A Storm Blows In On Sunshine Square

"Today is Saturday," Dose said on the bus to the game. "We are more relaxed. We always come back on Saturday."

It seemed that way. Stanford passing was sharper, its shooting was better, Dose was as good as before and soon the Indians had a 12-point lead on USC. In the gym 20 miles away at Santa Monica, UCLA fans huddled around transistor radios to pick up the Stanford game on Station KNX. There were even two radios on the UCLA bench.

UCLA was having no difficulty with Cal, but at LA State, Stanford was suddenly in big trouble. Dose had acquired his fourth foul with 13 minutes to play and Stanford leading by only seven points. Dallmar took Dose out, and with him went Stanford's composure. Of necessity back in again with 9:39 to play, Dose became fair game for USC attempts to foul him out. USC's Pete Hillman took a Jackie Gleason pratfall at Dose's feet and screamed in dismay when no foul was called. A USC guard plowed into Dose and was himself charged with a foul. Still safe. Finally, with six minutes to play, Dose brought about his own demise with a reckless defensive move. The score then was 52-45, Stanford. But at Santa Monica heads jerked up from little radios. "Dose fouled out," yelled a UCLA rooter.

Then KNX went dead.

"What happened! What happened!" Walt Hazzard shouted as he trotted past the UCLA bench—the Bruins were still having no trouble with Cal.

An interminable KNX musical interlude followed. UCLA fans sat agonizing. Finally there was a crackle, and the announcer broke in with the score, 59-59. USC had overcome a four-point Stanford lead in the last minute, and the game was in overtime.

UCLA by now had beaten Cal 72-53. The Bruins were in the dressing room, and the suspense had become so great that Hazzard asked the manager to take out the only radio. So messengers brought the score. Stanford was behind 61-59, then 63-59, then 64-59.

"We're backing in," said Wooden. "I never thought we'd do it." The final score was 67-61. Stanford had lost again, and the Big Six was tied up tight.

Inside the tiny gym the UCLA band had not moved since the conclusion of the game with Cal. Now it struck up a victory march—USCs. Men and boys and women, too, came charging into the UCLA dressing room. Hazzard grabbed for his pants. "My goodness gracious sakes alive," he said, imitating his coach's most violent profanity.

"Walter," said Coach Wooden, "I'll have none of that bad language here."