SONOFAGUN, HE'S BETTER

By Steve Wulf

He is the first freshman point guard to lead his team to college basketball's national championship. In Arizona's inspiring 84-79 overtime victory over defending champion Kentucky in the final in Indianapolis, Indiana, on March 31, he scored 19 points, assisted on four baskets and even led his team in rebounds with nine. "He is a special one," says Dean Smith, coach of the North Carolina team Arizona beat in the semifinals. He is Mike Bibby, son of--Virginia Bibby.

Bibby wasn't the only reason why his team pleasantly surprised college basketball by beating three No. 1 seeds on its way to the championship. Indeed, Arizona's Wildcats had almost as many story lines as free throws in their win over Kentucky's Wildcats. There was vindication for Lute Olsen, the "Coach from Glad," who forever silenced his detractors. There was guard Jason Terry, who slept in his uniform the night before the final. Then there was guard Miles Simon, who began the season as the academically ineligible brother-in-law of Darryl Strawberry but ended it as the Final Four's most outstanding player, thanks to 30 points in the final and a passing grade in Family Studies 401. (Now a certain Yankee can claim to be Miles Simon's brother-in-law.)

The most compelling tale of all, though, is Bibby's, and it's a tale that belongs in future Family Studies courses. Mike's father, Henry Bibby, was the point guard for three UCLA championships (1970-72). Those who have seen both play say that Mike, 18 and slightly shorter (6 ft. 1 in.) than his father, has the old man's shooting touch, his court sense, his cool under pressure, even his posture. As it happens, Henry Bibby, now 48, was in Indianapolis for the Final Four, both as the coach for U.S.C. and as a member of the '72 Bruins, who were being honored on the 25th anniversary of their championship. Unfortunately, Henry was not in Indianapolis as Mike's father because, well, he hasn't been there for him in some time.

These things happen. Henry met Virginia, a native of Trinidad, in New York City when he played for the '73 N.B.A. champion Knicks. They married, had four children and followed the bouncing ball from city to city before settling in Phoenix, Arizona, in 1980, when Mike was two. After coaching in the minor pro leagues, Henry landed a job as an assistant coach at Arizona State. But after a recruiting scandal there in 1985, he went back to being a coaching gypsy: Baltimore, Maryland; Savannah, Georgia; Tulsa, Oklahoma; and Venezuela. His trips home to Phoenix lost all frequency, and Henry's presence was reduced to an electronic pager he left with the kids.

Mike, who played with his two older brothers, became a basketball prodigy. As a senior at Shadow Mountain High, he averaged 34 points a game while leading the team to the state title. Genes have something to do with it--uncle Jim Bibby pitched a no-hitter in 1973--but be careful about declaring this a rout for nature over nurture. Virginia is more responsible for Mike's genius than Henry is.

"My mother was the one who forced me to go out to practice, to jump rope when I didn't want to," says Mike. "I used to do a lot of trash talking on the court, and she said cut it out. I did. She is a wonderful person." While Mike freely talks about his mother, who never misses a game, he has little to say about his father and even refuses to take his calls or answer his letters. It didn't help matters when Henry became the U.S.C. coach in the middle of last season--Arizona and Southern Cal are Pac 10 rivals. In January, on the eve of Arizona's visit to U.S.C., Mike told the Orange County Register, "You know, my mom isn't a famous person like my dad. But I wish when they say, 'Mike Bibby, son of Henry Bibby,' and all that stuff, I wish they could just say, 'Son of Virginia Bibby.' She's the reason I'm here. That's who I am."

After that game, which U.S.C. won, father and son awkwardly hugged. And they had a brief encounter again at the Final Four. While in Indianapolis, Henry asked his fabled coach, John Wooden, for a comparison. "Henry," Wooden told him, "he's much better than you were." That had to make Henry proud. Prouder still if he had had a little more to do with it.