Bits o' BONG Bull No. 497!
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From: Peter Langston <psl>
Date: Sun, 13 Dec 98 11:53:06 -0800
Subject: Bits o' BONG Bull No. 497!
Excerpted-from: BONG Bull No. 497!
THE BURNED-OUT NEWSPAPERCREATURES GUILD'S NEWSLETTER
Copyright (c) 1998 by BONG. All rights reserved.
To subscribe: Email to firstname.lastname@example.org. In the text say
For Dec. 9-10, 1998. This is not the National Football League, where all
referees are infallible, all coin tosses are heads and the ball doesn't have
to make it into the end zone if the ball carrier's mother lives somewhere
in that direction. This is the Burned-Out Newspapercreatures Guild, where
referees are invited to pull our finger and this is BONG Bull No. 497!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
AT BAT. Chris Bunch adds to last week's anecdote about Bat Masterson,
sportswriter, that in fact the famous gunfighter spent more time in his life
as a reporter than he did slinging iron. It seems so unfair that he should
have been portrayed on early TV for his minor accomplishments, instead of
his action-packed years as a boxing writer.
"He did keep a .45 on hand...in his desk drawer," Bunch said. "Which
he used whenever a fan looked him up in New York. He'd allow the fan to wine
and dine (Delmonico's by preference) him, then lead the conversation around
to "Well, haven't got much from the old days ... except ol' Betsy here
(dragging open the desk drawer), which I sure don't need in this big
city...love to let her go....but only to somebody who'd appreciate her..."
"Which was the cue for the slavering fan to dig out great stacks of
greenbacks, and Masterson would reluctantly pass the smokepole across. The
fan would disappear, and the chuckling Masterson would head for the nearest
pawn shop, buy another .45 for, say, $10 (new ones were going for $15) and
bait the trap for the next sucker.
"They say that when Masterson kicked, and all of the guys who owned
'Bat's original Peacemaker' came out of the woodwork, the screaming was
shrill and varied."
Bat died at his New York Telegraph typewriter on Oct. 25, 1921, aged
67. In his machine was found the beginning of a column about luck coming
out fairly even for everyone. Rich or poor, for instance, everyone gets
about the same amount of ice. But the rich take theirs in summer, and the
poor get it in winter.
© 1998 Peter Langston