Sport: Lone Star Whoops for Hoops

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Something is happening to the state of Texas and the state of basketball, once as compatible as cattlemen and sheepmen in the West. Next to "Remember the Alamo," the most threadbare sampler this side of the Pecos must be retired College Publicist Jones Ramsey's familiar line, "There're only two sports in Texas--football and spring football." Former University of Texas Basketball Coach Abe Lemons laments, "You can lay a football down in a parking lot and draw a crowd," but college jump shooters have been a rougher sell in the Lone Star State. Historically, pro basketball has been no bonanza either. One night in 1973, the Dallas Chaparrals of the American Basketball Association counted 130 paying customers and moved to San Antonio.

So what is all this drumming and dribbling coming out of Dallas now? A week ago, the National Basketball Association staged its All-Star festivities at Reunion Arena, where come March the National Collegiate Athletic Association will house its Final Four tournament. To complete the mood of a basketball world slightly out of whack, the N.B.A.'s annual slam-dunk preliminary was won by an undersize Texan, 5-ft. 7-in. Atlanta guard Spud Webb. Meanwhile, the long-range shooting medal went to a 6-ft. 9 1/2-in. forward, Boston's Larry Bird. The game that followed was overpopulated with seven-footers, but the most valuable player happened to be 6-ft. 1-in. Sprite Isiah Thomas of Detroit. Plainly pro basketball has turned itself upside down.

Five years ago, 18 of 23 franchises confessed to losing money; now 15 to 18 anticipate a profit. Beyond just avoiding the labor strife of football and baseball, the N.B.A. seemed to draw inspiration from both quarrels. Whereas football players struck over a percentage of receipts that never materialized, basketball players are now working for a fixed 53% of the league's gross revenues. Attendance is up 6% over last year's record 10.5 million, and as business has increased, so has the athletes' take. The maximum payroll has compelled sounder salary judgment, and the talk of folding or merging a half a dozen teams has been stilled.

Not just profitability, but palatability is on the rise. While baseball wrings its hands in search of a drug policy amenable to both sides, the basketball players and owners have calmly installed a straightforward plan providing for education, rehabilitation and punishment. The first time a player comes forward with a heroin or cocaine problem, he is suspended with pay, treated at the team's expense and reactivated. The second time, he is suspended without pay; the third time, banned for a minimum of two years and possibly for life. John Drew of the Utah Jazz has achieved the last plateau; New Jersey's Micheal Ray Richardson and Chicago's Quintin Dailey teeter on the edge. Moreover, an independent narcotics expert carries both the owners' and the players' license to order spot checks.