THE JIM MURRAY COLLECTION<i> by Jim Murray (Taylor Publishing Co., Dallas, Tex.: $14.95) </i>

This is a collection of dramatic contrasts. One day, Jim Murray’s column is extraordinarily sensitive: “I have left the ramparts for the soft center,” he writes after selling his beach house for a home in the city, “I have left the sunset land and wild acres for the sedate, the secure.” The next day, there are Murray’s priceless put-downs: UCLA Coach John Wooden was “so square, he was divisible by four”; Rickey Henderson “has a strike zone the size of Hitler’s heart”; tennis is “a game in which love counts for nothing, deuces are wild, and the scoring system was invented by Lewis Carroll.” Stark contrasts color Murray’s life as well. It has been charmed on the one hand--to single out one accolade, he has won the National Sportswriter of the Year Award 14 times--and tragic on the other: In 1979, he lost most of his sight, in 1982, his 29-year-old son, and in 1984, his wife and “other half.” Dauntless, Murray kept writing: “I have sat down and attempted humor with a broken heart,” he says. “I’ve sat down and attempted humor with every possible facet of my life in utter chaos . . . Carmen was announced. Carmen will be sung.”

Murray’s “recitals” have consistently surprised readers since he started writing for The Times in 1961, for literally and figuratively, Murray rarely follows the score. He writes not about sports events but about sports as a celebration of life. Thus readers ignorant of sports often comment, “I love your column even when I don’t know what you’re talking about,” while sports junkies have been known to grumble about the dearth of facts and figures. As Murray told Sports Illustrated, “I think they kept waiting for, ‘and then, his bat flashing in the sun, Bambino belted a four-ply swat,’ and it never came.”