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About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 17, 1950)
GOOSE STEPS By SAM FIDMAN An undefeated season and a bid to the big annual Bowl game at Flushing, N. Y., was in store for Coach Ronson’s undefeated, untied, and unscored upon Dnieperpoopsk Redrums, of Dneiperpoopslt. The Redrums (spelled backwards—Murder) had waded through eight games, including six conference frays and a pair of intersectional clashes. The Redrums were never even threatened; no team could approach their physical ruggedness. Coach Ronson’s team was tough; it was rough; and it was ready for Saturday’s season finale against the Wyoming State Violets, a new Uni versity which had spring up in the Rockies, and had likewise gone un defeated through eight contests. Enroute to the Violets’s stronghold, the Redrum’s star infinite-threat quarterback, Darrel Shmarrel, was making love to Coach Ronson’s over sexed young wife. As he pressed her back against the rail of the caboose (the train’s), Darrel Shmarrel lost his footing and smashed to the tracks. To make a long story taller, the star gridder wound up in the hos pital with a detached caboose and multiple abrasions of the. When the Redrum special arrived in Violets-on-the-Stromboli, the massive, corpulent coach wept publicly. "Without Darrel Shmarrel— we’ve had it,” he bawled. A milk-toast-like Dnieperpoopsk Redrum eleven wrung itself onto the Violets-on-the-Stromboli turf. The game was on! Only once in the first half did the Redrum forward wall make a stop in time to ward off a first down. On that occasion the Violet center stepped ferocuously on the Dneiperpoopsk line-backer and spat out, “thaaaay—you ol’ meanie you!” The Violets scored twice in the first quarter, and repeated in the second; when the team went in for halftime, the Redrums trailed 26-0. In the dressing room, Coach Ronson, always the shrewd one, rallied his battered team around him and, in silence so thick that you could cut it with mediocre halitosis, he said, “Men, it looks bad. Some of you have given up—but -I havent.” “Just think of Darrel Shmarrel—lying there in the hospital—listen ing to the game. He is probably crying and near death—” Then in a moment of tense drama, reminiscent of Knute Rockne and the “Gipper,” Ronson belched; “Let’s go out and win one for the Shmar rel—” The Violets shrunk before the enraged Dneiperpooksks—and, with less than four minutes remaining in the game, the score was Violets 26, Redrums 25. By now Coach Ronson’s boys were plainly pooped, and the sub quar terback for the great Darrel Shmarrel was carted off the field with in grown toenails. Tearfully, the broken-hearted coach pointed to his last remaining sub, and a pitiful sight dragged off the end of the bench. It was Glockamora Schultz II. There he stood, a glorious, voluptuous hulk, his garb including two casts on his arms and heavily-spiked shoes. He had never played in a college football game—but the moment he lumbered onto the gridiron, the Violet coach sent his squad into an 11-man line. Always the foxy one, he figured that Glocky could never pass—unless he had a third arm. He laughed to himself. “The fans were in frenzied hysteria; the cheerleaders bawled and danced salami numbers; alumni fired rewolowers at Coach Ronson. With his casts covering his hands, Glocky had to double over and take the snap from center in his midriff. He faded back—back—back. Then—and you will find this hard to swallow—but I saw it: Glockamora Schultz, always the resourceful one, pulled a third arm out of his jersey and fired a perfect strike to Donald Schmonald for a touchdown and the victory. The Redrums were in the Bowl. The Violet coach committed suicide by pounding his melon-shaped head against the nearest goal post and wailing “ahaa-haa-haha-nolno ohno-aghaaaa.” Reporters mobbed shrewd Coach Ronson. One of them asked_“How did you know the boy had a third arm?” Cooly, calmly, dragging on his marijuana tube, Coach Ronson replied: “Just a hunch, just a hunch . . .” Lemon Sour Oh shed a tear for Poor Harry Van Ness; He agreed when his girl said “My hair is a mess!” “What was the explosion on Keke’s farm ?” “He fed his hens 'Lay or Bust’, and one of them was a roostex-.” Defensive halfbacks And freshman lasses Should always be ready To intercept passes. When as a youth I went to school I was quite dumb, you see; In fact I found school very dull— And that’s how school found me. Better get a good laugh out of the bathing suits women are wearing today. Soon there won’t be any thing to laugh at. Foul Play Murder Mystery Stumps Police By J. SLEUTH NORTIISIDE (777) Who killed Johnny Walker? The murder o£ the well-known local playboy is still at large and city police chief I. Crackem But fast says he has few leads. The night-clubber was found dead early yesterday morning be hind a local grocery store. Walker was killed by one or more assailants from a sharp blow on the head, according to assistant chief Wier Helpless. His cap was found a few feet from the body. Walker’s apartment, 96 Proof avenue, had in it only a corkscrew, two shot glasses, and a Theta Nu Epsilon membership card. Officers are questioning The University of Oregon Inter-fraternity council as to the meaning of the TNE card, Bulfast said. Funeral services, under the di reaction of the Fluid Embalmers Inc., will be held at 2 p. m. Sunday. | Owl Boosts Humor Mag By THE WISE OLD OWL Well, don’t blame me if this doesn't turn out to be very funny—• I wrote a real keen, smutty-type column but a little bird (not one of Bob Funk's robins) hinted I’d have to go south with the seagulls if it was printed, and owl be darn ed if I want that to happen. A carrier pigeon I know dropped off a copy of the Stanford Chap paral last week and followed it up with an end-of-the-term, humor ous-type edition , of the Stanford Daily, edition SEXXXXXI it was . . . One realizes that the admin istration here would be about as happy to see a local of the Ku Klux Klan started as a humor magazine . . . but it’d sure be nice. . . (Stanford has a humor maga zine, and in spite of it Stanford's educational standing is probably almost as high as the University’s . .. well, maybe someday we’ll have one . . In the meantime, look out for falling pieces of green cheese from the Moon.) W.O.O. (figure it out for yourself stupid) guesses that “what we need around here” is more queen contests. . . After all, here’s more than a week gone by and nobody elected Miss Two-way Stretch, or Miss Plumber’s Helper (send two ounces of bird-seed for the punch lines. . .) Anyhoo, most of the (six) girls that came to Oregon for purposes than trapping a husband figured on either getting an education or being elected queen-of-something or-other, and who are we to dis appoint them? So call me early, mother, for I’m to be queen of the Salvage Drive. . . Uncle, what's a bachelor? Junior, a bachelor is a man who didn't have a car when he was in college. She'll love you if you tell her that time stands still when you look in her eyes, but try telling her her face would stop a clock. Tragedies Averted By Gossip Column We heard the other day the woeful tale of the gal who asked her dream man to the Heart Hop, only to discover that he’d plant ed his pin the week before. Our heart bleeds for her. Sb, beginning in next Friday’s feature section, we’ll bring you that repository of., social., infor mation ( ?), the gossip column. Jack Lapdrud is tentatively taking over the job of Oregon’s own Louella Parsons; let him know about that surprise engage ment or that hilarious fun night skit last week. Why Are Daters Piggers? (Continued from page six) this far, because whenever he saw some gal stopping on campus to chat with a male, he would holler loudly, “Pirga.” Through the years, we who speak a sort of Eng lish transposed that to “pigger,” and from that grew a raft of false legends. Anyhow, that’s the story I got. But don’t forget that those sailors t were really loaded. YOUR NAME YOUR PRODUCT IN THIS SPACE WILL REACH AN EAGER STUDENT MARKET /■ Dailu EMERALD ^EMERALD TODAY'S STAFF Managing Editor: Glenn Gilles pie. Copy desk: Shirley Ildstad, Mary Lou Stanbery, Suzanne Lichty. NIGHT STAFF Night Editor: Abbott Paine. Night Staff: Clifton Erickson, Larry Hobart and Wm. Cher nenkoff. HEIUG Sun-Wed., Feb. 19-22 “MALAYA” Spencer Tracy, James Stewart Thurs-Sat., Feb. 23-23 “ONCE MORE MY DARLING” Robt. Montgomery, Ann Blythe also “ABANDONED” Dennis O’Keefe, Gail Storm Sun-Tues., Feb. 19-21 “SHE WORE A YELLOW RIBBON” John Wayne, Joanne Dru Wed-Thurs., Feb. 22-23 Foreign Movie Club Presentation “LA TRAVIATA” BfjBjlMpffia Bdg&sAsisAuay Sun-Mon., Feo. 19-20 ‘GAL WHO TOOK THE WEST” Yvonne De Carlo also “ONE LAST FLING” Tues-Wed., Feb. 21-22 "BRINGEM BACK ALIVE” also “NEATH CANADIAN SKIES” Thurs-Sat., Feb. 23-23 “FIGHTING MAN OF THE PLAINS” Randolph Scott also ‘SCENE OF THE CRIME’ Van Johnson Mi KENZIE lTl SPRiNGFl.tLft Sun-Tues., Feb. 29-81 ‘INSPECTOR GENERAL’ Dannye Kaye Wed-Fri., Feb. 22-24 “RED, HOT AND BLUE” Betty Hutton also ‘SONG OF SURRENDER’ Saturday Only Afternoon and Evening—2 hours Cartoon Comedies ALL CARTOON COMEDY SHOW 7-34031 Sun-Tues., Feb. 19-21 “TOPPER” also “MERRILY WE LIVE” Wed-Thurs., Feb. 22-23 “FORGOTTEN WOMAN” also “STRANGE MRS. CRANE” Fri-Sat., Feb. 24-25 “RIDERS OF WHISTLING PINES” also “APACHE CHIEF” 7-2201