The Playmaker

At time outs or waiting for foul shots, he gnaws nervously on the thumb of his right hand, looking like somebody's little brother tagging after the big boys. Standing an even 6 ft., the Philadelphia War rior's guard barely comes to the chins of some of the heron-legged stars of the National Basketball Association. But when Guy Rodgers gets his gifted hands on the ball, the game belongs to him.

Last week, as New York's Carl Braun launched a routine pass at a forward, Rodgers darted out of nowhere, got his hands on the ball, and the Warriors' blis tering fast break was on. Dribbling faster than most Knicks could run, Rodgers had the defenders scrambling in on him as he drove for the basket and faked a shot. But, in midair, he flipped a pass behind his back to Teammate Tom Gola, who was so wide open that he merely stuffed down the basket. Minutes later, Rodgers scooped up a free ball with the smooth motion of a shortstop, fed a precise pass to the pivoting Wilt Chamberlain for another easy basket. Nursing an injured ankle, Rodgers played only 20 min., but scored 11 points, set up four baskets for teammates. Final score: Warriors 114, Knicks 93.

In a game of sprinting, sharpshooting giants, Guy Rodgers, 24, is the league's smallest fulltime starter, relies on oldfashioned, sleight-of-hand playmaking. At his slick best. Rodgers is a marvel of balance and bounce who can dribble behind his back at full tilt, delicately dissect opponents' defenses with pinpoint passes. Weighing a compact 188 Ibs., Rodgers is so superbly coordinated that he often does not bother to catch a pass, instead taps the ball to the floor to start his dribble. In just his second year as a pro, Rodgers is second in assists-per-game only to Boston's incomparable Bob Cousy, who is also one of the game's small men (6 ft. 1 in., 175 Ibs.).

Son of a Philadelphia Philco employee, Rodgers came out of Northeast High School with an average of 35 points per game, graduated in 1958 from home-town Temple University as a near-unanimous All-America. With the Warriors, Rodgers regularly holds lonely practice sessions to perfect his passing techniques. "I'll put a chair in a certain place," he says, "and pretend it's Bill Russell of the Celtics, and that I'll have to fake him a little to get the ball to Wilt. I dribble at the chair like it's Russell. I can practically see him faked out, and I aim high for Wilt."

To Rodgers' mild annoyance, sportswriters constantly refer to him as "a second Cousy." His set shot is still no match for Cousy's, and he lacks the great man's supremely confident flair. But Cousy is seven years older. It seems only a matter of time before Philadelphia's Guy Rodgers becomes the game's finest ball handler, second to nobody at all.

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