After conducting some 200 studies over the past two decades, Wann, a leading researcher on “sports fandom,” finds consistent results: people who identify themselves as sports fans tend to have lower rates of depression and higher self-esteem than those who don’t. Blame it on our primal nature. “Sports fandom is really a tribal thing,” says Wann, a phenomenon that can help fulfill our psychological need to belong—providing similar benefits to the social support achieved through religious, professional, or other affiliations. “We’ve known for decades that social support—our tribal network—is largely responsible for keeping people mentally sound. We really do have a need to connect with others in some way.”

But when it comes to opportunities to connect, the Big Dance may have a foothold over other sporting events. “The beauty of March Madness is that it attracts people of all levels of sports fandom—and for different reasons,” says Edward Hirt, Ph.D., a professor of psychology at Indiana University who researches how fanship affects social identity.

Some watch, whether or not they usually follow sports, because they are alumni or have another previous affiliation to these “tribal networks”—the 60-plus participating college teams. Others connect on the spot, perhaps because it’s easier to form emotional allegiances with gutsy amateur athletes who compete with heart and soul (and while juggling mid-term exams) rather than for the paychecks collected by millionaire pros.

Also consider the unique nature of the tournament itself—a series of back-to-back games over the course of several weeks with little to no idle time in between during which a casual fan might lose interest. “I have not seen any empirical evidence to support that March Madness is necessarily better than other sports events” for promoting mood and mindset enhancements. “But theoretically I expect it could be,” says Wann.

“There are only a couple of events—the Super Bowl also comes to mind—that seem to transcend typical fandom into being akin to a national holiday … a reason for people to get together. But with the Super Bowl, everything leads to one game—and most of the time it’s an anticlimatic one that’s over by half-time.”

TV sports as therapy? Passionate fans tend to have lower rates of depression and higher self-esteem than the rest of us. Illustrations by Kagan Mcleod.

With March Madness, however, Wann notes, “there’s a longer, more drawn out event that provides more opportunities to engage in social opportunities and connections. And bonds tend to be stronger with a longer passage of time.”

Do the math: More games + more time = more opportunities to share for better bonding. “Because upsets are a normal occurrence, and you get runs by Cinderella teams knocking off the perennial favorites, there’s enough uncertainty and unpredictability in this tournament to get people excited—and keep them excited,” adds Hirt. “Early games affect later decisions; there’s a cascading effect, as opposed to a one-time pick … and that allows for the pride that comes with someone with no sports expertise being able to win the office pool.”

Maybe that’s why despite a short-term productivity loss many experts believe that March Madness actually benefits the workplace in the long term. Bonds formed in office pools and post-game water-cooler chatter build morale and inspire teamwork. At afterwork get-togethers in front of the tube, buddies can share chicken wings—and their emotions. “You have guys hugging each other, cursing at the ref, and bonding by sharing a sense of commonality,” says Hirt. “Where else can guys express their emotions like that?”

And those other relationships? Although studies show that two to four percent of marriages are negatively affected when one spouse is an ardent fan (think of the so-called “football widow”), sports fandom has a positive or neutral effect on nearly half of relationships, says Wann. “It gives many couples something to do together or allows one to have time to go off and do their own thing.”

Even if you watch in solitude, March Madness and other sporting events provide a diversion from the woes of everyday life—if only for a few hours. “Older people, especially when widowed or physically incapacitated, are more likely than others to relate to televised events,” says Stuart Fischoff, Ph.D., senior editor of the Journal of Media Psychology and a California State University, Los Angeles, professor emeritus of psychology. “Watching sports helps us get outside ourselves.”

With the thrill of victory, many fans experience bona fide joy—complete with hormonal and other physiological changes such as increased pulse and feelings of elation. And with defeat, the overwhelming majority may initially feel sadness and disappointment, but usually rebound within a day or two, studies show.

However, lest we present too rosy a picture, it must be said that sports fandom can also be a health hazard. In a 2008 study published in the New England Journal of Medicine, researchers found that on days when Germany’s soccer team played in the World Cup, cardiac emergencies more than tripled for German men and nearly doubled for women. Of course, European soccer fans are an extreme bunch; but even in the U.S., although visits to hospital emergency rooms tend to decrease during a much-anticipated sports game, there’s a higher-than-usual surge immediately after the game ends. The explanation: To see a game’s final outcome, some die-hard fans delay making that trip to the ER.

And, of course, no story about March Madness would be complete without mention of gambling. The odds of predicting all game winners are about 9.2 quintillion to one. Yet when it comes to sports betting, nothing turns John Q. Fan into Jimmy the Greek more than the NCAA tournament. Workplace camaraderie is one reason. But there’s another important factor.

Bragging rights.

With Super Bowl pools there’s just a series of boxes with different scores. If you’re lucky enough to pick the right one, you win. “But it’s a more complex task in filling out all the March Madness brackets, and a seductive pleasure in trying to predict the upsets,” says psychologist Edward Hirt.

Another reason why nearly twice as much money is wagered on March Madness than the Super Bowl: More than in other events, NCAA tournament fans simultaneously root for more than one team, triggering a greater likelihood of making multiple bets.

With other sports championships you have to wait a week or at least several days between games, but this sports soap opera—with its David versus Goliath battles—continues night and day, providing a stronger hook.

So let the games begin. Whatever the final outcome, odds are good that the overall advantage—for mind, body, and spirit—is definitely in your court.

Are Sports Fans Happier? The Saturday Evening Post

There are few things that are as ingrained into the American psyche as the Super Bowl. Every year—even months ahead of time—we know that we will: dress up and give out candy for Halloween, exchange gifts for Christmas, and get together with friends for pizza and wings for the Super Bowl. It practically is a religious holiday among die-hard fans, and even those who hate the sport still attend parties and watch “just to see the commercials.”

How big of an event is it? It is estimated that over 173 million people will tune in to the game Sunday evening—over half of the population of the United States. Consumer spending is expected to surpass $11 billion, as many as 1 in 10 workers will miss work the Monday after, and Americans will have eaten over 1.25 billion chicken wings after all is said and done.

And that’s nationwide. The impact the event has on its host city is virtually unfathomable. “There will be over 100,000 people in Indianapolis for the Super Bowl this year,” says Susan Williams, president of Indiana Sports Corporation, a non-profit lobbying group that was instrumental in bringing the event to Indianapolis. “We have been planning for this for three years. It is a huge civic engagement.”

And it is not just the sheer number of people that the city is preparing for. The cultural importance that our country places on this game, combined with the reality of living in the internet age, have indeed meant that Indianapolis has undergone a massive undertaking.

First of all, the enormity of this event means that keeping the venue safe from threats both domestic and abroad is something that the city has taken very seriously. “Fifty percent of the planning so far has been spent on safety and security,” explains Williams. “There are people here from Homeland Security, the FBI, the Secret Service—every possible public safety entity. This ranks right below a presidential visit in terms of security.”

The widespread media coverage of the Super Bowl has also presented unique challenges. There will be 5,000 credentialed media in the city, all of whom will require internet access, access to technology, and hospitality. However, Williams is full of hometown pride and believes Indy is up to the challenge: “An entire floor of the JW Marriott has been transformed into a media center,” she says. “Every single member of the media will have access to equipment, and there will be very high-level volunteers who will act as concierge to ensure that their every need is attended to. That’s why they like coming here: we’ve hosted several Final Fours and the 500 every year, and Indy knows how to deal with it.”

In addition to the special media and security preparations, the city has had to prepare with the physical realities of hosting so many people. Every downtown hotel is sold out; train tracks have been shut down; the downtown post office has been temporarily decommissioned and mail rerouted. It is estimated that visitors will spend between $100-200 million dollars in Indianapolis over the Super Bowl weekend, which is welcome news to local vendors, but presents a logistical nightmare to planners.

This is the reality of the Super Bowl in this modern age. The more cynical among us might say that such importance being placed on a simple sports game shows that our country’s priorities aren’t quite in order, and they might have a valid point.

However, according to Williams, the event will provide a lasting positive impact in Indianapolis outside of the realm of sports. “This has really brought out the best of Indianapolis,” she says. “It’s brought the community together in an incredible way.”

Over 8,000 volunteers will participate in the events surrounding the Super Bowl, which Williams believes will strengthen the community. The city will also benefit from several more physical and concrete improvements:

• Over 200 near-Eastside homes were rehabbed in preparation for the event.
• Volunteers surpassed their goal of planting 2012 trees around the community to commemorate the event.
• 46 murals have been painted around the city by both local and national artists.
• Arsenal Technical High School (an inner-city public school) will get keep the turf field and fitness center created for the New York Giants to  practice in.
• Arts and music should flourish on newly-redesigned Georgia Street downtown.

So, even after this year’s celebration wraps up on Sunday—and we look ahead to the next American holiday—Super Bowl XLVI will leave its mark on Indianapolis and the country as a whole.

The Modern Super Bowl The Saturday Evening Post

Celebrate the Super Bowl with a laugh!

From September/October 1995

Ever notice how far away that goal is? Try looking at it when a bunch of big, angry guys are chasing you. Post cartoonists look at the funny side of football.

"Do you have the same thing in Parmesan?"
From January/February 2006

No Cheeseheads this year, but fans do have to dress the part.

"He’s going to feel that tomorrow."
From September/October 1995

And you have to be ready for it to get a little rough.

"My wife thinks that I put football before marriage,
even though we just celebrated our third season together."
From July/August 1999

Women!

"Football is a game where 22 big, strong men run around for two hours while millions who really need the exercise sit and watch."
From November/December 1998

Okay, so women do understand the game.

"Boy, you should hear their coach!"
From November 25, 1950

You would think hearing one coach rant and rave would be enough.

"Relax—the game is over!"
From October 5, 1957

Hey, the team didn’t get this far by giving up. Enjoy the game!

Cartoons: Super Football The Saturday Evening Post

Muhammad Ali

Muhammad Ali, now 70 years old, is one of America’s most admired athletes. He has received an honorary doctorate at Princeton University, the Spirit of America award, the Presidential Citizens Medal, and the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

All these honors in late life could obscure the fact that Muhammad Ali, in his youth, was a highly controversial figure—a racial revolutionary, some feared.

Ali had been generally popular up to the day he beat Sonny Liston in 1964 to become boxing’s heavyweight champion. Shortly afterward, though, he announced that he’d joined the Nation of Islam, and changed his name from Cassius Marcellus Clay.

The Nation of Islam was then widely regarded by the American media as a highly dangerous group. There were fearful rumors that the Black Muslims would forcibly create a separate nation for black Americans. So when Ali announced his conversion, the media reacted as if they had been betrayed. A Post editorial from ’64 captures the tone of dismissal and fear.

For a time, when he was confining himself to bad poetry, Cassius was a loudmouth but a likable character who seemed to be harmless in or out of the ring. Then he won the championship and became, in his own estimation, “The Greatest.” After the fight, he acknowledged that he was a Black Muslim, converted by the arch-extremist, Malcolm X, the man who crowed that President Kennedy’s assassination was “a case of the chickens coming home to roost.” Malcolm X was separated from the Black Muslim movement after that remark and is now attempting to organize his own black nation. He wants to arm all the Negroes in the U.S. and ultimately take them back to Africa.

One Post writer went so far as to hint that Ali was simply using his status as a Black Muslim to increase ticket sales.

Muhammad Ali training in 1964.

Clay’s history of calculated deceptions now prompts the suspicion, of course, that his present case of galloping religion is but another decoy to serve who knows what end. Clay himself strengthened the suspicion when he declared, “Just by my being a Muslim, that should draw a bigger gate…”

On re-examination, however, Clay’s remarks were nothing more than cute verbiage. He well knows… that his commitment to Islam has cost him roughly two million dollars in commercial endorsements.

The quote came from a ’64 Post article, “Muslim Champ,” by Myron Cope, which generally overlooked Ali the boxer to focus on Ali the Muslim. Cope regarded Ali’s new faith with frank derision.

Cassius Marcellus Clay, who now calls himself Brother Muhammad Ali… is convinced he is a beacon of righteousness in a wicked world.

Having succeeded Malcolm X as the loudest [sic] Black Muslim, Clay has been fighting a socio-religious battle with the Christian world, and this, more than anything else, seems to have taken away his former exuberance. He still acts the clown for TV cameras but only to sell fight tickets.

Ali in Harlem.

Reading the article today, it’s clear that Cope’s preconceptions were obscuring his view of Ali. He claimed that Ali had “completely severed communication with whites,” even though Ali spoke freely with Cope for this article. Ali also proves himself to be more tolerant than Cope concerning the use of his old name.

“Call me Muhammad or call me Ali,” Clay advised as we drove to his house, “but if you forget and call me Cassius, that won’t bother me none.”

Cope didn’t forget. He deliberately referred to him throughout the article as Cassius Clay. And though he portrayed Ali as a zealot of his new “cult,” the champion voiced rather middle-of-the-road political opinions.

Cruising along, the new Clay discussed politics. “Kennedy,” he said, “just seemed so nice, he didn’t seem like a President.” He expressed an admiration for Barry Goldwater, saying that “he say what he thinks.”

In fact, Ali showed himself to be little changed from the spirited, sociable boxer Cope had traveled with in his pre-championship days.

I had been unwilling to believe that a young man with so bright a gift for teasing the world could hate. Henry H. Arrington, a Negro attorney and adviser to Martin Luther King, Jr., told me; “I can assure you I have never seen any indication whatsoever of Cassius disliking white people generally.”

Muhammad Ali in 1964.

Whatever the actual teaching propounded in the Muslim meetings, Clay denies that he considers all whites to be devils. “I’m stressing just the works that the whites generally have been doing,” he said in his dressing room. “They blow up all these little colored people in church, wash people down the street with water hoses. It’s not the color that make you a devil, just the deeds that you do.

“It’s as our leader Elijah Muhammad teaches us. Couldn’t nobody argue it. I’m no authority on Islam. I am just a follower. If you be a blue race, and you do the works of the devil, then we can call you a devil. You got white people who died under demonstrations, died under tractor wheels for colored people. I wouldn’t call them no devil.”

He was attracted to the cult, he explained, because its people neither drank nor smoked, and they deported themselves well.

“I am an American; I was born here,” he said softly, trying to make himself understood. “Our leader and teacher will tell you himself, we respect America and respect whites for coming here and making a paradise from nothing. It’s not hate or fighting or arguing. We just want freedom.”

Ali’s religion was still a hot issue in 1965, when he fought former heavyweight champion Floyd Paterson. In an unpublished story, Post writer Bill Bridges described how the Ali-Patterson bout was being regarded as a test of Christianity and Muslim faiths. Some of Ali’s supporters, who had become estranged when he joined the Nation of Islam, were hoping that a Patterson victory would convince Ali to return to his old faith. After Patterson was defeated, however, there was no more talk about the match proving which was the superior faith.
 
The following photos were taken for Bill Bridges’ unpublished Post feature and were never printed.

Photo at top left: Ali exchanges angry looks at his former trainer, who had departed after Ali joined the Nation of Islam. Bottom left: the trainer can be seen mid-picture, with the arm of sports writer George Plimpton around his shoulders. He had hoped a defeat would return Ali to the Christian faith. Instead, with Ali victorious, the trainer returned to Ali who forgave him and rehired him as trainer.

Religion Steps into the Boxing Ring: Ali in ’64 The Saturday Evening Post

Woman With Basketball by Carol Aus

Woman with BasketballCarol AusNovember 20, 1909

Dr. James Naismith is credited with inventing basketball in 1891, and apparently it didn’t take long for the ladies to try their hand at the sport. A Norwegian artist named Carol Aus (1868-1934), about whom little is known, painted this young player for a 1909 Post cover.

Woman Playing Tennis by George Brehm

Woman Playing TennisGeorge BrehmAugust 3, 1907

We have plenty of cover art showing a pretty lady posing with a tennis racket or other sports equipment, but an action shot like this tennis player makes a person wonder how the artist did it. A person might also wonder how the lady was so active in a long skirt. This is from 1907.

Lady Fishing by Harrison Fisher

Lady FishingHarrison FisherAugust 16, 1902

We have dozens of covers depicting the art of fishing, the first of which was Grover Cleveland fishing in 1901. The second, in 1902, was of a lady reeling one in! Harrison Fisher was a big name in Post covers, doing nearly 80 between 1900 and 1915.

The Finals and Alice Gray by Pete Fountain

The Finals and Alice GrayPete FountainMarch 21, 1903

We have numerous depictions of the great game of golf, also. This is one of the earliest, from 1903. Maybe they couldn’t vote, but women could certainly golf…and fish, hunt, play tennis, basketball and baseball.

Woman Archer by J.J. Gould

Woman ArcherJJ GouldJune 1, 1907

This is another action painting. Early Post artist J.J. Gould went for verisimilitude in this one from 1907. The lady looks like she knows what she’s doing.

Woman on Horseback by Philip R. Goodwin

Woman on HorsebackPhilip R. GoodwinJune 9, 1906

Hundreds of covers depict a lady reading, holding flowers or a fan, or simply looking lovely in a beautiful gown. This 1906 cover shows many of the fair sex were made of sterner stuff.

Classic Covers: Women in Sports in the 1900s The Saturday Evening Post

It was twenty-two years ago that I stopped off between trains to watch a high school basketball game at Plymouth, Indiana, and wound up—when the regutar official failed to show up—being pressed into service as referee. Since then, averaging fifty games a year from crossroads high schoots through Big Ten games and seven Indiana state-final tournaments, I’ve blown my whistle about 30,000 times and run about 3000 miles on hardwood floors. But I still haven’t seen everything. There’s no limit to the things that can happen in a basketball game.

There was the lowly last-minute sub who dashed in determined to save the day, only to find, when he peeled off his sweat pants, that he had neglected to put on his playing trunks. Once an overwrought boy rushed up to me and insisted in all seriousness that the other team was using seven men. And I’ll never forget the time our own dean, acting as timekeeper, thrust his gun under the table to end a game, and blew a hole through his new hat.

Before one 1934 state tournament battle, a coach asked the other official and myself to keep a sharp eye on the opposing team. “They have a trick of knocking the ball out of a man’s hands as he gets ready to put it in play from out of bounds,” he said, “to give themselves time to cover up.”

If so, a technical foul should be called. Not being given to pre-game statements of policy, however, we just told the coach to wait and see.

Right off the bat, the ball went out of bounds. Sure enough, a player brought it up to the side line to throw it in, and swipe! the ball was batted from his hands. Dutifully, we blew our whistle and slapped on a technical foul. There was juat one detail that wasn’t according to the scenario. The boy who committed the foul was on the team of the coach who had done all the squawking before the game.

Hoosier Hysteria in 1942 The Saturday Evening Post

A large part of his success came from his willingness to reinvent his game and himself. For instance, he overcame country-club prejudice against immigrants by redesigning his name, changing it to the less-Italian-sounding Gene Sarazen. (For a while, he even tried passing himself off as a Scottish MacSarazen.)

Another innovation came in the late ’20s, with his invention of the sand wedge—a club found in any respectable golf bag today.

For years I had been afflicted with that dread malady of the links which, for lack of a better term, I call “trap phobia.” It’s a virulent plague that strikes at the hearts of men and turns them to stone… Nearly every championship is decided in and out of traps, with the result that you either master your niblick before a title event or you might as well start back home and save the caddie fees.

A “niblick,” for the great majority of us who don’t know, was a club with a slightly angled face resembling a modern nine iron.

Personally, I wasn’t able to save anything—neither fees nor strokes nor reputation. I lived through some pretty desperate years that way, and then, suddenly, the answer came at a time and place when I wasn’t thinking about golf at all.

The scene is Roosevelt Field, Long Island, the year 1928; I was idly watching the planes land and take off, without the faintest thought of golf… I had noticed that as the pilot started to take off he lowered the rudder to get the plane in flying position. And within a few moments I was murmuring absently to myself: “How about a rudder on the back of my niblick?”

The result was a special niblick with the rear edge one-quarter of an inch lower than the front edge of the blade… it is designed with a rudder like an airplane, and its effect was amazing. I don’t fear the traps now.

Sarazen also designed a four wood that enabled him to make one of the most famous shots in golf history. It was during the 1935 Masters tournament, and he was approaching the fifteenth hole three strokes behind the leader, Craig Wood, who had completed play. Sarazen still thought he had a chance to catch up over the next three holes. In fact, he completely passed Wood with his next shot.

I found myself with a downhill lie, one of the toughest of fairway shots, but I still had a hunch up my sleeve or, rather, in the bag, to cover the situation. That was my club especially designed to offset the effects of this awkward shot. Selecting this club, I stood slightly ahead of the ball and toed the club head in at address. Then, as I came down into the shot, I drew the face of the club slightly across the ball in order to get it high enough to carry the water.

The ball sailed over 230 yards, clearing the water hazard, onto the green, and into the cup.

It was called the greatest shot ever made in a pinch; also some other things not quite so complimentary, there doubtless being an element of luck in holing a 230-yard shot from the fairway… What was I thinking of? Somebody asked me that after the round, and the answer was simple enough. “I was thinking of getting 230 yards,” said I grimly. “And I got it exactly to the last inch. Lucky? Oh, yes; quite lucky. But it was a good shot, hit exactly the way I wanted to hit it.”

More impressive than his mastering of the game, though, was Sarazen’s mastering of himself.

Straight as an arrow. Watching the ball fly down the fairway for a birdie.

At that time my temper was inflammable and quite beyond control. A bad shot was something to drive me into a tantrum, with the result that my reputation for club-throwing somewhat exceeded my prestige as a golfer. I recall, for instance, that I used a member’s putter during one round of the course in which I missed all putts from three to thirty feet.

The first thing I did was to head for the pro’s shop. The next was to put the putter in a vise and saw it into sections. This sounds crazy as I tell it now, but it actually happened. The third thing was to leave the sawed-off sections in the member’s locker. I later paid him for the club, but I hardly think he appreciated the spirit of the thing. It didn’t seem to occur to me at the time that he might have cherished the club.

Anyhow, I was so boisterous around a golf course that everybody got a laugh when I was paired with Bobby Jones for the first two rounds of the national open championship at the Columbia Country Club, Washington, D. C., in 1921. They thought we would wind up in each other’s beards, Bobby being quite a man for temperamental outbursts in those days. The result was that we made a private bet, whereby each was to forfeit five dollars to the other every time he threw a club, and the funny thing was that not a dollar changed hands for the two days. I don’t know what this did for Jones, but it convinced me of one thing: If it was going to cost me money, I wasn’t the man to lose my temper.

That was the beginning. The finish of Sarazen-the-fanatic came through my wife, Mary, and Walter Hagen, an arch-opponent. My wife shamed me into a degree of decent behavior on a golf course by telling me how the gallery murmured inaudibly and then walked away in tacit disapproval after one of my periodic outbursts. “Every time you get riled and show it,” she said quietly, “you lose some friends. I know you’re only mad at yourself. They don’t. They think you’re a bad sport.”

I’m not insensible to the importance of the men and women who pay for the show and thus make my living possible. It occurred to me, in fact, that I had as much privilege to step out of my part and rant at destiny as would an actor onstage in suddenly abandoning his character and haranguing the audience.

Hagen did the rest—by precept. I have played many a round with him and don’t mind conceding several points, including the fact that there is no great devotion between us. But in one respect I have to move well back and let him stand alone. As a golfer who can take the good with the bad, he’s a positive standout. I’ve seen him get the worst breaks a man ever had and never for a moment betray the fact that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary. To one of Hagen’s sublime self-faith, the alibi is simply not to be thought of.

This may be regarded as a surprising tribute, coming as it does from a man who openly stated before the 1933 championship at Chicago that Hagen belonged in an armchair and who, in turn, had to accept the ignominy of a rather grim jest by Hagen before the end of the tournament.

He waited, in fact, for the final round and the certainty that I was to get nowhere on those abominations known as the creeping-bent greens. Then he called a clubhouse attendant, gave him five dollars and an armchair and told him to take the latter out to me on the fifteenth tee.

Read “I Play Hunches,” by Gene Sarazen, August 31, 1935 [PDF].

The Old Masters: Gene Sarazen Reinvents His Clubs and Self The Saturday Evening Post