(the paper that makes as much sense upside down as right side up)

Vol. I: No.9

Editor: Tom Sullivan (a heel with a soul)

Contents

Breakers.................................................................................................

Surf..........................................................................................................

Flotsam & Jetsam...................................... ...........................................

Confusion say.........................................................................................

The Bridge (written in blood--yours).......................................................

Waves....................................................................................................

Breakers: from the diary of Seaweed Sully (in the style of Mark Twain).

The meet I told you about in the last "diary" concluded the winter age-group season at Patton. The Cap'n informed us of this the following day. He called us together in one corner of the pool deck and bid us collapse where we stood. When we were seated before him he began to pace back and forth in a well worn groove. The pavement there, in contrast to the green color elsewhere, was black from the cigar ashes that his bare feet had trodden into the deck. I allowed that this was why his feet were in such a condition, for they bore a close resemblance to patent leather, or a field beset by soil erosion. It is honest speculation to suppose Cap'n Hauck might have assumed a totally different visage had it not been for the invention of the cigar. I concluded this upon noting that the Cap'n, in the course of the many dramatic gestures which he was fond of, occasionally scratched his elbow or his temple and in so doing touched the cigar to that part, thereby singeing a liberal amount of hair form his head or arm. I reckoned it would be fun to watch him shave.

What he had to say now, though, was tinged (not singed) with much inspiration. He conceded that we had had a "fair" season with much promise and improvement, but then he submitted that this was not enough. For a stiff quarter hour he held forth on the virtues of hard workouts, expounding on perspiration and touching on aspiration and binding it all together with the conclusion that we must "intensify" our program. I noted that a few of his audience (seven year old Bobby Koch and Randy Penn) followed his every word, and judging from their slack jaws, they were in complete agreement with him. But this was the pattern for team sessions I was to learn, and soon the Cap'n sent everyone scurrying for a lane with an unusually vociferous "hut!"

Once again I found myself treading water over one of those black lines, and once again I followed it and it led nowhere. We would all follow these lines up and back a few times and then stop while the Cap'n hollered out numbers: "...twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty and a half!" I allowed that he was counting