• U.S.

Sport: Block or Bucket?

4 minute read
TIME

In an age where computing machines sometimes seem in order to tote up basketball’s astronomical scores, California’s Coach Pete Newell, 44, is a refreshing eccentric: he stresses defense. The Golden Bears, 1959 N.C.A.A. champions, often score fewer baskets in a night than some other teams rack up in a half. The trick of it is that their opponents score even fewer. In the Los Angeles Classic tournament over the holidays, they held West Virginia’s All-America Jerry West to one field goal as they won, 65 to 45. The team’s top star is cloud-capped (6 ft. 10 in., 210 Ibs.) Darrall Imhoff, who averages only 11.8 points per game. Says Imhoff: “Sure, I like making buckets, but I really swell up when I block a shot. If you bat the ball down a guy’s throat on his favorite shot, he’s going to choke up a little. And he just might not try that shot again.”

Last week California was smarting under its first defeat in 26 games, suffered at the hands of Southern California (65-57). But by a freak of scheduling, it had a chance to avenge the loss only two days later. In the second game, California scored only three more points than it had in the first game. But exhorted by Newell, its defense held the same Southern California team to 45 points, resulted in a 60-45 victory.

Hands Out. In practice, California’s Newell has each player shuffling along the floor with his knees flexed, one hand up, one hand down, for 20 minutes at a time. Says Newell: “The hand should be in the shooter’s face to disconcert him; the other arm should be extended almost parallel to the floor to deflect passes. We condition arm muscles so that the arms can be held up over protracted lengths of time. In boxing, it is fatal to drop your hands; the same is true in basketball.” Newell runs practice games at both fast and slow speeds: “We want to use tempo as a weapon, make the other team play the game we can play better than they can. We make them play at a speed they’re not used to.”

The Moppet. Newell arrived in the coaching profession in a roundabout fashion. Son of a Knights of Columbus official, he is the youngest of eight children (“I was 13 before I knew that there was anything but a neck to a chicken”). When his family moved to Los Angeles from Vancouver, he was pushed into the movies by his mother, became a moppet movie star, acted with Theda Bara and Pauline White. Newell played in the silents for three years to the delight of neighborhood wise guys, recalls: “I probably had more fights than any other kid in my end of the city.” At Loyola University of Los Angeles, Newell was a three-letter man, after graduation spent an indifferent season as an outfielder in the Dodger farm system before turning to high school coaching.

After wartime service in the Navy, Newell was hired to coach the University of San Francisco basketball team. He led the Dons to a National Invitation Tournament championship in 1949, quit in 1950 to go to Michigan State. In four years, Newell built the Spartans, long a door mat in Midwestern basketball, into a steady contender, was finally lured back to California in 1954.

Though he teaches calm and control, Newell is far from calm himself. On game days, he keeps going on 20 cups of coffee, three packages of Chesterfields, has a supply of wet towels near him on the bench so that he can chew on them to relieve the tension. Bear players, to whom defense was a mystery before Newell, regard their coach as a genius. Marvels Guard Bobby Wendell: “Before I came here, I didn’t even know what defense was. But once you get the hang of it, it’s more fun than scoring.”

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