The Bob Cousy Series: Part 4Pro basketball was barely out of the dusty barn stage when Cousy graduated from Holy Cross. The dominant team as the 1950 draft approached was Minneapolis, featuring the same 6-9 George Mikan who had been a college star at DePaul. The Lakers had won the championship the previous two seasons.
Showing posts with label #14. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #14. Show all posts
7.06.2017
Bob Cousy at Holy Cross
The Bob Cousy Series: Part 3
Though Worcester had a basketball tradition, Boston was a dribbling desert. The Midwest was the hotbed of basketball. Everybody knew that. Strange stories of Hoosier high school hoop hysteria seeped out of Indiana. Every backyard had a net. The bigtime coach was Adolph Rupp of Kentucky. The bigtime player was George Mikan, a myopic, broad-beamed, wide-shouldered hook-shooting hulk at DePaul University in Chicago.
Though Worcester had a basketball tradition, Boston was a dribbling desert. The Midwest was the hotbed of basketball. Everybody knew that. Strange stories of Hoosier high school hoop hysteria seeped out of Indiana. Every backyard had a net. The bigtime coach was Adolph Rupp of Kentucky. The bigtime player was George Mikan, a myopic, broad-beamed, wide-shouldered hook-shooting hulk at DePaul University in Chicago.
7.01.2017
Cousy's Final Years as a Celtic
The Bob Cousy Series: Part 5
In 1961 and again in 1962, Cousy talked of retiring. He was still among the leaders in assists but no longer in the top 20 in scoring, turning that department over to Sam Jones, Heinsohn, and Russell. At the end of the 1962 season, a year in which the Celtics won 60 games and lost only 20, and then beat both Philly and Los Angeles in exciting seven-game series to capture the championship, Cousy sat down with Brown and Auerbach to discuss his future. He talked with Auerbach for half an hour and with Brown for almost an hour. When the talks were over, Cousy decided, at age 33, to give it one more season. That season and his career would end in triumph. He would go out, not with a T.S. Eliot whimper, but with a bang.
In 1961 and again in 1962, Cousy talked of retiring. He was still among the leaders in assists but no longer in the top 20 in scoring, turning that department over to Sam Jones, Heinsohn, and Russell. At the end of the 1962 season, a year in which the Celtics won 60 games and lost only 20, and then beat both Philly and Los Angeles in exciting seven-game series to capture the championship, Cousy sat down with Brown and Auerbach to discuss his future. He talked with Auerbach for half an hour and with Brown for almost an hour. When the talks were over, Cousy decided, at age 33, to give it one more season. That season and his career would end in triumph. He would go out, not with a T.S. Eliot whimper, but with a bang.
6.21.2017
Bob Cousy at Holy Cross
The Bob Cousy Series: Part 3
Though Worcester had a basketball tradition, Boston was a dribbling desert. The Midwest was the hotbed of basketball. Everybody knew that. Strange stories of Hoosier high school hoop hysteria seeped out of Indiana. Every backyard had a net. The bigtime coach was Adolph Rupp of Kentucky. The bigtime player was George Mikan, a myopic, broad-beamed, wide-shouldered hook-shooting hulk at DePaul University in Chicago.
Though Worcester had a basketball tradition, Boston was a dribbling desert. The Midwest was the hotbed of basketball. Everybody knew that. Strange stories of Hoosier high school hoop hysteria seeped out of Indiana. Every backyard had a net. The bigtime coach was Adolph Rupp of Kentucky. The bigtime player was George Mikan, a myopic, broad-beamed, wide-shouldered hook-shooting hulk at DePaul University in Chicago.
6.17.2017
Cousy's First Ten Years as a Celtic
The Bob Cousy Series: Part 4Auerbach was not a lover of razzle-dazzle. He was never one for making the game complicated. Even Cousy, in his book, "The Killer Instinct," said that Auerbach's coaching philosophy was, " Keep it simple and execute properly.' I don't think we used more than six plays in my 13 years as a Celtic."
6.04.2017
Bob Cousy: The Post-Celtics Years
In 13 seasons, Cousy had scored 16,955 points for an 18.5 average and had dished out 6949 assists, 5.4 a game. In 109 playoff games, he'd also averaged 18.5 points. He'd played in 13 straight All-Star Games, twice being named the MVP. And when anybody sat down to pick an all-time NBA team, Bob Cousy's name was sure to be on it.
6.03.2017
Bob Cousy's Retirement
The first time he tries that Fancy Dan stuff in this league, they'll cram the ball down his throat.- Pro scout's evaluation of Bob Cousy prior to 1950 draft
The vignette will remain, for those who were at the Boston Garden that St. Patrick's Day afternoon in 1963, a moment frozen in time.
The man in short pants, wearing Boston Celtics jersey No. 14, was at center court trying to tell the 13,909 in attendance what the day meant to him. He was having trouble, fumbling words, pausing to brush away the tears.
He tried and tried, and still the words wouldn't come. And the packed house fell silent, perhaps feeling an empathy for the emotions it knew must be surging through the man.
Joe Dillon of South Boston, a 32-year-old water-division worker for the Metropolitan District Commission and also a walking sports encyclopedia, decided to break the silence. Dillon had the voice for it, a voice that could shatter glass.
"If you ever heard Joe Dillon's voice," said a friend, "you never forgot it."
Certainly, nobody who was at the Garden that afternoon ever forgot it.
"We all love ya, Cooz," thundered Dillon, his words reverberating off the Garden rafters and cutting through the smoke-filled silence like a knife through butter.
The tension was broken. Cheers cascaded down from the stands then, and though Bob Cousy broke down and sobbed at least 25 times during a seven-minute speech that took 20 minutes, he made it through the most emotional tribute to an athlete in Boston history.
The decks were so awash with emotion that even Dolph Schayes, scoring star of the visiting Syracuse Nats, wept copiously.
"It was raining outside and pouring inside," wrote Boston Globe sports editor Jerry Nason.
But then, nobody expected that this farewell to the man who had brought a new dimension to the game of basketball would be a lah-de-dah tea party.
The vignette will remain, for those who were at the Boston Garden that St. Patrick's Day afternoon in 1963, a moment frozen in time.
The man in short pants, wearing Boston Celtics jersey No. 14, was at center court trying to tell the 13,909 in attendance what the day meant to him. He was having trouble, fumbling words, pausing to brush away the tears.
He tried and tried, and still the words wouldn't come. And the packed house fell silent, perhaps feeling an empathy for the emotions it knew must be surging through the man.
Joe Dillon of South Boston, a 32-year-old water-division worker for the Metropolitan District Commission and also a walking sports encyclopedia, decided to break the silence. Dillon had the voice for it, a voice that could shatter glass.
"If you ever heard Joe Dillon's voice," said a friend, "you never forgot it."
Certainly, nobody who was at the Garden that afternoon ever forgot it.
"We all love ya, Cooz," thundered Dillon, his words reverberating off the Garden rafters and cutting through the smoke-filled silence like a knife through butter.
The tension was broken. Cheers cascaded down from the stands then, and though Bob Cousy broke down and sobbed at least 25 times during a seven-minute speech that took 20 minutes, he made it through the most emotional tribute to an athlete in Boston history.
The decks were so awash with emotion that even Dolph Schayes, scoring star of the visiting Syracuse Nats, wept copiously.
"It was raining outside and pouring inside," wrote Boston Globe sports editor Jerry Nason.
But then, nobody expected that this farewell to the man who had brought a new dimension to the game of basketball would be a lah-de-dah tea party.
9.09.2009
Bob Cousy: The Post-Celtics Years
Part 8 of the Bob Cousy Series
In 13 seasons, Cousy had scored 16,955 points for an 18.5 average and had dished out 6949 assists, 5.4 a game. In 109 playoff games, he'd also averaged 18.5 points. He'd played in 13 straight All-Star Games, twice being named the MVP. And when anybody sat down to pick an all-time NBA team, Bob Cousy's name was sure to be on it.
After his retirement, Cousy coached for six seasons at Boston College, the school he had almost attended 18 years previously. His teams performed extremely well, twice going to the NCAA regional tournament and in 1969 losing to Temple in the final of the NIT in New York City. His top players at BC were Terry Driscoll, who later played in the NBA, all-time school scoring leader John Austin, Jimmy O'Brien, who played in the ABA, and playmaker Billy Evans.
Cousy's record with the Eagles was 117-38, with four seasons of 20 victories or more. However, the recruiting game - promise them anything but get them to your school - gnawed at Cousy, and, in 1968, he resigned. For the first time in 25 years, he would be away from the game that had been so much of his life.
Not for long. The competitive spirit within him wouldn't stay quiet. The pros came calling, and after turning down a job to coach the New York Nets of the ABA, he took one, at more than $100,000 a year, to coach (and later be player-coach for) the Cincinnati Royals of the NBA.
Cousy the coach didn't become Cousy the player until December 1969, and in order to activate him, the Royals had to make a trade with the Celtics.
"Cousy is still our property," Auerbach insisted. "If you want him, you'll have to deal with us."
Said Cousy: "I think this has kind of chipped away at a friendship established 20 years ago." But if there was animosity, it didn't last long. The bond of 20 years was too strong for that.
After three seasons in Cincinnati the Royals moved to Kansas City, and Cousy, who had thought seriously of resigning, instead moved with them.
The K.C.-Omaha Royals, with Archibald leading the league in scoring (30 points per game) and assists (11 a game), were an improvement over the Cincinnati version, but still finished under .500, at 36-46.
After training camp in the fall of '73, he told the Royals' general manager Joe Axelson he wanted to resign. Axelson persuaded him to stay the season. On the night before Thanksgiving, the Sixers walloped the Royals, 103-90. It was Cousy's last game as coach. He resigned. The flame had finally gone out, or at least been smothered.
Cousy remained on the fringe of basketball afterward, of course. You don't have to stop eating after you give up pizza. He became the TV analyst for college games in the Worcester area, and later for Celtics games, and drew high praise for his candid comments. The pro game was truly bigtime by 1980. The average salary was $97,000 a year, with the stars making seven or eight times that. The league had expanded to 23 teams by 1980 and the playoffs ran almost to June.
And it would be well to remember that the man who lit the fire to the modern era was the one nobody wanted, the French-American from Long Island whose name was picked out of a hat in a Chicago hotel in 1950.
"Hey kid, who d'ya think ya are, Bob Cousy?"
In 13 seasons, Cousy had scored 16,955 points for an 18.5 average and had dished out 6949 assists, 5.4 a game. In 109 playoff games, he'd also averaged 18.5 points. He'd played in 13 straight All-Star Games, twice being named the MVP. And when anybody sat down to pick an all-time NBA team, Bob Cousy's name was sure to be on it.
After his retirement, Cousy coached for six seasons at Boston College, the school he had almost attended 18 years previously. His teams performed extremely well, twice going to the NCAA regional tournament and in 1969 losing to Temple in the final of the NIT in New York City. His top players at BC were Terry Driscoll, who later played in the NBA, all-time school scoring leader John Austin, Jimmy O'Brien, who played in the ABA, and playmaker Billy Evans.
Cousy's record with the Eagles was 117-38, with four seasons of 20 victories or more. However, the recruiting game - promise them anything but get them to your school - gnawed at Cousy, and, in 1968, he resigned. For the first time in 25 years, he would be away from the game that had been so much of his life.
Not for long. The competitive spirit within him wouldn't stay quiet. The pros came calling, and after turning down a job to coach the New York Nets of the ABA, he took one, at more than $100,000 a year, to coach (and later be player-coach for) the Cincinnati Royals of the NBA.
Cousy the coach didn't become Cousy the player until December 1969, and in order to activate him, the Royals had to make a trade with the Celtics.
"Cousy is still our property," Auerbach insisted. "If you want him, you'll have to deal with us."
Said Cousy: "I think this has kind of chipped away at a friendship established 20 years ago." But if there was animosity, it didn't last long. The bond of 20 years was too strong for that.
After three seasons in Cincinnati the Royals moved to Kansas City, and Cousy, who had thought seriously of resigning, instead moved with them.
The K.C.-Omaha Royals, with Archibald leading the league in scoring (30 points per game) and assists (11 a game), were an improvement over the Cincinnati version, but still finished under .500, at 36-46.
After training camp in the fall of '73, he told the Royals' general manager Joe Axelson he wanted to resign. Axelson persuaded him to stay the season. On the night before Thanksgiving, the Sixers walloped the Royals, 103-90. It was Cousy's last game as coach. He resigned. The flame had finally gone out, or at least been smothered.
Cousy remained on the fringe of basketball afterward, of course. You don't have to stop eating after you give up pizza. He became the TV analyst for college games in the Worcester area, and later for Celtics games, and drew high praise for his candid comments. The pro game was truly bigtime by 1980. The average salary was $97,000 a year, with the stars making seven or eight times that. The league had expanded to 23 teams by 1980 and the playoffs ran almost to June.
And it would be well to remember that the man who lit the fire to the modern era was the one nobody wanted, the French-American from Long Island whose name was picked out of a hat in a Chicago hotel in 1950.
"Hey kid, who d'ya think ya are, Bob Cousy?"
9.08.2009
Bob Cousy Retires
Part 7 of the Bob Cousy Series
The first time he tries that Fancy Dan stuff in this league, they'll cram the ball down his throat.- Pro scout's evaluation of Bob Cousy prior to 1950 draft
The vignette will remain, for those who were at the Boston Garden that St. Patrick's Day afternoon in 1963, a moment frozen in time.
The man in short pants, wearing Boston Celtics jersey No. 14, was at center court trying to tell the 13,909 in attendance what the day meant to him. He was having trouble, fumbling words, pausing to brush away the tears.
He tried and tried, and still the words wouldn't come. And the packed house fell silent, perhaps feeling an empathy for the emotions it knew must be surging through the man.
Joe Dillon of South Boston, a 32-year-old water-division worker for the Metropolitan District Commission and also a walking sports encyclopedia, decided to break the silence. Dillon had the voice for it, a voice that could shatter glass.
"If you ever heard Joe Dillon's voice," said a friend, "you never forgot it."
Certainly, nobody who was at the Garden that afternoon ever forgot it.
"We all love ya, Cooz," thundered Dillon, his words reverberating off the Garden rafters and cutting through the smoke-filled silence like a knife through butter.
The tension was broken. Cheers cascaded down from the stands then, and though Bob Cousy broke down and sobbed at least 25 times during a seven-minute speech that took 20 minutes, he made it through the most emotional tribute to an athlete in Boston history.
The decks were so awash with emotion that even Dolph Schayes, scoring star of the visiting Syracuse Nats, wept copiously.
"It was raining outside and pouring inside," wrote Boston Globe sports editor Jerry Nason.
But then, nobody expected that this farewell to the man who had brought a new dimension to the game of basketball would be a lah-de-dah tea party.
The first time he tries that Fancy Dan stuff in this league, they'll cram the ball down his throat.- Pro scout's evaluation of Bob Cousy prior to 1950 draft
The vignette will remain, for those who were at the Boston Garden that St. Patrick's Day afternoon in 1963, a moment frozen in time.
The man in short pants, wearing Boston Celtics jersey No. 14, was at center court trying to tell the 13,909 in attendance what the day meant to him. He was having trouble, fumbling words, pausing to brush away the tears.
He tried and tried, and still the words wouldn't come. And the packed house fell silent, perhaps feeling an empathy for the emotions it knew must be surging through the man.
Joe Dillon of South Boston, a 32-year-old water-division worker for the Metropolitan District Commission and also a walking sports encyclopedia, decided to break the silence. Dillon had the voice for it, a voice that could shatter glass.
"If you ever heard Joe Dillon's voice," said a friend, "you never forgot it."
Certainly, nobody who was at the Garden that afternoon ever forgot it.
"We all love ya, Cooz," thundered Dillon, his words reverberating off the Garden rafters and cutting through the smoke-filled silence like a knife through butter.
The tension was broken. Cheers cascaded down from the stands then, and though Bob Cousy broke down and sobbed at least 25 times during a seven-minute speech that took 20 minutes, he made it through the most emotional tribute to an athlete in Boston history.
The decks were so awash with emotion that even Dolph Schayes, scoring star of the visiting Syracuse Nats, wept copiously.
"It was raining outside and pouring inside," wrote Boston Globe sports editor Jerry Nason.
But then, nobody expected that this farewell to the man who had brought a new dimension to the game of basketball would be a lah-de-dah tea party.
7.24.2008
Cousy's Final Years as a Celtic
Part 6 of the Bob Cousy Series
In 1961 and again in 1962, Cousy talked of retiring. He was still among the leaders in assists but no longer in the top 20 in scoring, turning that department over to Sam Jones, Heinsohn, and Russell. At the end of the 1962 season, a year in which the Celtics won 60 games and lost only 20, and then beat both Philly and Los Angeles in exciting seven-game series to capture the championship, Cousy sat down with Brown and Auerbach to discuss his future. He talked with Auerbach for half an hour and with Brown for almost an hour. When the talks were over, Cousy decided, at age 33, to give it one more season. That season and his career would end in triumph. He would go out, not with a T.S. Eliot whimper, but with a bang.
Most of the dynasty was still with him. Sharman was gone, but Russell, Ramsey, Heinsohn, the Joneses, Loscutoff, Sanders, and a crew-cut rookie named Havlicek from Ohio State were there to make sure the championship banner hung from the Garden rafters.
Though he played fewer minutes than ever before and his scoring average dipped to 13.2, Cousy remained third in the league in assists. They had his retirement ceremony March 17, and a Syracuse player said, "I knew we were in trouble when I noticed that even the referees were crying."
There were still games to play before Cousy officially retired, however, and it all came down to one last hurrah - the championship clincher with the Lakers on April 24, 1963.
The Celtics led the series, three games to two, as the teams took the floor in LA, but the emotional edge was with the Lakers. They'd kept the series alive by beating the Celts three days previously in Boston, in a game Cousy characterized as "the lousiest game I'd played in years." He'd fouled out, and the performance had done little for his peace of mind.
When Cousy arrived in LA for Game 6 he walked into his hotel room and, for 36 hours, did not leave except to practice. His meals were sent up. He did not answer the phone. He was getting ready for the game. More, he was psyching himself up so there wouldn't be a repeat of his sorry performance in Game 5. He wanted a blue ribbon for his final appearance.
He and the rest of the Celtics played well, and when the fourth quarter began, they were ahead by 14 points. Cousy got a rest, and slowly the Lakers bit into the lead. Cousy returned, and, 14 seconds later, sprained his left ankle.
He was helped to the bench, and as soon as he was sat down, the pain eased. Trainer Buddy LeRoux (who later would become co-owner of the Boston Red Sox) strapped the ankle, and Cousy stood, gingerly putting some pressure on it.
The Lakers were now a point behind with almost three minutes remaining. It was, as they say, anybody's game. Cousy wanted it to be his.
Auerbach asked him how he felt.
"I think I can go," Cousy responded.
"Go in for Havlicek," said Auerbach.
Cousy didn't score for the rest of the game, and every time he cut on the ankle, he could feel a stab of pain. It is impossible, of course, to measure the emotional lift his return gave the Celtics, but the fact is that when Cousy came back, the team steadied and beat the Lakers, 112-109.
With three seconds to go and the game tucked away, Sam Jones passed the ball to Cousy. The basketball was in his hands for the last time as a Celtic. But not for long. The jubilant Cousy threw one final slingshot pass, not downcourt this time, but into the rafters as the final buzzer went off. He had gone out a champion.
In 1961 and again in 1962, Cousy talked of retiring. He was still among the leaders in assists but no longer in the top 20 in scoring, turning that department over to Sam Jones, Heinsohn, and Russell. At the end of the 1962 season, a year in which the Celtics won 60 games and lost only 20, and then beat both Philly and Los Angeles in exciting seven-game series to capture the championship, Cousy sat down with Brown and Auerbach to discuss his future. He talked with Auerbach for half an hour and with Brown for almost an hour. When the talks were over, Cousy decided, at age 33, to give it one more season. That season and his career would end in triumph. He would go out, not with a T.S. Eliot whimper, but with a bang.
Most of the dynasty was still with him. Sharman was gone, but Russell, Ramsey, Heinsohn, the Joneses, Loscutoff, Sanders, and a crew-cut rookie named Havlicek from Ohio State were there to make sure the championship banner hung from the Garden rafters.
Though he played fewer minutes than ever before and his scoring average dipped to 13.2, Cousy remained third in the league in assists. They had his retirement ceremony March 17, and a Syracuse player said, "I knew we were in trouble when I noticed that even the referees were crying."
There were still games to play before Cousy officially retired, however, and it all came down to one last hurrah - the championship clincher with the Lakers on April 24, 1963.
The Celtics led the series, three games to two, as the teams took the floor in LA, but the emotional edge was with the Lakers. They'd kept the series alive by beating the Celts three days previously in Boston, in a game Cousy characterized as "the lousiest game I'd played in years." He'd fouled out, and the performance had done little for his peace of mind.
When Cousy arrived in LA for Game 6 he walked into his hotel room and, for 36 hours, did not leave except to practice. His meals were sent up. He did not answer the phone. He was getting ready for the game. More, he was psyching himself up so there wouldn't be a repeat of his sorry performance in Game 5. He wanted a blue ribbon for his final appearance.
He and the rest of the Celtics played well, and when the fourth quarter began, they were ahead by 14 points. Cousy got a rest, and slowly the Lakers bit into the lead. Cousy returned, and, 14 seconds later, sprained his left ankle.
He was helped to the bench, and as soon as he was sat down, the pain eased. Trainer Buddy LeRoux (who later would become co-owner of the Boston Red Sox) strapped the ankle, and Cousy stood, gingerly putting some pressure on it.
The Lakers were now a point behind with almost three minutes remaining. It was, as they say, anybody's game. Cousy wanted it to be his.
Auerbach asked him how he felt.
"I think I can go," Cousy responded.
"Go in for Havlicek," said Auerbach.
Cousy didn't score for the rest of the game, and every time he cut on the ankle, he could feel a stab of pain. It is impossible, of course, to measure the emotional lift his return gave the Celtics, but the fact is that when Cousy came back, the team steadied and beat the Lakers, 112-109.
With three seconds to go and the game tucked away, Sam Jones passed the ball to Cousy. The basketball was in his hands for the last time as a Celtic. But not for long. The jubilant Cousy threw one final slingshot pass, not downcourt this time, but into the rafters as the final buzzer went off. He had gone out a champion.
Cousy the Celtic through 1960
Part 5 of the Bob Cousy Series
Auerbach was not a lover of razzle-dazzle. He was never one for making the game complicated. Even Cousy, in his book, "The Killer Instinct," said that Auerbach's coaching philosophy was, " Keep it simple and execute properly.' I don't think we used more than six plays in my 13 years as a Celtic."
So it would be interesting to see if the keep-it-simple coach and the play-it-flashy rookie could work together.
Cousy averaged 15.6 points a game in his first season and finished second in the league in assists behind hat partner Andy Phillips. He was named rookie of the year, and the Celtics jumped from last place to second.
The Ed Leedes and Sonny Hertzbergs of Cousy's first season were gradually phased out, and in their places came the people who would be the foundation for the Celtics' dynasty - Sharman and K.C. Jones, Frank Ramsey, Jim Loscutoff, Heinsohn, Satch Sanders, John Havlicek and William Felton Russell.
Before Russell arrived, the Celtics won admiration and applause and nothing else. However, they were exciting, with a good fast break, and Cousy was the motor that made that break go.
The Celtics were wiped out in two straight in the playoffs in Cousy's rookie season and were shot down by the Knicks in the first round the next year. But the crowds were growing, and the shaky Celtics franchise, while still not exactly a gold mine, struggled along.
Early in his career, Cousy received some front-office backlash. In 1952, driving into a game from Worcester, he was late because of a flat tire. The Celtics lost the game, and Brown was furious.
"It was the most important game of the season. There is no excuse for being late. Cousy is getting paid a fortune ($14,000) to play for us. The next year Cousy will live in Boston."
The next year, and for all the remaining years, Cousy continued to live in Worcester, but Brown and Auerbach still had moments of doubt.
"Cousy can make the club or he can kill it," said Auerbach. "Lately he's been trying too much of that behind-the-back stuff. The other clubs are wise to us and are jamming the middle. I've got to temper Cousy. He's back where he was three years ago. He makes a spectacular play, but we lose the ball."
In 1953, Brown criticized Cousy for not shooting enough. At a weekly luncheon, Auerbach rapped him for not passing enough. Cousy was caught in the middle. He was confused and felt unappreciated and thought about asking to be traded.
A few days later, Brown admitted he'd made a mistake in knocking his star.
"We're definitely not going to trade him," Brown told newsmen, "and I am through popping off."
A decade later, at Cousy's emotional Garden retirement party, Brown said: "The Celtics wouldn't be here without him. He made basketball in this town . . . If he had played in New York, he would have been as big as Babe Ruth. I think he is anyway."
There would be many big moments and exciting games before that final tribute. One of the biggest was on March 21, 1953. The Celtics had never advanced beyond the first round of the playoffs, but this night they had a chance.
They'd beaten Syracuse in the first of a best-of-three series and were taking on Dolph Schayes and Paul Seymour and the rest of the Nationals in the Garden.
Cousy, playing on a bad leg, scored only seven points in the first half, and it wasn't because he was passing well, since he had just one assist. He added 18 points in the second half, but when he missed a teammate who was open under the basket with less than a minute left, it appeared the Nats would win by a point and square the series, with the deciding game back in Syracuse's snakepit.
However, Cousy tied the score at 77 with a free throw in the last seconds, setting the stage for the most incredible game and performance - along with Wilt Chamberlain's 100 points in Hershey, Pa. - in the history of the NBA.
The game went four overtimes before the Celtics pulled it out, 111-105. In the first overtime, Cousy scored six of Boston's nine points, including another game-tying foul shot in the dying seconds.
He scored all four points in overtime No. 2 and made eight more in the third, including a 25-footer with three seconds left to tie the game once again, 99-99.
By this time, five Syracuse players had fouled out. So had four Celtics. In addition, Schayes and the Celtics' Bob Brannum had been ejected for fighting in the second period.
Then Syracuse's Seymour sprained an ankle. If he left the game, the Nats would be down to four men and would be forced to use a player who had already fouled out, thus creating a technical foul every time a personal was called. So Seymour stayed in the game, planted under the basket and all but useless on defense.
But Syracuse surged ahead, and when player-coach Al Cervi made two free throws, the Nats led, 104-99.
However, Cousy made five straight points to tie the game and scored nine of the 12 the Celtics would make in those last five minutes. He finished with 50 points, including 30 of 32 from the free-throw line.
The game lasted 3 hours and 11 minutes and was the final straw that led to the adoption of the 24-second clock. In close games, Cousy could control the ball for minutes at a time with his keep-away dribbling tactics. The maneuver could be interrupted only by fouling him, so the final moments of Celtics games often turned into a foul-shooting contest.
From 1950-56, Cousy was always first or second in assists and in the top five in scoring, but a team other than the Celts - Syracuse, Philadelphia, Minneapolis - was always the champion.
Then along came Russell and Heinsohn. Cousy had somebody to get him the ball so he could work the fast break. The dynasty was born.
Cousy played on his first NBA championship team in 1956-57, seven seasons out of Holy Cross. The Celtics won the Eastern Division with a 44-28 record and knocked off Syracuse to reach the finals. The finals, against Bob Pettit and the St. Louis Hawks, were among the most memorable in NBA history.
It went the full seven games and got off to a bad start for the Celtics when the Hawks beat them in an overtime opener in Boston, 125-123. The Celtics retrieved that one by beating the Hawks in Game 4 at St. Louis.
Six days later, in the showdown at the Garden, the Celtics became NBA champions for the first time, beating the Hawks, 125-123, in double overtime. Cousy was not the star of the game. In fact, he scored only six points. Heinsohn made 17 baskets in 33 attempts, and Russell swatted away some shots that would have won the game for the Hawks.
Still, after seven years as an also-ran, nobody felt better about sipping the victory champagne, and nobody deserved it more, than Cousy.
Titles came almost as regularly as sunrises after that. Of his last six seasons, it was only in 1957-58, when Russell was sidelined with a bad ankle in the finals, that the Celtics were denied the NBA championship.
In 1959, Cousy signed the biggest contract in the NBA, more even than the giant Chamberlain, whom he once characterized as "the biggest complainer to hit the NBA. I'm 6 feet 1, and it's difficult to feel sorry for a man 7 feet tall."
In 1960, Lapchick, then head coach of the Knicks, called Cousy the best player in the history of basketball.
Cousy always disagreed with those who felt that sometimes his passes were too sudden and too tricky for his teammates.
"It seems to me," he told writer Ed Linn, "that other players have the responsibility of being ready to receive a pass any time they break into the open. After a man has played with me for a few weeks, there is no excuse for his being fooled."
Auerbach was not a lover of razzle-dazzle. He was never one for making the game complicated. Even Cousy, in his book, "The Killer Instinct," said that Auerbach's coaching philosophy was, " Keep it simple and execute properly.' I don't think we used more than six plays in my 13 years as a Celtic."
So it would be interesting to see if the keep-it-simple coach and the play-it-flashy rookie could work together.
Cousy averaged 15.6 points a game in his first season and finished second in the league in assists behind hat partner Andy Phillips. He was named rookie of the year, and the Celtics jumped from last place to second.
The Ed Leedes and Sonny Hertzbergs of Cousy's first season were gradually phased out, and in their places came the people who would be the foundation for the Celtics' dynasty - Sharman and K.C. Jones, Frank Ramsey, Jim Loscutoff, Heinsohn, Satch Sanders, John Havlicek and William Felton Russell.
Before Russell arrived, the Celtics won admiration and applause and nothing else. However, they were exciting, with a good fast break, and Cousy was the motor that made that break go.
The Celtics were wiped out in two straight in the playoffs in Cousy's rookie season and were shot down by the Knicks in the first round the next year. But the crowds were growing, and the shaky Celtics franchise, while still not exactly a gold mine, struggled along.
Early in his career, Cousy received some front-office backlash. In 1952, driving into a game from Worcester, he was late because of a flat tire. The Celtics lost the game, and Brown was furious.
"It was the most important game of the season. There is no excuse for being late. Cousy is getting paid a fortune ($14,000) to play for us. The next year Cousy will live in Boston."
The next year, and for all the remaining years, Cousy continued to live in Worcester, but Brown and Auerbach still had moments of doubt.
"Cousy can make the club or he can kill it," said Auerbach. "Lately he's been trying too much of that behind-the-back stuff. The other clubs are wise to us and are jamming the middle. I've got to temper Cousy. He's back where he was three years ago. He makes a spectacular play, but we lose the ball."
In 1953, Brown criticized Cousy for not shooting enough. At a weekly luncheon, Auerbach rapped him for not passing enough. Cousy was caught in the middle. He was confused and felt unappreciated and thought about asking to be traded.
A few days later, Brown admitted he'd made a mistake in knocking his star.
"We're definitely not going to trade him," Brown told newsmen, "and I am through popping off."
A decade later, at Cousy's emotional Garden retirement party, Brown said: "The Celtics wouldn't be here without him. He made basketball in this town . . . If he had played in New York, he would have been as big as Babe Ruth. I think he is anyway."
There would be many big moments and exciting games before that final tribute. One of the biggest was on March 21, 1953. The Celtics had never advanced beyond the first round of the playoffs, but this night they had a chance.
They'd beaten Syracuse in the first of a best-of-three series and were taking on Dolph Schayes and Paul Seymour and the rest of the Nationals in the Garden.
Cousy, playing on a bad leg, scored only seven points in the first half, and it wasn't because he was passing well, since he had just one assist. He added 18 points in the second half, but when he missed a teammate who was open under the basket with less than a minute left, it appeared the Nats would win by a point and square the series, with the deciding game back in Syracuse's snakepit.
However, Cousy tied the score at 77 with a free throw in the last seconds, setting the stage for the most incredible game and performance - along with Wilt Chamberlain's 100 points in Hershey, Pa. - in the history of the NBA.
The game went four overtimes before the Celtics pulled it out, 111-105. In the first overtime, Cousy scored six of Boston's nine points, including another game-tying foul shot in the dying seconds.
He scored all four points in overtime No. 2 and made eight more in the third, including a 25-footer with three seconds left to tie the game once again, 99-99.
By this time, five Syracuse players had fouled out. So had four Celtics. In addition, Schayes and the Celtics' Bob Brannum had been ejected for fighting in the second period.
Then Syracuse's Seymour sprained an ankle. If he left the game, the Nats would be down to four men and would be forced to use a player who had already fouled out, thus creating a technical foul every time a personal was called. So Seymour stayed in the game, planted under the basket and all but useless on defense.
But Syracuse surged ahead, and when player-coach Al Cervi made two free throws, the Nats led, 104-99.
However, Cousy made five straight points to tie the game and scored nine of the 12 the Celtics would make in those last five minutes. He finished with 50 points, including 30 of 32 from the free-throw line.
The game lasted 3 hours and 11 minutes and was the final straw that led to the adoption of the 24-second clock. In close games, Cousy could control the ball for minutes at a time with his keep-away dribbling tactics. The maneuver could be interrupted only by fouling him, so the final moments of Celtics games often turned into a foul-shooting contest.
From 1950-56, Cousy was always first or second in assists and in the top five in scoring, but a team other than the Celts - Syracuse, Philadelphia, Minneapolis - was always the champion.
Then along came Russell and Heinsohn. Cousy had somebody to get him the ball so he could work the fast break. The dynasty was born.
Cousy played on his first NBA championship team in 1956-57, seven seasons out of Holy Cross. The Celtics won the Eastern Division with a 44-28 record and knocked off Syracuse to reach the finals. The finals, against Bob Pettit and the St. Louis Hawks, were among the most memorable in NBA history.
It went the full seven games and got off to a bad start for the Celtics when the Hawks beat them in an overtime opener in Boston, 125-123. The Celtics retrieved that one by beating the Hawks in Game 4 at St. Louis.
Six days later, in the showdown at the Garden, the Celtics became NBA champions for the first time, beating the Hawks, 125-123, in double overtime. Cousy was not the star of the game. In fact, he scored only six points. Heinsohn made 17 baskets in 33 attempts, and Russell swatted away some shots that would have won the game for the Hawks.
Still, after seven years as an also-ran, nobody felt better about sipping the victory champagne, and nobody deserved it more, than Cousy.
Titles came almost as regularly as sunrises after that. Of his last six seasons, it was only in 1957-58, when Russell was sidelined with a bad ankle in the finals, that the Celtics were denied the NBA championship.
In 1959, Cousy signed the biggest contract in the NBA, more even than the giant Chamberlain, whom he once characterized as "the biggest complainer to hit the NBA. I'm 6 feet 1, and it's difficult to feel sorry for a man 7 feet tall."
In 1960, Lapchick, then head coach of the Knicks, called Cousy the best player in the history of basketball.
Cousy always disagreed with those who felt that sometimes his passes were too sudden and too tricky for his teammates.
"It seems to me," he told writer Ed Linn, "that other players have the responsibility of being ready to receive a pass any time they break into the open. After a man has played with me for a few weeks, there is no excuse for his being fooled."
Bob Cousy: The Tri-City Hawk
Part 4 of the Bob Cousy Series
Pro basketball was barely out of the dusty barn stage when Cousy graduated from Holy Cross. The dominant team as the 1950 draft approached was Minneapolis, featuring the same 6-9 George Mikan who had been a college star at DePaul. The Lakers had won the championship the previous two seasons.
The Celtics, on the other hand, were a miserable lot. John (Honey) Russell had been the coach the first two years, finishing last and next to last. When Julian took over, the results were no better. The Celtics were next to last in '48 and on the bottom again in '49. They were not what you'd call the most exciting act in town.
Into this mess rode Arnold (Red) Auerbach. Auerbach had coached the Washington Capitals for three seasons with considerable success and had been hired by Celtics owner Walter Brown to bring a semblance of order to a depressing and depressed situation.
The Celtics, as a reward for finishing last, got to draft first, and Auerbach did not score a public relations coup when he bypassed Cousy and instead selected Chuck Share, a 6-11 bear out of Bowling Green.
It was as though the new coach had spit on the Bunker Hill Monument, as though he'd called Paul Revere a Communist. Cousy had taken it for granted that he would be selected by Boston. So had the Celtic fans, what few of them were hanging around.
The press landed on Auerbach with every typing finger. They questioned his expertise and demanded an explanation. Auerbach gave them one that angered them even more.
"We need a big man. Little men are a dime a dozen. I'm supposed to win, not go after local yokels."
The local yokel had finally been picked by Ben Kerner, operator of the Tri-Cities franchise. Tri-Cities was a team that represented Moline and Rock Island, both in Illinois, and Davenport, Iowa. The NBA was not exactly big- city glitter and show biz in those formative days.
On June 6, 1950, a small story appeared on the news wire, to the effect that Bob Cousy had signed to play for the Tri-City Hawks for an estimated $9000 a season. Here, fate and luck, and unbeatable combination, took over.
Cousy never wore a Hawks' uniform, because Kerner traded him to the Chicago Stags. Cousy never wore a Stags' uniform, either, because the Chicago team folded and their players were put into a pool, to be distributed to the surviving teams in this struggling league.
The Stags had two established stars - Max Zaslofsky, who could score, and Andy Phillips, a playmaker. After much wrangling, the names of Zaslofsky, Phillips and Cousy, the spectacular but by now somewhat bewildered collegian, were put into a hat.
Representatives of the New York, Philadelphia and Boston teams were asked to select one name each from the hat. None of the three wanted Cousy.
For a reason Celtics owner Walter Brown could never satisfactorily explain to his dying day, he gave Ned Irish of the Knicks the first choice. Irish said thanks and came out with Zaslofsky, the player the Knicks wanted most.
Then it was Brown's turn, and he did not hide his disappointment when the slip of paper read, "Bob Cousy."
"When I drew Cousy, I could have fallen through the floor. I didn't have any secret feeling that maybe it would all turn out for the best in the long run."
Several championships later, Auerbach would say: "We got stuck with the greatest player in the league when we drew his name out of the hat."
Pro basketball was barely out of the dusty barn stage when Cousy graduated from Holy Cross. The dominant team as the 1950 draft approached was Minneapolis, featuring the same 6-9 George Mikan who had been a college star at DePaul. The Lakers had won the championship the previous two seasons.
The Celtics, on the other hand, were a miserable lot. John (Honey) Russell had been the coach the first two years, finishing last and next to last. When Julian took over, the results were no better. The Celtics were next to last in '48 and on the bottom again in '49. They were not what you'd call the most exciting act in town.
Into this mess rode Arnold (Red) Auerbach. Auerbach had coached the Washington Capitals for three seasons with considerable success and had been hired by Celtics owner Walter Brown to bring a semblance of order to a depressing and depressed situation.
The Celtics, as a reward for finishing last, got to draft first, and Auerbach did not score a public relations coup when he bypassed Cousy and instead selected Chuck Share, a 6-11 bear out of Bowling Green.
It was as though the new coach had spit on the Bunker Hill Monument, as though he'd called Paul Revere a Communist. Cousy had taken it for granted that he would be selected by Boston. So had the Celtic fans, what few of them were hanging around.
The press landed on Auerbach with every typing finger. They questioned his expertise and demanded an explanation. Auerbach gave them one that angered them even more.
"We need a big man. Little men are a dime a dozen. I'm supposed to win, not go after local yokels."
The local yokel had finally been picked by Ben Kerner, operator of the Tri-Cities franchise. Tri-Cities was a team that represented Moline and Rock Island, both in Illinois, and Davenport, Iowa. The NBA was not exactly big- city glitter and show biz in those formative days.
On June 6, 1950, a small story appeared on the news wire, to the effect that Bob Cousy had signed to play for the Tri-City Hawks for an estimated $9000 a season. Here, fate and luck, and unbeatable combination, took over.
Cousy never wore a Hawks' uniform, because Kerner traded him to the Chicago Stags. Cousy never wore a Stags' uniform, either, because the Chicago team folded and their players were put into a pool, to be distributed to the surviving teams in this struggling league.
The Stags had two established stars - Max Zaslofsky, who could score, and Andy Phillips, a playmaker. After much wrangling, the names of Zaslofsky, Phillips and Cousy, the spectacular but by now somewhat bewildered collegian, were put into a hat.
Representatives of the New York, Philadelphia and Boston teams were asked to select one name each from the hat. None of the three wanted Cousy.
For a reason Celtics owner Walter Brown could never satisfactorily explain to his dying day, he gave Ned Irish of the Knicks the first choice. Irish said thanks and came out with Zaslofsky, the player the Knicks wanted most.
Then it was Brown's turn, and he did not hide his disappointment when the slip of paper read, "Bob Cousy."
"When I drew Cousy, I could have fallen through the floor. I didn't have any secret feeling that maybe it would all turn out for the best in the long run."
Several championships later, Auerbach would say: "We got stuck with the greatest player in the league when we drew his name out of the hat."
Bob Cousy at Holy Cross
Part 3 of the Bob Cousy Series
Though Worcester had a basketball tradition, Boston was a dribbling desert. The Midwest was the hotbed of basketball. Everybody knew that. Strange stories of Hoosier high school hoop hysteria seeped out of Indiana. Every backyard had a net. The bigtime coach was Adolph Rupp of Kentucky. The bigtime player was George Mikan, a myopic, broad-beamed, wide-shouldered hook-shooting hulk at DePaul University in Chicago.
Holy Cross didn't even have a gym good enough for its home games. They were played in Worcester Municipal Auditorium, an ark of a dusty downtown building that was, as its name implied, not a place to play basketball, but a meeting place, with a stage at one end and a balcony at the other.
In this improbable setting, better suited for "Our Town" and high-school graduations, the Fancy Pants AC put on basketball shows the likes of which have not been seen since.
That's what the sports pages called the Holy Cross varsity of those years - the Fancy Pants AC. The team relied more on guile than power. They passed the basketball as though it were on fire. Each player was also adept at moving without the ball, an expression that became a tired cliche in the '70s but which was a breath of fresh air in the stand-still '40s.
As a freshman, Cousy was on the second platoon of the Holy Cross team that won the 1946-47 NCAA championship.
Big games were moved out of the auditorium and into Boston Garden. Through the Cousy years, into the Togo Palazzi years and ending with the Tom Heinsohn years, the city that cared only about ice hockey during the winter flocked to the building on Causeway street to see some of the best college basketball in America.
Cousy became a sometime starter in his sophomore season but ran into difficulties with coach Julian. Early in the season, communication between the two was at a minimum. Cousy thought he wasn't playing enough, and Julian thought Cousy was too much of a freelancer and a showboat when he did play.
"I was 90 percent wrong," Cousy would say later. But at the time, he thought he was 100 percent right, and so he wrote to Joe Lapchick, the coach at St. John's, saying he wanted to get out of Holy Cross and asking for a transfer. Lapchick advised Cousy to stick it out.
The breakthrough came after Julian benched Cousy for a game against Chicago-Loyola at the Garden. With five minutes to go and Holy Cross trailing, the Garden crowd began chanting "We want Cousy, we want Cousy," and Julian sent him in. Cousy scored 11 points, including the winning basket at the buzzer.
He was the star in his junior and senior seasons. Buster Sheary had replaced Julian as coach, and he and his fancy playmaker hit it off from the start. However, though Holy Cross was rated as one of the best teams in the nation - in 1949-50 it had a 26-game winning streak - it didn't win the National Invitational Tournament in New York either season.
However, by his senior year, Cousy was the best-known collegian in the country. He didn't captivate every fan. Some basketball purists were offended by what they considered an overly flamboyant style. They didn't like the sudden passes that could handcuff a teammate, or the keep-away dribbling that made him a one-man show, or the look-one-way, pass-another flashiness that occasionally resulted in a pass into the third row.
The purists were looking into the forests but seeing only the trees. They were looking at the final score and overlooking the fun that led to the final score. A basket is only two points, they insisted, so what difference does it make how the baskets come? On an excitement scale, merely all the difference in the world.
Cousy brought basketball into the 20th century and made it a bigtime spectator sport.
"There are a lot of great players," said Lapchick, an original Celtic and a respected coach for many years, "but no one does it the way he does, and that's what they come to see. And that's what they talk about when they go home."
Though Worcester had a basketball tradition, Boston was a dribbling desert. The Midwest was the hotbed of basketball. Everybody knew that. Strange stories of Hoosier high school hoop hysteria seeped out of Indiana. Every backyard had a net. The bigtime coach was Adolph Rupp of Kentucky. The bigtime player was George Mikan, a myopic, broad-beamed, wide-shouldered hook-shooting hulk at DePaul University in Chicago.
Holy Cross didn't even have a gym good enough for its home games. They were played in Worcester Municipal Auditorium, an ark of a dusty downtown building that was, as its name implied, not a place to play basketball, but a meeting place, with a stage at one end and a balcony at the other.
In this improbable setting, better suited for "Our Town" and high-school graduations, the Fancy Pants AC put on basketball shows the likes of which have not been seen since.
That's what the sports pages called the Holy Cross varsity of those years - the Fancy Pants AC. The team relied more on guile than power. They passed the basketball as though it were on fire. Each player was also adept at moving without the ball, an expression that became a tired cliche in the '70s but which was a breath of fresh air in the stand-still '40s.
As a freshman, Cousy was on the second platoon of the Holy Cross team that won the 1946-47 NCAA championship.
Big games were moved out of the auditorium and into Boston Garden. Through the Cousy years, into the Togo Palazzi years and ending with the Tom Heinsohn years, the city that cared only about ice hockey during the winter flocked to the building on Causeway street to see some of the best college basketball in America.
Cousy became a sometime starter in his sophomore season but ran into difficulties with coach Julian. Early in the season, communication between the two was at a minimum. Cousy thought he wasn't playing enough, and Julian thought Cousy was too much of a freelancer and a showboat when he did play.
"I was 90 percent wrong," Cousy would say later. But at the time, he thought he was 100 percent right, and so he wrote to Joe Lapchick, the coach at St. John's, saying he wanted to get out of Holy Cross and asking for a transfer. Lapchick advised Cousy to stick it out.
The breakthrough came after Julian benched Cousy for a game against Chicago-Loyola at the Garden. With five minutes to go and Holy Cross trailing, the Garden crowd began chanting "We want Cousy, we want Cousy," and Julian sent him in. Cousy scored 11 points, including the winning basket at the buzzer.
He was the star in his junior and senior seasons. Buster Sheary had replaced Julian as coach, and he and his fancy playmaker hit it off from the start. However, though Holy Cross was rated as one of the best teams in the nation - in 1949-50 it had a 26-game winning streak - it didn't win the National Invitational Tournament in New York either season.
However, by his senior year, Cousy was the best-known collegian in the country. He didn't captivate every fan. Some basketball purists were offended by what they considered an overly flamboyant style. They didn't like the sudden passes that could handcuff a teammate, or the keep-away dribbling that made him a one-man show, or the look-one-way, pass-another flashiness that occasionally resulted in a pass into the third row.
The purists were looking into the forests but seeing only the trees. They were looking at the final score and overlooking the fun that led to the final score. A basket is only two points, they insisted, so what difference does it make how the baskets come? On an excitement scale, merely all the difference in the world.
Cousy brought basketball into the 20th century and made it a bigtime spectator sport.
"There are a lot of great players," said Lapchick, an original Celtic and a respected coach for many years, "but no one does it the way he does, and that's what they come to see. And that's what they talk about when they go home."
Bob Cousy: The Early Days
Part 2 of the Bob Cousy Series
When Cousy first began to play basketball, on the asphalt playgrounds of St. Albans in Long Island, N.Y., he wasn't considered good enough to make the junior varsity as a 12-year-old at Andrew Jackson High School.
Until that age, he had lived on the East Side of New York, where his father drove a cab and where only French was spoken in the house for his first five years.
The move to St. Albans in Queens took Cousy away from stickball and other street games. He practiced and played basketball all the time, joining outside leagues after being cut from the high school jayvees.
He even learned to dribble with his left hand, something many righthanded players would never learn to do. This would come in handy when he refined his ballhandling tricks at Holy Cross College and in the pros.
Cousy was cut again his sophomore year, but when Lou Grummond, the coach, saw him playing in amateur leagues, he was impressed and restored him to the jayvees.
Cousy didn't become a regular on the Andrew Jackson varsity until the last part of his junior year. By then, word was getting around that here was a kid who could turn a basketball inside out.
He won the city scoring championship as a senior, hitting for 28 points in his final game to take the title.
Recruiting in those days was not nearly as sophisticated or intense as it became later, when 250 colleges might have scouts sitting on the doorstep of the latest high school phenom, who is usually 7 feet tall and often has an agent.
The romancing of a potential college athlete in the late '40s was more of a sit-in-the-kitchen-with-the-folks thing. And that's what General Al McClellan, basketball coach of Boston College, did with Cousy.
He came to St. Albans and described to the Cousy family the many educational, athletic and social benefits available at BC. Cousy visited the campus, and things began to look good for a college that had never been known for its basketball prowess.
Enter Kan Haggerty, another Andrew Jackson grad, who was then attending Holy Cross and playing on the basketball team. Haggerty spoke of Cousy in such glowing terms to Holy Cross coach Alvin (Doggie) Julian that Julian decided to see for himself.
He liked what he saw and invited Cousy to sit on the Holy Cross bench for a game against Merchant Marine, so the kid could get the flavor of what it might be like to play for the Crusaders.
There was also the offer of a scholarship, and so in September 1946, Cousy entered Holy Cross College, the Jesuit institution in Worcester 40 miles west of Boston.
When Cousy first began to play basketball, on the asphalt playgrounds of St. Albans in Long Island, N.Y., he wasn't considered good enough to make the junior varsity as a 12-year-old at Andrew Jackson High School.
Until that age, he had lived on the East Side of New York, where his father drove a cab and where only French was spoken in the house for his first five years.
The move to St. Albans in Queens took Cousy away from stickball and other street games. He practiced and played basketball all the time, joining outside leagues after being cut from the high school jayvees.
He even learned to dribble with his left hand, something many righthanded players would never learn to do. This would come in handy when he refined his ballhandling tricks at Holy Cross College and in the pros.
Cousy was cut again his sophomore year, but when Lou Grummond, the coach, saw him playing in amateur leagues, he was impressed and restored him to the jayvees.
Cousy didn't become a regular on the Andrew Jackson varsity until the last part of his junior year. By then, word was getting around that here was a kid who could turn a basketball inside out.
He won the city scoring championship as a senior, hitting for 28 points in his final game to take the title.
Recruiting in those days was not nearly as sophisticated or intense as it became later, when 250 colleges might have scouts sitting on the doorstep of the latest high school phenom, who is usually 7 feet tall and often has an agent.
The romancing of a potential college athlete in the late '40s was more of a sit-in-the-kitchen-with-the-folks thing. And that's what General Al McClellan, basketball coach of Boston College, did with Cousy.
He came to St. Albans and described to the Cousy family the many educational, athletic and social benefits available at BC. Cousy visited the campus, and things began to look good for a college that had never been known for its basketball prowess.
Enter Kan Haggerty, another Andrew Jackson grad, who was then attending Holy Cross and playing on the basketball team. Haggerty spoke of Cousy in such glowing terms to Holy Cross coach Alvin (Doggie) Julian that Julian decided to see for himself.
He liked what he saw and invited Cousy to sit on the Holy Cross bench for a game against Merchant Marine, so the kid could get the flavor of what it might be like to play for the Crusaders.
There was also the offer of a scholarship, and so in September 1946, Cousy entered Holy Cross College, the Jesuit institution in Worcester 40 miles west of Boston.
Before Magic, there was Da Cooz
Part 1 of the Bob Cousy Series
Bob Cousy played with fire and emotion. He left basketball fans with something to remember every time he walked on the court.
Cousy dressed James Naismith's dowdy YMCA game in brand new clothes. There were great players before Cousy's time, plenty of them, but none with his flair.
The object of the game after all, was simple. Put a round leather ball into a 10-foot-high basket whose circumference was slightly larger than the ball. Cousy introduced new, imaginative methods of reaching that objective. And along the way, he made himself the standard by which all other players would be judged.
His name became a cliche to those of lesser skills. If a kid persisted in throwing behind-the-back passes that went astray, he was sure to hear: "Who do ya think ya are, Cousy?" If a schoolboy began to draw an inordinate amount of attention for his play, someone was sure to comment: "He's good, but he ain't no Cousy."
It is no exaggeration to say that Cousy's name is synonymous with basketball, the way Babe Ruth's is with baseball. Long before Earvin Johnson came out of Michigan State and was called "Magic," Cousy worked his own magic act.
Some of Cousy's magic seems elementary now. Even 6-foot-9 forwards dribble behind their backs, and 6-5 guards dribble through their legs, change directions seven times while bringing the ball upcourt, hang in the air for what seems to be an eternity, and dunk the ball.
Still, there was a mystical something about Cousy that remains, well, different. Grainy, black-and-white films of the Cousy-directed Celtics may look hopelessly outdated, but Cousy's actions aren't. His amazing peripheral vision as he whipped a pass to a teammate cutting from either side, the instincts that told him when to drop a pass off to a man trailing him on a fast break, the halfcourt bullets he threw, the behind-the-back stuff not for showtime but at precisely the right moment -these Cousy tricks are as fresh as tomorrow.
Bob Cousy played with fire and emotion. He left basketball fans with something to remember every time he walked on the court.
Cousy dressed James Naismith's dowdy YMCA game in brand new clothes. There were great players before Cousy's time, plenty of them, but none with his flair.
The object of the game after all, was simple. Put a round leather ball into a 10-foot-high basket whose circumference was slightly larger than the ball. Cousy introduced new, imaginative methods of reaching that objective. And along the way, he made himself the standard by which all other players would be judged.
His name became a cliche to those of lesser skills. If a kid persisted in throwing behind-the-back passes that went astray, he was sure to hear: "Who do ya think ya are, Cousy?" If a schoolboy began to draw an inordinate amount of attention for his play, someone was sure to comment: "He's good, but he ain't no Cousy."
It is no exaggeration to say that Cousy's name is synonymous with basketball, the way Babe Ruth's is with baseball. Long before Earvin Johnson came out of Michigan State and was called "Magic," Cousy worked his own magic act.
Some of Cousy's magic seems elementary now. Even 6-foot-9 forwards dribble behind their backs, and 6-5 guards dribble through their legs, change directions seven times while bringing the ball upcourt, hang in the air for what seems to be an eternity, and dunk the ball.
Still, there was a mystical something about Cousy that remains, well, different. Grainy, black-and-white films of the Cousy-directed Celtics may look hopelessly outdated, but Cousy's actions aren't. His amazing peripheral vision as he whipped a pass to a teammate cutting from either side, the instincts that told him when to drop a pass off to a man trailing him on a fast break, the halfcourt bullets he threw, the behind-the-back stuff not for showtime but at precisely the right moment -these Cousy tricks are as fresh as tomorrow.
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