Columnist Ron Kantowski: Belinsky helped open eyes on facts of life

Tuesday, Nov. 27, 2001 | 10:45 a.m.

Ron Kantowski's notes column appears Tuesday. Reach him at ron@lasvegassun.com or 259-4088.

Now that he has gone to that Great Bullpen in the Sky, or wherever 28-51 lifetime pitchers go to warm up for mop-up duty in the Game That Never Ends, it seems like an appropriate time to share a Bo Belinsky anecdote.

The former baseball playboy, who died in his Las Vegas home Friday of an apparent heart attack, in an indirect sort of way helped by dad explain the facts of life to me ... also in an indirect sort of way.

The first time I saw a picture of a naked woman (discounting National Geographic, of course) was when my dad showed me a centerfold of a Playboy playmate named Jo Collins -- Mrs. Bo Belinsky, and probably the least famous name on Belinsky's scorecard of Hollywood starlets that included Mamie Van Doren, Ann-Margret, Tina Louise, Connie Stevens and Juliet Prowse.

I don't recall much of the conversation, other than at 11 or 12 and given my Catholic upbringing, it made me a little uncomfortable -- sort of like wearing double-knit slacks on a humid day. But the fact that Belinsky had pitched for the Phillies somehow made it a little less tawdry. That made it sports, not sex.

All I know is that a couple of years later, when I was 15 or 16 and went in my dad's drawer, with hormones raging, to take another look at Ms. Collins, Bo Belinsky became one of my idols. Forget that fluke no-hitter he pitched for the expansion L.A. Angels. That was kids stuff compared to taking up with a Playmate.

A few years ago, when Belinsky agreed to join the Sun sports staff as the "guest drinker" at Friday afternoon Happy Hour, I told him that story, and he got a big kick out of it. By then, Bo was a reformed alcoholic, sipping black coffee on a 105-degree day. But he seemed to enjoy our company, as we did his.

My only regret was that my dad wasn't still alive. I would have called him on the cell phone and told him he'd never guess who I was having a beer with. Then I would have handed Bo the phone.

Of course, knowing my old man's passion for baseball, he might have asked Belinsky about Mickey Mantle's statistics, rather than Jo Collins'.

Last year, it was Arkansas-UNLV; this year, it'll be Utah vs. Southern Cal. Given the parameters within the LV Bowl must work (small purse, less-than-attractive conference commitments, etc.), you'd be hard pressed to put together a better offering.

But I had to chuckle when Kunzer-Murphy said that USC's presence might enable the game to sell out. The truth of the matter is unless it's the Rose Bowl, the Trojans travel about as well in the postseason as a 2-year-old with diaper rash.

And then there's the not-so-little matter of the game being played on Christmas Day.

To wit, I received a phone call last Friday from a casual SC fan who said he had his Winnebago all fueled up and pointed toward Las Vegas -- until he learned the game would be played on Christmas.

The early line is that Utah will bring more bodies to town than Southern Cal, but that the beer lines will be longer on the Trojans' side of the stadium.

Sometimes that grass on the other side of the fence isn't as green as it seems.

UNLV fans should remember that, the next time they try to judge the Rebels on the basis of one road game at a quality opponent.

But whereas Harter would give the dapper Bayno a good luck kiss (or was it the kiss of death?) prior to each game, she was content merely to slap palms with the avuncular Spoonhour.