I don't remember why Henry Iba, of all people, was discussing six-girl basketball, of all things.

Maybe it's because he was an Oklahoman talking to an Iowan. Forever, it seems, Oklahoma and Iowa were the only two states that offered the six-girl game.

Yet Iba was discussing it passionately. He hated it, which seemed ironic, given his status as the master of slow-it-down, half-court basketball.

"I think every girl should have a chance to play basketball and not stand in a cage at one end," he said. "They raise hell when I say that, but I'll stick with the game of basketball."

They aren't raising hell anymore. At least not in Iowa, where Iba got his wish. The six girl game outlasted the coaching legend, but not by much. Mr. Iba died Jan. 15. Iowa's six-girl game succumbed three weeks later.

Wednesday, the girls athletic union determined that next season would be the last. This is good news the way the retirement of an extraordinary yet exhausted old ballplayer is good news.

Finally, six-girl basketball is bound for the Hall of Fame. You know the time has come, but that doesn't mean saying goodbye is easy.

When a Willie Mays retires, you look back wistfully at the glory years knowing that the glory years are past and it's time to move on.

The time for six-girl basketball to surrender to the five-player game has come. Time to move on.

The end came sooner than expected, much quicker than the game itself. No drawn-out offensive series. No dribble-dribble-pass-pass-shoot. Instead, the six-girl game went out on a fast break.

The quality was still high. The game was still cranking out college players, though that was never its mission.

Let's not mourn the passing of the game itself. Mr. Iba had it right. Compared with the five-player game, six-girl basketball was more a statement of what an athlete couldn't do than could.

Don't dribble more than twice. Don't cross half court. Don't swat at the ball on defense outside of the lane.

Don't, don't, don't. It must have been great fun for the great scorer who takes 30 shots a game. For the most part, however, it was double-platoon basketball, a game for specialists in an age of inclusion.

You folks over here are responsible for scoring. You folks over there are responsible for stopping the other folks from scoring.

It's not surprising so many girls bought into it for so long. They bought into it, I suspect, because it was what they knew best. Many came too late to the freedom and self-expression of the full-court game.

The six-player girl was made to feel special, which didn't hurt its appeal. The state championship was the state fair under one joyful roof.

Still, when girls meet on the playground - no coaches, no parents, no grown-ups - they do what comes naturally. They don't paint by six-on-six numbers. They play the free-flowing five-player game.

They may not have enough for five on a side, they may use only half the court, but they play by the rules that bring the least restrictions and the most pleasure.

The critics say the girls will now be compared with the boys, which is a comparison they can never win.

I'm not so sure. Martina Navratilova can't beat Jimmy Connors. Give her less court to cover and more serves to hit and she still can't whip him. But she still plays a wonderfully adept, thrilling game. No reason Martina can't be the future of girls' basketball.

In a few years, no one will want to return to the past, no one will long for the good old days.

If you have to mourn something, mourn the tradition and the singularity. Another piece of small-town Iowa is gone. Another piece of the state's identity has vanished.

Every year Iowa looks more like Minnesota, which looks more like Illinois, which looks more like Indiana, which looks more like Nebraska, which looks more like Iowa.

The malls, the TV shows and the movie theaters look the same. Even the games are starting to look the same. In this case, though, the same means better.