Paying to Play

COLLEGE BASKETBALL

In Princeton's college-boy lingo, Bill Bradley, 20, is known as a "straight arrow"--meaning, says a classmate, that "he is just what his parents think he is." He does not drink or smoke or chew. He studies seven hours a day for a B average, goes to Presbyterian church on Sunday and polishes off by teaching Sunday school. That would be enough to set him apart on most campuses, but there is more: he is the first All-America basketball player in Princeton's history, and quite possibly the best college player in the game.

Last week stubborn Lafayette put three men on Bradley, and sometimes there were five. He still shook loose for 27 points--including a basket in the last 2 sec. that tied the game and sent it into overtime. With 35 sec. left in the overtime period and the Tigers trailing by two points, he sank another clutch shot--and the game went into double overtime. Then Bradley coolly dumped in two free throws, and Princeton pulled the game out, 69-64. Three days later, he scored 31 points as the Tigers sank Navy, 80-76. That brought Bradley's scoring total to 130 points in just four games, gave Princeton a 3-1 start on another winning season that could well earn the Tigers their fourth Ivy League championship in five years.

58 in a Row. Most high scorers are "gunners," whose natural inclinations are to let fly whenever they get their hands on the ball. Not Bradley. He does everything well--dribbles, rebounds, decoys and sets up plays. If anything, he upsets his coach by passing off to a teammate too often. But when he does shoot--swish! Rare is the pro who hits on 50% of his field-goal attempts. As a college sophomore last year, Bradley banged in 48%, is up to 52% this year, and he once sank 58 consecutive free throws--something that no pro has ever done. Basketball buffs rave about his "great eye" and "touch." But Bradley snorts at the cliches. "You just have to develop self-discipline," he says, "a self-discipline that makes you practice in one spot until you make 25 baskets from that spot, a self-discipline not to go to bed until you've finished an assignment, a self-discipline that makes you get up at 9 a.m. on Sunday and go to church instead of sacking in."

Even as a youngster in Crystal City, Mo. (pop. 4,000), Bradley seemed too good to be true. By the time he started tenth grade, he was already his present height of 6 ft. 5 in. In high school he scored 3,066 points. An honor student, president of the Missouri Association of Student Councils, Bradley sifted through something like 75 college offers, at one point had almost decided on Duke; he even signed a "letter of intent" to accept a scholarship. But then he started rereading college catalogues--and decided that Princeton was brainier. "I don't want to end up as just Old Satin Shorts Bradley," he explained at the time. Duke Coach Vic Bubas only sighs and clutches his chest. "Every time I hear his name, I get a sharp pain right here."

Standing Ovation. No one was more surprised than Princeton. Ivy League colleges give scholarships to athletes only if they are needy as well as muscular. Son of a well-to-do bank president, Bradley did not qualify. So he paid to play, led the Princeton freshmen to a 10-4 season and scored 30.6 points a game. An All-America last year as a sophomore, he averaged 27.3 points a game; the Tigers won the Ivy League title and a berth in the N.C.A.A. playoffs. Against tough St. Joseph's in the playoffs, Bradley was the whole show, picking off rebounds and flicking in baskets with one-handed push shots, graceful hooks and arcing set shots from 20 ft. out. Princeton pulled even, edged ahead. And then, with 3 1/2 min. to play and Princeton leading 77-72, Bradley fouled out--after 40 points and 16 rebounds. That was it. St. Joseph's won in overtime, 82-81. But the evening belonged to Bradley, and the sellout crowd in the Philadelphia Palestra gave him a standing ovation.

With nearly two full seasons of college basketball still ahead of him, Bradley is in no rush to think about playing pro ball--though he admits that the money is "attractive." He first thought of studying for a State Department career, but now has switched to a history major and intends to go on to law school. "I will have to quit playing some day," he says. "I've got to be prepared. That's the problem with professional athletes--they retire at 30 with nothing more than a scrapbook full of clippings. It's hard to live more than half your life on some old pieces of newspaper."

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