Scorecard

The idea, conceived by an architect, an engineer and a construction company, would float on the waters of Elliott Bay a stadium that would seat some 60,000 spectators for baseball and 70,000 for football.

For a town that has a floating bridge already, and another one abuilding, this is not too radical a notion. Allan McDonald, the architect, made it seem almost prosaic.

"We wanted something near downtown," he said, "and when you think of the acreage that is needed a floating stadium is the only answer. We have lots of water."

A roll-away dome top would shelter the crowds during the rainy spells that Seattle endures in late autumn. The stadium would rest on concrete pontoons that would utilize variable ballast to hold the structure absolutely level, even in a windstorm. A breakwater would shelter it from waves. There would be a marina for boats, so that fans could sail to the games, but even that is no special novelty in Seattle, many of whose residents sail to University of Washington football games.

Estimated cost: $15 million to $20 million, but a titillated Seattle wouldn't mind at all. "My gosh," one of the townsfolk said, "we could have the 10th wonder of the world out here."

A BATTERY MATE FOR YOGI

The Houston Colts' rookie pitcher, Jim Dickson, answers to the name of Diz, but not because of any resemblance to the matchless pitching artistry of Jerome Herman (or was it Jay Hanna?) Dean. It's because of incidents like this one:

In the .45s' training camp at Apache Junction, Ariz., Dickson complained that the hotel room he shared with John Bateman was stuffy. Bateman obliged by opening wide the floor-to-ceiling window and carefully closing the screen. But Dickson urged him to open the screen, too.

"But the fresh air can come through the screen," Bateman pointed out.

"Yeah, I know," Diz agreed, "but then it's all chopped up."