View From the Attic

And now we are out of it. Barring the miraculous, or even the improbable, Harvard is out of the Ivy basketball race it seemed to have had a shot at. And again, it was the Carbon Copy Weekend that did it.

The Penn-Princeton arrival in Cambridge, for three years running, has smudged the Crimson vital statistics scrawled on that all-important sheet of paper, the Ivy standings, the carte blanche to the NCAA. Each time, they have taken us twice.

In fact, the two lower East Coast basketball trusts have been foreclosing Cambridge championship fantasies for almost a decade, if not longer. Since 1965, Harvard has won once in 18 outings against the Quakers, while the Harvard-Princeton series in the last ten years stands 18-2, Tigers' favor.

Thus, the hopes for a Friday or Saturday night massacre (or squeaker, even), the faith that somehow, someway, Tom Sanders could continue Crimson chances, the unflagging optimism of fans, the press build-up, all of these do now seem quixotic, flying in the face of hoop history.

Yet if we should have known the tradition of the double-disaster weekend would stand, who would have guessed that a new dimension would be added to the Carbon Copy debacle? Who had the foresight to see that Harvard not only would endure the same denouement--back-to-back losses--but would follow the same dismal plot-line both nights, too?

The Crimson fell behind by ten and seven points, respectively, to the Quakers and the Tigers, after first half doldrums. In both instances, Sanders's squadron set sail from their locker room session to catch up midway through the final half, only to sink back into passive oblivion. Finally, the spoilers struck. Penn's 6 ft. 8 in. sophomore John Engels and Princeton's Joe Vavricka went wild to pirate the game away.

Sanders has nurtured this season a curious phenomenon among the players: If you want to start, keep your starting position or get your position back, you had better get out there and show me your stuff. This desire has been particularly evident of late among his big men, though at the season's inception, it affected mostly the guards.

For instance, against Penn, Sanders rotated Lenny Adams in for Bill Carey, Carey for a sluggish Lou Silver and Silver for Tony Jenkins. The next night, it was Adams for Silver, Silver for Carey, etc. The pull-and-plug logic has worked, in one sense.

Adams, back from a back injury, sports finesse and some sorely-needed talent for dribbling and making moves to the basket (Jenkins's and Silver's affinities for the baseline jumper or set from the top of the key have undermined offensive potency). Yanking Jenkins out early brought him back in the second half Friday night like the proverbial "house on fire," while Silver emerged from intermission the next night with noticeable resolve.

Similarly with the backcourt players. When Steve Selinger lacked zest and the offensive patterns turned mechanically over and over the first night, Sanders inserted Mike Griffin. The six-foot ragdoll rose to the performance, scrapping on defense and pinpointing passes on the break. Twenty-four hours later, as expected, Selinger, the babyface high-school All-American from Wilton, Conn., came on with long-range jumpers, steals and hustling interceptions that said: "Coach, give me back my delegated position."

Thus, Satch the Psychologist has shown he knows the principles of human motivation. But whether he will be able to mold a team that is a playing unit with such tactics is another matter. Sanders benched Carey after he had burst to six of the first eight Crimson points on the Quakers, although the only thing standing between the sophomore All-State Michigan forward and future All-Ivy berths is a hefty dose of confidence. Jenkins has changed from a former consistency to mercurial play. Silver, the pillar of the Harvard offense for so long this year, looks to be crumbling, and the guards, save Ken Wolfe, perform spasmodically.

Casting hoop squads is not casting dice, and perhaps grouping platoons of guards and forwards that complement each other and attack the enemy's sore spots would shift the emphasis from individual starting slots to final scoreboard tallies.

In this vein, Sanders has obviously preferred to concentrate on getting the right five to worrying about the next team on the schedule. Smooth the rough edges rather than radically alter the game plan. But such a tactic assumes a certain amount of arrogance, even if it seems perhaps a natural law to a former Celtic. For if you don't adjust, you have to make 'em play your brand of basketball. And if there is one thing Harvard has not been able to do for 40 minutes to date, it is make their opponents play their brand, Cambridge variety.