Onomatopoetic Roulette

Some people think squash is only a vegetable. To 250,000 Americans, most of whom should be denied possession of such information for their own good, squash is also a game played on an enclosed court with rackets and a rocklike India-rubber ball. Enthusiasts talk about the sport's "therapeutic values," particularly as a cure for hangover; one U.S. Navy skipper thinks so much of it as a conditioner that he has had a court in stalled on his submarine tender. The truth is that squash is onomatopoetic: anybody who lets himself get locked into a 32-ft. by 18 1/2-ft. court with another club-waving fanatic ought to expect that the next squash he hears will be his own.

A swipe of the racket can slice an opponent's cheek like a scythe; just getting in the way of the ball produces a rainbow-hued bruise that lasts for weeks. The dangers can be exaggerated; yet the strain, particularly on older players, can be considerable in a fast-moving game. "We had a siege of three heart attacks in one week not long ago," says Manhattan Adman Bob Lehman, an official of New York's Metropolitan Squash Racquets Association. "But you hardly ever see players drop dead on the court," he adds wryly. "Usually they do it after the match."

That Boy. At Manhattan's University Club last week, the galleries were packed as two of the game's fiercest competitors had at each other in the finals of the National Singles championship. The favorite in private betting (at 5 to 3) was Samuel Purdy Howe III, 27, a Social Register Philadelphian who wears shirts monogrammed SPH in and learned the game as a child at Pennsylvania's exclusive Merion Cricket Club. His opponent in the finals: Victor Niederhoffer, 22, son of a former New York City policeman, who attended Brooklyn's Abraham Lincoln High School and had never seen a squash court until he went to Harvard five years ago on a scholarship. Niederhoffer was confidently offering odds of 2 to 1 on himself. "Frankly, I hope Sammy wins," grunted Edwin H. Bigelow, 79, ex-president of the Squash Association. "He'll wear his laurels more easily, I think, than the Niederhoffer boy." Niederhoffer's problem is that he does not quite fit the trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, reverent mold of the gentleman squash player.

He has been called "the Ty Cobb of squash." "Vic would chew glass to win," says his former Harvard coach, John Barnaby. Niederhoffer has been accused, on occasion, of being a "court hog," deliberately getting in his opponents' way--a capital crime in squash. ("There are two ways of dealing with a court hog," explains a player. "First you talk to him. Then you let him have it right in the butt.") He is also a bit too temperamental for traditionalists' tastes--protesting volubly whenever he thinks an opponent has blocked his way, flinging his arms toward heaven when he misses a shot.

Officials warned him last year to tone down his behavior or face suspension.

Nicks & Boasts. Niederhoffer's manners last week were practically impeccable--and so was his game. In the semifinals, he beat Sam Howe's brother, Ralph, with a dazzling display of drop shots, "nicks" (shots which hit right at the floor line, roll out with no bounce) and "boasts" which carom sharply from a side wall to the front wall, then drop dead off the other side).

For a while, in the finals, it looked as if Upstart Niederhoffer was going to get his comeuppance. Sam Howe won the first game easily, 15-11. But Niederhoffer fought back to win the second. With the score tied 13-13 in the third, he mused loudly, "What shall I do?", then uncorked a smashing serve for an ace and went on to win. In the last game, Vic caught his weary opponent leaning the wrong way with two successive backhand drop shots, ran out the match 15-13. "Beautiful game, Victor," conceded Howe, as both exhausted players sagged against the wall. Up in the gallery, Niederhoffer's mother, onetime ladies' paddle-tennis champion at Brooklyn's Brighton Beach Bath Club, squealed with delight: "My boy did it!"

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