The Egg Man

His team is wallowing in the depths of the National Basketball Association. He has no agile big man to flick him rebounds, no slick-handed guard to feed him cripples. Compared to the giants he faces in the forecourt, he is only medium-sized (6 ft. 6 in., 210 Ibs.). Yet, when he gets his sensitive hands on the ball, no shotmaker in the N.B.A. is more feared than the Cincinnati Royals' Jack Twyman, 25, a lean-faced battler with an incredibly soft touch.

"It's like tossing an egg up there," says Twyman. "I toss it easy so the egg won't break." Twyman gets away his one-hand jump and two-hand set with deceptive speed, arches his shots so high they can even clear the soaring blocks of Philadelphia's mighty Wilt ("The Stilt") Chamberlain (7 ft. 2 in., 250 Ibs.). Says the Boston Celtics' Coach Red Auerbach: "Show Twyman a little daylight and--boom--it's up and in." Dogged Development. Last week, given a little daylight by Boston, Twyman scored 40 points to lead the Royals to a 128-115 victory that snapped the champions' winning streak at 17, just one short of a new N.B.A. record. By week's end Twyman had boosted his year's average to 31.7, second in the league only to Chamberlain's 36.6. What was more, Twyman increased his total points to 1,267 to maintain a league lead of 95 points over Chamberlain, who had played in 8 fewer games. Sighed Twyman: "My legs feel like a couple of boards, just enough spring left to bounce into bed." Sinking shots from the outside has never come easily for Twyman. Son of a foreman in a Pittsburgh steel plant, he suffered through an adolescence so gawky that he did not make the Central Catholic High School team until his senior year.

At the University of Cincinnati, Twyman was still awkward enough as a freshman to be nicknamed "Footsie." But he practiced his soft shots so diligently that in his senior year he averaged 24.6 points a game. Turning pro in 1955, Twyman doggedly worked on his touch long hours after his teammates had quit, showed steady improvement every year, last season trailed only St. Louis' great Bob Pettit in total points (2,105 v. 1,857). One of the most respected men in basketball, the industrious Twyman is the Royals' player-representative in dealings with the owners and the N.B.A. When Teammate Maurice Stokes was paralyzed with a brain disease in 1958, Twyman became his legal guardian, has since directed the raising of some $45,000 to meet hospital bills.

Two Soft Touches. Without the massive Stokes (6 ft. 7 in., 235 Ibs.). Twyman has to carry so much of the Royals' load that he shoots all night long, has become what the pros call a "trigger."' But help is coming; next year Cincinnati will get Oscar (''Big O") Robertson (6 ft. 5 in., 198 Ibs.), the talented senior at the University of Cincinnati, who again this year is leading the college scorers (40.7 points a game), has a feather-soft touch of his own.

Playing in a holiday tournament at Manhattan's Madison Square Garden, Robertson demonstrated just how much help he could be. The final saw the top-ranked University of Cincinnati matched against a hustling Iowa team. For the first few minutes Robertson seemed to have the Garden-variety jitters; twice he lost the ball through walking violations, missed two successive foul shots. Cincinnati dropped behind 24-13, and catcalls rasped through the smoky gloom of the balcony.

Then the Big O took charge. Moving at an easy lope, feinting smoothly with his shoulders like a boxer, he simply swept around his man, drove for the basket, and soared out of the melee with the ball cocked in his huge right hand for the scoring shot. His slim ankles taped like a thoroughbred's, his shirttail flapping, Robertson turned solemn eyes on the Scoreboard after each shot, balanced his attack with gracefully arched one-handers from the outside. Final score: Cincinnati 96, Iowa 83, Robertson 50.

With 16 games still on the schedule, Robertson needs only 170 more points to break the scoring record for the normal three-year varsity career (2,538), set by Furman's Frank Selvy in 1952-54. Unless he gets hurt, the Big 0 seems a cinch to make it.

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