All For One Sure Beats One For All

Jones, who wears a sun visor off the court, may have been perplexed at the lack of rays in Portland or intimidated by Walton's huge shadow enveloping the lane. In the first two games in Portland, Jones had a grand total of seven points and nine fouls, and performed as if he couldn't wait to get to a TV set for what he once described as his greatest thrill: "When The Flintstones went from half an hour to an hour. A full 60 of Fred and Barney. Wow!"

In the third quarter of Game Four, Collins mustered some offense and Walton went to the bench with his fifth foul at 7:02. All the Trail Blazers did then was install Lloyd Neal at center and stage a fast break-and-layup clinic, expanding a 71-55 lead to 98-67 by the end of the period. That's a 15-point swell without Walton.

Dr. J was so frustrated by the defense of Gross and other Blazers lying in wait in their ill-disguised zone that when he finally got a chance to take off on one of his Ferris wheel, dynamite-slam numbers, he threw the ball down through the hoop so hard he hit himself in the forehead. Erving is believed to be the first man to give what the players call "a facial" to himself.

As Hollins broke out of a personal trance with 25 points and as the Portland lead grew to a mellow 41 points, the 76ers (minus Dr. J), loafed, sulked, laughed and quit, while Darryl Dawkins tried to shatter both backboards with his teeth and/or throw at least one outlet pass to Canada.

Erving, who scored 24 points, was not amused. "We got to challenge the other team," he said. "Be aggressive. Get some big axes and chop arms and legs." Dr. J was asked why he seemed to be forcing his own game. "Nobody else—uh, nothing else—is working." he said, slipping for once from his admirable doctoral diplomacy.

Erving was correct, of course. McGinnis, shooting 16 for 48 and saying, "I feel like a blind man searching for the men's room," was disintegrating from being merely terrible to being a monster turkey and recalling such wonderful fold-ups as Gil Hodges' in the 1952 World Series, Fran Tarkenton's in the Super Bowl and George Foreman's on Planet Earth.

Jones was out to lunch and so, too, it seemed, was Dawkins, the ferocious Dawk reduced to a Squawk since his scary fisticuffs with Lucas in Game Two. Collins looked battered and unhappy. Even the usually dependable Henry Bib-by, whom the 76ers call Julio, because of his Hispanic features, missed 14 of 19 shots in Portland.

Everybody was knocking everybody else while Shue was swatting tennis balls. "We don't hold grudges," said the coach, and smiled.

Portland's Squirmin' Herman Gilliam summed up the 76ers' plight. "I hear them yelling in the warmups to 'get together!' " he said. "That isn't normal. That team can fall apart much easier than it can pull together."

On Portland's flight back East, Ramsay nonchalantly did a crossword puzzle, Lucas read a paperback and Gross pored through High Times magazine, the dopers' bible. "It's Bill's," Gross said, pointing to Walton, who was sprawled across two seats, listening to The Grateful Dead.