Linux Sports

The urge to gamble is so universal and its practice so pleasurable
that I assume it must be evil.
                -- Heywood Broun

The whole of life is futile unless you consider it as a sporting proposition.

There's a couple of million dollars worth of baseball talent on the loose,
ready for the big leagues, yet unsigned by any major league.  There are
pitchers who would win 20 games a season ... and outfielders [who] could
hit .350, infielders who could win recognition as stars, and there's at
least one catcher who at this writing is probably superior to Bill Dickey,
Josh Gibson.  Only one thing is keeping them out of the big leagues, the
pigmentation of their skin.  They happen to be colored.
                -- Shirley Povich, 1941

They also surf who only stand on waves.

To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and, whatever you hit,
call it the target.

Trust everybody, but cut the cards.
                -- Finlay Peter Dunne, "Mr. Dooley's Philosophy"

        Two brothers, Mort and Bill, like to sail.  While Bill has a great
deal of experience, he certainly isn't the rigger Mort is.

Two golfers were being held up as the twosome of women in front of them
whiffed shots, hunted for lost balls and stood over putts for what seemed
like hours.
        "I'll ask if we can play through," Bill said as he strode toward
the women.  Twenty yards from the green, however, he turned on his heel
and went back to where his companion was waiting.
        "Can't do it," he explained, sheepishly.  "One of them's my wife
and the other's my mistress!"
        "I'll ask," said Jim.  He started off, only to turn and come back
before reaching the green.
        "What's wrong?" Bill asked.
        "Small world, isn't it?"

We was playin' the Homestead Grays in the city of Pitchburgh.  Josh [Gibson]
comes up in the last of the ninth with a man on and us a run behind.  Well,
he hit one.  The Grays waited around and waited around, but finally the
empire rules it ain't comin' down.  So we win.  The next day, we was disputin'
the Grays in Philadelphia when here come a ball outta the sky right in the
glove of the Grays' center fielder.  The empire made the only possible call.
"You're out, boy!" he says to Josh.  "Yesterday, in Pitchburgh."
                -- Satchel Paige

When he got in trouble in the ring, [Ali] imagined a door swung open and
inside he could see neon, orange, and green lights blinking, and bats
blowing trumpets and alligators blowing trombones, and he could hear snakes
screaming.  Weird masks and actors' clothes hung on the wall, and if he
stepped across the sill and reached for them, he knew that he was committing
himself to destruction.
                -- George Plimpton