Cowens on Flopping

November 4, 2012

 The NBA's new 11th commandment: Thou Shalt Not Flop.

Those adjudged by the league's top cop, Stu Jackson, to have shamelessly attempted to induce officials into calling unwarranted offensive fouls by virtue of what the late, great Johnny Most used to label "phony flops," will be subject to a succession of fines. First offense will carry a warning. A second will cost someone $5,000, a third $10,000, a fourth $15,000, and a fifth - now this guy would have to be an incorrigible - $30,000.

 Hall of Famer Dave Cowens has a better idea.

 "Why don't they just show a replay of the Newlin thing?" he suggests. "That should end it."

The Cowens-Era Celtics Deserve More Respect

The 1974 and the 1976 Celtics were my teams. I became a Celtics' fan on day one of the 1974 Finals. Cowens v. Jabbar. Celtics v. Bucks. The Bucks were the prohibitive favorites. The Celtics didn't stand a chance. That was enough for me. I'm rooting for the Celtics. The memories are so vivid, I even remember the pair of shoes my parents bought for me when we went out for dinner before game 1 started.

27-6 Run Propels C's to Victory

January 19, 1980


The Celtics gave another Garden capacity crowd some of that old-time fast- break and team-concept religion last night, blowing the Portland Trail Blazers out with a devastating third-period run and cruising to a 111-93 victory.

Cowens' Number is Hoisted

February 1981

He was a wild man," said Paul Silas, the ex-Phoenix Sun.

"Absolutely crazy," said Dave Bing, the former Detroit Piston.

"We called him The Butcher," said Chris Ford, another ex-Piston.

Dave Cowens: More Intense than KG?

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fe·ro·cious

adj.

1. Extremely savage; fierce. See Synonyms at cruel.

2. Marked by unrelenting intensity; extreme: ferocious heat.

ma·ni·a·cal also ma·ni·ac

adj.

1. Suggestive of or afflicted with insanity: a maniacal frenzy.

2. Characterized by excessive enthusiasm or excitement

There was no ordinary, garden-variety rebound for Dave Cowens. Every time he came down with a missed shot, the elbows were out, the legs were spread, and the nostrils flared. Think Bill Russell in this famous picture. Cowens took no prisoners. That sounds like a cliche. But if you even looked at him funny, the bumping started, and, if you didn't like that, the shoving and elbowing followed.

You would not get the upper hand on Dave Cowens. Pure and simple. Example: Cowens faced off against Wilt Chamberlain four times during the season after the Lakers went 69-13 on their way to the championship. The Celtics won all four games, with Cowens averaging 31 points and 19 rebounds a game in those four contests. The Lakers' run was one-and-done, if Cowens had anything to say about it.

Bob Ryan once wrote:

Dave Cowens stands 6 feet 8 1/2 inches, and even 20 years ago that was considered a bit runty for a center. Indeed, it was a raging local talk show controversy in the fall of 1970. This kid Cowens is OK, but he's not really a center. But Cowens was a center, all right, because he believed he was a center with every pore of his body. "Being a center was everything to me," he admits. "It's the best position. Simple mathematics. There are two guards and two forwards, but only one center. You're in the middle of everything."

He relished the play-within-a-play concept of dueling with the rival center as part of the grand spectacle. "That's where it starts," he explains, "with the one-on-one confrontation. It doesn't matter if it's Kareem, Wilt, Tom Boerwinkle or Dennis Awtrey. Start with you and him, and then factor in the team strategy. You live off the competition."

Nobody in the history of the NBA ever competed more ferociously, recklessly and honorably than Dave Cowens -- nobody. Anybody can expend energy with a championship in sight, so when Cowens belly-flopped after that loose ball he had knocked away from Oscar Robertson to create a crucial turnover in Game 6 of the 1974 Finals, he was better than anyone else only in that he was able to execute.

But there were few present in Asheville, N.C., on an October night in 1974, and there was absolutely nothing at stake when he spotted Fatty Taylor half the length of the court after the latter's steal in the waning first-half seconds of the first exhibition game and caught up in time to block the shot. Cowens tumbled into the basket's superstructure and broke his foot, causing him to miss the first 17 games of the season. It was at once an unmakeable and irrational play. It was, therefore, pure Dave Cowens.

If you have a chance, buy this set of Celtics' DVDs. They include a bunch of old Celtics' games, plus tons of footage from all of the eras. The game footage of Dave Cowens is captivating. You are left with the impression that KG's intensity pales in comparison.

My attitude was, "Let's see what these players are all about. I knew a Wilt Chamberlain could overwhelm me on offense", but I said, "Let's just see how hard these guys want to work." I think they got pissed at me because I wanted to work hard. They weren't used to somebody who played the way I did. I'd be running them, and after a while they'd think, "The hell with this." That's intimidation, when you're in condition and you can run somebody all the time. That, to me, is true intimidation. If every time you're down court you're right in a guy's face, if every time you're boxing him him out - I mean every time - it gets to a lot of people.

--#18

Grampa Celtic Talks #18

Only one ballplayer ever handed me a medium-size spiral notebook and said, "I bought you a present for the playoffs." Only one ballplayer ever took me on a tour of his home area that included inspecting a load of cow manure. Only one player ever explained to me the significance of winning the championship was that it was "something to put in my portfolio of basketball experiences."

That player was Dave Cowens.

Dave Cowens: The Induction Speech

Dave Cowens Talks about His Dad

Dave Cowens Explains How a Kentucky Boy Ended Up Playing at Florida State

Grampa Celtic Talks Cowens and Rodman

1995

The camera told a fascinating story. There were the San Antonio Spurs in the huddle, mapping out strategy in the final minutes of a tense playoff game against the Houston Rockets. In the middle of the picture was first-year San Antonio assistant coach Dave Cowens. Off to the left was recalcitrant San Antonio forward Dennis Rodman, staring into space, not participating.

Dave and Sheed

Wallace gave longtime Celtic fans a Dave Cowens flashback early in the second quarter. Sheed didn’t agree with replacement referee Tim Greene when he called him for traveling. At the other end of the floor, Greene was there with the whistle again when Wallace clocked Andrea Bargnani.

“Now that’s a foul,” Wallace said.

It was reminiscent of the Celts’ Feb. 25, 1976, game against the Rockets when Cowens got upset because he believed Houston’s Mike Newlin had flopped to extract a charging call.

Cowens then ran up the court and flattened Newlin, turning and uttering the exact same words Wallace did yesterday. Wallace had never heard the story, but when it was related to him, he said, “DC’s my man.”

Cowens was a Pistons assistant when Wallace was there, and when it was suggested Cowens is a bit out there, Sheed smiled and said, “We’re birds of a feather.”

LINK

Birds of a feather? Hmmm. Let's see.

I'll give #18 the edge on intensity today and tomorrow, except that he might burn out the day after that.

I'll give #18 the edge on being a bigger flake, not to mention being a bigger free spirit.

I'll give #18 the edge on diversity of employment experience, not just once, but twice.

I'll give #18 the edge on being a better swimmer.

I'll give #18 the edge on having the better single season in the NBA.

But, yes, it is true. Neither of Rasheed Wallace nor Dave Cowens likes fake fouls or floppers.

Typical Cowens

Dave Cowens, whose uniform No. 18 is retired in the TD Banknorth Garden rafters, said he loosened his ties with the organization over the years after becoming head coach of the Charlotte Hornets (1997-99) and Warriors (2001-03). ``The Celtics' slide wasn't hard for me because I was working for other people and doing other things,'' Cowens said.

As a former Boston Celtics player, were you then surprised by the resurgence of the Celtics? "I didn't really think about it one way or the other. I knew they were going to be a lot better than they were last year with getting those player. Ray Allen and Kevin Garnett are two of the better players in this league."

Christ. You need to loosen up a bit, Dave. I mean, I understand being employed by other teams and all. But you were a Boston Celtic. You still are a Boston Celtic. You will be forever equated in the minds of basketball fans everywhere. Larry Bird, a consummate professional in his own right, even had something nice to say about the Celtics' rebirth:

And though he runs a team that competes against both the Lakers and Celtics, Bird has a decided interest in the outcome of tonight’s game. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I want the Celtics to win it."

LINK to rest of Bird article.

After the Celtics did win it, Bird said this:

The outcome pleased Celtics legend Larry Bird, who was among those who waited 22 years to hoist another banner. "I'm happy for the Celtics and the city of Boston. I know what it means to win a championship as a Celtic and the place championships hold in the history of the franchise," Pacers President Bird said.

LINK

The Cowens-Era Celtics Deserve More Respect

The 1974 and the 1976 Celtics were my teams. I became a Celtics' fan on day one of the 1974 Finals. Cowens v. Jabbar. Celtics v. Bucks. The Bucks were the prohibitive favorites. The Celtics didn't stand a chance. That was enough for me. I'm rooting for the Celtics. The memories are so vivid that I even remember the pair of shoes my parents bought for me when we went out for dinner before game 1 started.

Until the 1985-86 season, the two best Celtics teams I ever saw were the 1974 and 1976 teams. The 1981 team was good, but didn't play basketball at a consistently high level. The 1984 team was fortunate to walk away with a banner. You could say the same thing about the 1974 Celtics, who won the championship only after going the full seven games, or the 1976 Celtics, who lost two in a row in Phoenix, and required three overtimes to keep them from going down 3-2, heading back to Phoenix. Still, the 1970s Celtics champions exuded excellence and superiority, and you expected them to win.

Case in point.

Watching game 5 last night, the first quarter began with a Celtics steamrolling their way to a 20-4 lead. Paul Silas, of all people, was leading the way. Fifteen footers, seventeen footers, driving layups. Silas was a man possessed. "Phoenix Suns coach John McCleod may have to reconsider his game plan if Paul Silas continues to assert himself offensively," said Rick Barry, who was providing color for the game. You can almost hear Mark Jackson echo those sentiments about Leon Powe during game 2 of the 2008 NBA Finals.

Just when you figured the Celtics' run would stop, it continued. The Celtics began zipping passes around the horn, running give-and-goes, and pick-and-rolls, all the while Dave Cowens is dominating the glass on both ends. 36-18 at the end of one. One of the best exhibitions of pure basketball that I have ever seen, including the infamous 36-6 quarter against the Hawks in the 1986 Eastern Conference Semis. The 1970s Celtics' championship teams could hang with any Celtics' team in history.

Which is why it surprises me that neither the 1974 nor the 1976 team makes Bob Ryan's list of best Celtics' teams. Yes, the 1972-73 Celtics make the list. But, Bob, they didn't win the title! How do they make the list and neither the 1974 or 1976 teams do? Ditto for the 1985 and 1987 teams. I mean, come on.

Back to the Celtics-Suns game.

Midway through the second quarter, we see back-up center Jim Ard dipsy-doo his way through the paint for a finger roll. Someone tell me the name of a back-up center on the 1985 or 1987 squads who could do that (and don't say Bill Walton, cuz he was useless in 1987). A couple minutes later Glenn McDonald drains an 18-footer, nothing but net. But for McDonald's heroics in OT (he scored 6 points in the final two minutes of the third overtime. He also grabbed a defensive rebound, drew a foul, and sank to free throws to clinch the 128-126 victory) , the Celtics probably don't win the game. Using McDonald at the three allows Hondo to move to the back court. Hmmm. A 6-7 off guard with off-the-chart skills and a championship pedigree. I don't think the 1985 or 1987 teams had anything like that.

One of these two 1970s championship teams deserves a top-five mention in Celtics' lore. I don't care which one. But one of them deserves some love.

I Apologize, Dave Cowens

Six jerseys hang on the wall in my basement, only one of which is from the 1970s Celtics. It belongs to John Havlicek. This is strange, because when I started playing basketball, I patterned my game after Dave Cowens. The first sports book I bought was a biography of Dave Cowens. If a magazine had Cowens on the cover, I bought it. So it is strange that in my older age, I no longer view Cowens with as much esteem.

After watching the first quarter of game 5 of the 1976 NBA Finals, I remembered what happened. Five months after winning the NBA title against the Phoenix Suns, Cowens took a "Leave of Absence," turning his back on my beloved Boston Celtics.During the 1978-79 season, Cowens coached the Celtics, and then quit that job, too, after posting a 27-41 record. Before the 1980-81 season began, Cowens announced his retirement, turning his back on a team that this time was on the cusp of a championship. Finally, when Cowens decided to come out of retirement, he chose to play for the Milwaukee Bucks instead of the Celtics.

As it turns out, Cowens' had reasons to do what he did, good reasons. But as a kid, I didn't care about those reasons, all I cared about was the fact that he quit. No hero of mine was a quitter or a flake.Reflecting on his reasons for quitting today, I can hardly blame him. When the 1976-77 season began, his partner in the pivot, Paul Silas, had been replaced by yahoos Sidney Wicks and Curtis Rowe. When Cowens retired as a coach, he just couldn't take losing with such a sorry bunch of players on the roster. When he retired as a player the first time, he only had one good leg. And when he came out of retirement, after his injured leg started feeling better, the Celtics needed someone to guard Andrew Toney, and Quinn Buckner was the guy. As a result, Red Auerbach convinced Dave he'd be better off playing for Nellie in Wisconsin.

So, Dave Cowens, I apologize for holding a grudge against you over the last 30 years.

My bad.

What you did makes sense to grown-ups confronted by grown-up problems.

It just didn't make sense to a kid in his early teens.

NYT on Cowens

Dave Cowens , the Boston Celtics' center for 10 seasons, announced his retirement yesterday. Cowens , the National Basketball Association's most valuable player in 1972-73 and coach for most of 1978-79, told Red Auerbach , the club's president and general manager, of his decision by telephone from Terre Haute, Ind., and then he left the team.

Auerbach said he was upset when Cowens first told him he was retiring, but he added that he was not surprised. "We had a long talk before the season," Auerbach said, "and Dave told me was thinking of retiring. He told me he missed being away from his new baby girl, Meghan, who was born after last season. He also didn't think he could jump any more. I remember him telling me, 'I'm going down hill. I can no longer play up to my potential. I think I'm going to retire.'

"Dave is a special kind of a person. He takes great pride in how and the way he plays. What I don't understand about his decision is that he has been playing so well during the exhibition season."

Leave of Absence in 1976-77

Cowens, reportedly traveling to join his wife at his parents' home in Cold Springs, Ky., was unavailable for comment. During the 1976-77 season, Cowens asked for and was granted a leave of absence for personal reasons. A little more than two months later, when the Celtic record dropped to 15-14, Auerbach convinced Cowens to return.

"This is not the same Cowens," said a friend who asked not to be identified. "He was a flighty kid then. He's is a mature family man now."

Auerbach had expected Cowens to retire after this season and he prepared for it by trading the first and 13th choices in last June's college draft to the Golden State Warriors for Robert Parish, an established center and the No. 3 pick in the draft. In light of Cowens's retirement, the trade took on added importance.

Cowens's decision did not surprise his father, Jack. "I saw Dave play Monday night in Indianapolis," Jack Cowens said by telephone from Fort Thomas, Ky., "and Dave was limping badly. He mentioned then that he was thinking of quitting."

Top Draft Choice in 1970

Cowens has since said he was basically playing with only one good leg, his left, and that his left ankle was weak. Before the Knicks played the Celtics in an exhibition game Saturday night at Madison Square Garden, Cowens, sitting in the office of a friend, estimated that he had sprained his ankle at least 30 times and that, two years ago, some doctors had told him that they were surprised he was able to play without sustaining a serious injury.

"It was purely a physical thing," said Coach Bill Fitch, in Evansville, Ind., with the Celtics for an exhibition game last night. "He could still do it offensively; he was playing hard.

"But he wasn't banging into people the way he used to. If he isn't knocking heads with someone, basketball isn't fun for him." Cowens is 31 years old. He began his pro career as the Celtics' 1970 top draft choice out of Florida State and was rookie of the year. Although only 6 feet 8 inches tall, he became one of the N.B.A.'s premier centers, using speed and aggressiveness to neutralize an opponent's height advantage. In 10 seasons, he scored 12,252 points (an 18.6 average) and grabbed 9,636 rebounds.

He said he hoped to bring that aggressiveness to coaching when he replaced Tom Sanders 14 games into the 1978-79 season. But he had problems with John Y. Brown, the former Celtic owner who is now governor of Kentucky.

Cowens quit as coach after the Celtics finished at 27-41, the club's worst record in three decades. He returned as the Celtic captain last season and helped turn around the team, which finished at 60-22, the best record in the N.B.A.

Cowens Retirement: The Initial Announcement

It came to an end in a motel room in Terre Haute.

Dave Cowens just came to the conclusion he couldn't play basketball the way he wanted to any more. Jumping had always been the foundation of his game and now he found his greatest asset had deserted him. He might have stayed around to play defense, come up with an occasional scoring burst and provided leadership, but it wasn't enough. And so Dave Cowens , one of the truly great Celtics and one of professional basketball's best advertisements, officially retired yesterday morning, 24 days before his 32d birthday.

The announcement came as a shock to his teammates. "I had no idea this was coming," said Rick Robey, who can now think more about winning the starting center's job on the ballclub and less about being traded. "I didn't know anything about it," said Chris Ford. "The only person I know of who had any idea was Ron Perry. Cowens told him while they were eating on Tuesday night that he might retire in a couple of days, but, naturally, Perry didn't take him seriously.

But Cowens wasn't kidding. As he explains in his rather unique farewell to the fans (Page 41), he was playing on "weakened and worn-out feet and ankles." Though he was scoring well on some occasions and though he remained the best defensive player on the squad, he felt extremely frustrated over his inability to rebound with his old power. He had degenerated into being just an-other 6- foot-8 basketball player, and he was professional. He had managed only 32 rebounds in 151 minutes of playing time over the first six preseason games, and in the Indiana game played on Monday night he missed some rebounds he would have had last year, when he was far from his old rampaging self on the boards. "I went back a lot between this year and last," he said, sadly.

His passing means that a very special era of Celtic basketball is over. He was the heartbeat of the 1974 and 1976 championship teams. He was also the only survivor of the 1976 outfit. It is almost impossible to comprehend that Cedric Maxwell, who won't be 25 until Nov. 21, is now the ranking Celtic in seniority.

The immediate significance of Cowens' retirement is that the Celtics will now be far less likely to trade a big man for a guard. That's No. 1. No. 2 is that a battle should ensue between Robey and Robert Parish for the starting center's job. No. 3 is that the Celtics must develop a sense of unity on defense now that Cowens is no longer back there to bolster the back line.

Cowens' place in Celtic history is secure. He arrived as a semi-unknown forward-center from Florida State and quickly made himself as popular a player as the team ever had with an aggressiveness that bordered on the maniacal. He gave the team the inside power that had been lacking in the first post-Russell year. He shared Rookie of the Year honors in 1970-71 season with Geoff Petrie. Two seasons later he was the league's MVP as the club won a Celtic record 68 games. He was the MVP in the 1973 All-Star Game in Chicago after been unjustly deprived of the award a year earlier in LA. He was brilliant in the 1974 playoffs as the Celtics won their 12th championship and their first without Russell.

He was no mere cardboard personality. His early eccentricities, such as attending an auto body course during the afternoons of his second season, established him as a free thinker. He always played hard, but he wanted his off-court time to be his own. He is undoubtedly one of the few professional athletes who could have gotten away with his celebrated "leave of absence" in 1976. Both management and the fans realized that his sincerity was unquestioned. When he became the player-coach in 1978, he made it clear he was doing it for the good of the organization. And when he announced he was quitting on the final day of the '78-79 season, he did it for the same reason.

The stats will be in the books for all to see, and they are impressive, if not gaudy. However, Cowens fans will not discuss stats when dealing with their favorite player. He never scored 40 points in a game. His all-time rebound high is 32. He averaged 20 points a game just once. But none of this matters, for what made Cowens were the impossible rebounds that didn't belong to him, the spectacular loose ball chases, the 24-second violations caused by his swallowing up a guard, and the fourth effort tapins.

He could still play if he were content to be a differnent type of player. "I can still pass and shoot a little," he admitted. "But I can't play the way I want to. I don't want to be here worrying about getting hurt or being a parttime player. Some people could do that, but I can't."

"It just freaks me out," said Kevin McHale. "Dave Cowens is the man. He's done it all. He's got the two rings."

When hearing the news of Cowens' retirement, callers to The Globe expressed dismay.

"It's very disappointing," said Tony Gatto of Easton. "It could have been a very good year for the Celtics. The Red Head (Auerbach) is gonna be scurrying now."

"I'm shocked but I'm not," said Ken Rua of Somerville. "I thought it would come some time, but why did he do it now?"

"Let him go back to driving a cab," said John Ziggenfus of Philadelphia. "This is the second time he deserted the team. Big Red won't be easy to replace."

But Cowens has also got the admiration and respect of all those who played with or against him, or who ever saw him play. Dave Cowens played the game the way every fan thinks he or she would play if the opportunity arose. It's because he doesn't want to be remembered in any other light that he has quit the game.

Cowens: The Bob Ryan Farewell

Most articles of clothing placed on the body of Dave Cowens have ventured into alien territory. The classier the garment, the worse it looks. The body itself is unusually tall (6 feet, 8 1/2 inches) and muscular, its dominant feature being a pair of exceptionally long legs that make him very high waisted. But the essential problem is not physical; it is philosophical. Dave Cowens abhors pretension of any kind. Simple is good. He looks and feels best in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt.

He is - or, to be more precise, was - basketball's answer to Eric Hoffer. His was the philosopher-longshoreman's approach to sport. His recent retirement as the Celtics' center at age 32 did more than deprive the sports world of just another superior player. Great players can always be replaced; great personalities cannot. He was that rare individual who transcended the statistics and the record books in his chosen sport. Barely six weeks into his rookie season, he had become a reference point. For a decade, coaches at every level of basketball - indeed, coaches in practically any team sport - have been searching for "Dave Cowens types," and so it shall remain.

I never identified myself as a great player, only as one who set high standards regarding his performance. I always took pride in my performance and thought that I gave a little extra something to the game.

What exactly is a "Dave Cowens type"? In strictest basketball terms, it is a big man who is so uncommonly aggressive that his teammates are actually shamed into playing harder alongside him, if only to avoid an embarrassing comparison. In broader terms, it is a man of uncluttered nineteenth-century moral values projected in Jules Verne fashion into our modern society.

Dave Cowens never wanted to be a public person. But by simply being himself he ensured that he would never be allowed a completely private life. What others would call eccentricity he would term natural behavior. Eschewing the "swinging singles," live-in-the-downtown-high-rise life-style then very much in vogue among young, affluent athletes, he spent his first five years as a Celtic living in a converted one-room bathhouse in Weston. He was immediately characterized as a man apart, and there was ample evidence to support that thesis.

Didn't he attend that auto mechanics course during his spare time back in his second year? Didn't he attempt to learn sign language? Didn't he spend the night sleeping on a park bench on Boston Common when the Celtics won the 1974 championship? Didn't he drive a Boston cab, however briefly? Five more people like him and People magazine would be kept in business for the next twenty years.

Some people linked his behavior with what they perceived to be his background. Maybe, Bostonians reasoned, people from Kentucky are just that way; don't they still have all those moonshiners down there? People were under the assumption that he was just a lovable Huck Finn type. At the very least, they assumed him to be a farmer.

The reality is that Cowens was raised in a row house in Newport, Kentucky, right across the river from Cincinnati. His father, a barber by trade, also sold insurance and managed a finance corporation. Urban cowboy? Maybe. Farmer? Never.

I never milked cows. I was raised on asphalt. I played baseball, football, basketball. I ran track. I swam. I'm just a kid who went through everything everyone else did and survived. It just so happened I was geared to be a basketball player. It just happened.

His immediate success was startling because when he came to Boston he was known only to those basketball junkies who ate basketball magazines for breakfast, press releases for lunch, and scouting reports for dinner. He had enjoyed little high school fame, being recruited in-state only by the schools of the Ohio Valley Conference. Powerhouse Kentucky ignored him. He selected Florida State (coach Hugh Durham promised him he could start as a sophomore), where he was neither chosen as an All-American nor showcased on national television, thanks to the school's three years on NCAA probation. The pro scouts were hardly unaware of his existence, but outside of Tallahassee, Florida, his name meant nothing to the general public.

I always thought I could play as hard and as well without anybody in the building.

This lack of publicity might have been the source of great irritation for some people, but it did not bother Dave Cowens. He never played the game for fame; he played it because he liked it, period. He liked the speed, the contact - oh how he liked the contact - and the interaction with teammates. Unlike many athletes, he had never really been a fan. Press clipppings, awards, and All-This or All-That teams held no interest for him. Critics didn't bother him, either, because until the day he retired, he played for no tougher critic than himself.

I never dreamed of being a pro basketball player when I was a kid. Being a pro player wasn't a dream come true. I wasn't a card collector. I was always open to suggestion. I was just out there grasping for straws, wondering what to do. I just migrated toward basketball because I liked it.

He was ignorant about the NBA when he came into the league. Whereas an old college rival named Neal Walk had boasted of having posters of the great pro centers on the wall of his dormitory room, Cowens came into the league with all the advance knowledge of a lifelong Brooklyn resident dropped into the middle of downtown Ulan Bator. He found himself going up against players he not only had never seen before, even on television, but also against players he had never read about. And yet he was able to turn this ignorance into an asset.

Instead of wondering what these people were all about, I decided I was going to show them what I was all about. I figured, Hey, what can I lose?

They found out very quickly exactly what Dave Cowens was all about. He was an original. He ran as no big man had ever run before. In a league dominated by black men who had been used to seeing landlocked white men play the game far below the rim, he was a phenomenon, a certified White Leaper. Early in his rookie season, a black referee named Ken Hudson, who is now a Coca-Cola vice- president, said that Cowens was the victim of reverse discrimination. "Referees," Hudson said, "can't believe a white guy can jump that high and block shots that well, so they call fouls on him he doesn't commit." But Cowens' most distinguishing characteristic was his aggressiveness. Opponents seeing him for the first time were ready to sign petitions aimed at deporting him to the National Football League. He gave and, more important, he took. No first-year player ever became more quickly, and totally respected. His name immediately became synonymous with competitiveness.

I never considered myself as being that much more competitive than other people. I looked at it logically. I knew my height, and I knew what I had to do.

The position helped create the Cowens mystique. Playing a 6-foot-8 1/2 redhead at center in a 7-foot black man's league was originally considered by some to be an implied admission of Celtic weakness. Even Red Auerbach and Tom Heinsohn openly admitted that they really didn't know what Cowens' best position would be. The general thinking in the first few months of the 1970-71 season was that Cowens was a caretaker center until the team could come up with a real center; i.e., a 7-footer, preferably a black one. But it didn't take Cowens long to realize that center was where he belonged, that he was uniquely equipped to overcome the handicap of being a white Gulliver among black Brobdingnagians.

My attitude was, Let's see what these players are all about. I knew a Wilt Chamberlain could overwhelm me on offense, but I said, "Let's just see how hard these guys want to work." I think they got pissed at me because I wanted to work hard. They weren't used to somebody who played the way I did. I'd be running them, and after a while they'd think, "The hell with this." That's intimidation, when you're in condition and you can run somebody all the time. That, to me, is true intimidation. If every time you're downcourt you're right in a guy's face, if every time you're screening him out - I mean every time - it gets to a lot of people.

There is no question that Cowens would have been a standout forward. Bill Fitch flatly states, "He would have been the greatest power forward who ever lived." That's a coach talking. Had Cowens not played center, he might have been good, but he never would have been special. That's a fan talking.

I would not have enjoyed the game as much if I didn't play center. I've always liked center. I thought it was a special position. There are two guards and two forwards, but only one center.

The center position is the only one on the floor that was big enough to accommodate Dave Cowens' heart and determination. The position is aptly named, for the center is the focus of both the offense and the defense. Offensively, the ideal center can both shoot and pass. Defensively, he must relish the idea of being a court of last resort. He should be a strong rebounder. Cowens fulfilled all the qualifications.

He was flawed. He needed a better variety of inside moves in order to take full advantage of his abnormal quickness. He never learned to set a decent pick (a maneuver in which an offensive player places himself in the intended path of a defender in order to provide room for a teammate to shoot unimpeded), an odd fault considering his willingness to administer and absorb punishment. Worse yet, he never felt comfortable using one. He could have scored many more baskets by slipping behind a pick and taking an open fifteen- foot jump shot, but his normal reaction was to refuse that type of aid. A natural left-hander, he had very limited use of his right hand.

I was never good at one-on-one basketball. I didn't dribble well. People basically knew my moves. If I was low, I was going to turn to the middle and take my hook with a big step. I had my power moves and my spin move. And I could pass the ball. Outside, I could stick it when things were going good. I could take one or two dribbles, but handling the ball and driving were probably the weakest parts of my game.

The strongest aspect was helping on defense, talking, just wanting to help. Since I helped my teammates, I thought they would play harder on defense. The rebounding, the screening off - to me this was the last part of defense.

Tom Heinsohn was the right coach in the right place at the right time. Heinsohn was a basketball visionary, and he quickly devised methods whereby Cowens could exploit his unique gifts. His center was a runner, so the Celtics ran. He sent Cowens into the conventional pivot area when he was playing a "small" center, and he employed an entirely different offense when the opposing center was one of the league behemoths. Cowens' natural aggressiveness augmented his self-taught finesse and his coaching. As the center, he was always involved. Fans loved him. The fan in Section 129 easily identified with Cowens' work ethic. Watching Cowens spot a Kareem Abdul-Jabbar eight inches and still battle him evenly, a fan could derive more than the normal satisfaction from the game. Dave Cowens was the small man's big man.

He became a visible public figure. He was liable to turn up anywhere, be it at Symphony on a Friday afternoon or at the Hillbilly Ranch any old evening. He reveled in the city. Though he could not accurately be classified as an intellectual, he was intellectually curious.

Few players in any sport express interest in activities peripheral to their sport. Dave Cowens was an exception. Sitting in a hotel lobby in Milwaukee before boarding a bus to the arena, he suddenly asked, "Do writers have slumps? Do you ever have the lead in your mind before the game starts?" This inquisition eventually bore fruit in the form of a writing career that included a brief stint as a contributor to the Sports Plus section of the Friday Globe.

He saw no reason why he should be prevented from commenting on matters other than athletics just because he was an athlete. But he could not accept the idea that his thoughts were inherently valuable simply because he was an athlete. He did not want to be anything other than a private citizen once he left the gym. He discouraged autograph seekers on the grounds that his signature on a scrap of paper was meaningless. His standard approach to an autograph request was to ask if a handshake would not be preferable. He didn't grasp that a handshake could not be adequately transferred back to the grandchild in Toledo or the brother-in-law in Bangor. One of his idiosyncrasies was to sign the autograph and then ask the recipient for his (or hers). Few knew how to handle that situation gracefully.

He has only recently accepted the notion that he has an off-the-court public that is every bit as important as his on-the-court public. If reconciliation with the latter was difficult, reconciliation with the former was positively agonizing.

An athlete does have a responsibility. I admit that. It's important to let a young person, or anybody, for that matter, know there is somebody out there he can identify with. People have told me they admire the way I retired. Teachers have told me they've used me as an example to their students about how you must take responsibility for your actions. But it can be a big ego thing, and I don't want people to think I'm such a great person.

His relationship with the paying customer was an interesting matter. In the beginning, he was insulated. He played for himself because he liked the game, for his teammates because that was inherent in the nature of the game, for his coach because he respected authority, and for his employer because that's who signed the check. The crowd was an abstract. But by the end of his career, the crowd had become an important part of his approach to the game.

Some fans live vicariously through the team. Some just like to imagine what they would do if they were playing. Some are just negative people who sit up there wanting people to look bad. The people I played for are the coaches who might be up there trying to watch and learn and the fans who really appreciate the game, and who, while they may root for one team or the other, appreciate the game more than the team. The game comes first. I always wanted other teams to play well against us because I wanted to beat them at their best.

I always figured that some of the fans understood what was going on, and that inspired me. When people sit in the stands and yell for or against you, that's part of the whole scene. A lot of times part of my concentration would be devoted to thinking about the fans. I wanted them to feel good about me when they went to the game, and to leave feeling I had played hard so they'd get their money's worth. I didn't want to cheat them. I hoped they knew what they were looking at. I used to listen to them, all right. I'd be too far off on a guy and a fan would yell "Get up on him!" and I knew somebody up there knew what he was talking about.

Just as he did not want to cheat the fans, so he did not wish to be cheated himself. He developed a strict code by which the game should be played. The code allowed for more physical contact than a supposed "noncontact" team sport was supposed to have, but this was a subject on which he would not compromise. He believed firmly that people would not enjoy watching basketball if it were devoid of contact. He knew that if contact were severely limited, he would have had absolutely no chance of guarding a 7-foot- 4 athlete such as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. He believed that he was always rough but never dirty. His opponents concurred.

His pet peeve was the growing practice of faking in order to draw a bogus offensive foul. He abhorred the tactic on principle, even though teammates John Havlicek and Don Nelson were masters of the art. It had been an accepted Celtic maneuver, dating back to the days of Frank Ramsey in the late fifties. This history was of no concern to Cowens. He remained angry with people who tried to deceive officials into calling fouls.

Consistent with the Cowens philosophy was the controlled use of physical force in order to impart a message. He was unusually combative, and before his career was through, the list of his fistfights would run from his rookie season (Bob Kauffman) to his final campaign (Wayne Rollins). He would reason with somebody to a point. The next step was a punch in the mouth.

On the night of February 25, 1976, Cowens delivered his most famous message. The recipient was Houston Rocket guard Mike Newlin, who had infuriated Cowens by twice jumping in front of him and falling down without being touched. On each occasion Newach the desired level of concentration to address himself properly to the task. His cells were dry. And so he invoked a unique and fascinating clause in his contract by asking for, and receiving, a "leave of absence" from the Boston Celtics. For two months he stayed away, traveling a little and simply thinking about things other than basketball. He returned, saying, "It was easier for me to play than not to play."

I came back because everybody was hounding me. Nobody believed me. I left because I really didn't feel involved. I felt like I was going through the motions. It was hard to explain. It was hard for me to explain it to myself. It was very confusing. For a while I just couldn't think very clearly. I got away, and I began to see things better. The question was, What do I really want to do with my life? The answer was that I really wanted to play basketball. When I realized that, I came back. But I wish I hadn't left. It was confusing to me, and to everyone else.

Being Dave Cowens, he received near-complete support from the public. Management was equally tolerant. His sincerity was never questioned. Exactly two years later, owner John Y. Brown and Auerbach named him coach. It could have happened in no other sports organization and with no other player.

I can't say I really coached the team. I was the guy at the head of the club.

The idea of the emotional Cowens coaching the club would have been remote back in the early days. He played two full seasons on heart and raw talent before he began to incorporate thinking into his game. Clever opponents knew how to taunt him. He was respected and often feared, but he was thought by those at the top of the profession to be controllable.

His maturing began in the 1972-73 season. He played well enough in the regular season to win the Most Valuable Player award, but it was in the playoffs that he came away with the basketball equivalent of his master's degree.

Willis Reed, the great New York Knicks' center, chronicled Cowens' development in his 1973 book, A Will to Win. Speaking of Cowens' play in the fifth game of the Knicks' series with the Celtics, Reed wrote:

"Every time you looked up it seemed as if Cowens was there, squirting through the defense, going over the outstretched arms, ducking under the guards, muscling on the boards, outrunning men he had no right to beat in a foot race.

"In this game Dave Cowens came of age. He had always had all of the necessary equipment, but in the past he had shown signs of immaturity. He would blow sky high if he got a few early fouls on him. He'd push back if he thought he was wronged on a call, picking up an added personal foul. But this night he was cool and graceful as a ballet dancer, and he turned in one of those performances that can't be captured on canvas.

"Cowens has the competitive fire of a Havlicek with possibly more natural ability, by which I mean he can hurt you in more ways. Cowens could move out and be a top NBA forward if Heinsohn had anybody else who could play the pivot. He's strong and quick and smart. And he showed all of these things in the sixth game.

"In football, I guess, it's called the animal instinct. That doesn't necessarily refer to hurting another man . . . just going all out."

Until the constant pounding robbed him of too many physical skills, he truly loved what he was doing. But participation alone was enervating, and although he eventually claimed a clinical understanding of the fan's motivations, he could not possibly relate to them. As the team was returning home from winning the 1974 championshiach the desired level of concentration to address himself properly to the task. His cells were dry. And so he invoked a unique and fascinating clause in his contract by asking for, and receiving, a "leave of absence" from the Boston Celtics. For two months he stayed away, traveling a little and simply thinking about things other than basketball. He returned, saying, "It was easier for me to play than not to play."

I came back because everybody was hounding me. Nobody believed me. I left because I really didn't feel involved. I felt like I was going through the motions. It was hard to explain. It was hard for me to explain it to myself. It was very confusing. For a while I just couldn't think very clearly. I got away, and I began to see things better. The question was, What do I really want to do with my life? The answer was that I really wanted to play basketball. When I realized that, I came back. But I wish I hadn't left. It was confusing to me, and to everyone else.

Being Dave Cowens, he received near-complete support from the public. Management was equally tolerant. His sincerity was never questioned. Exactly two years later, owner John Y. Brown and Auerbach named him coach. It could have happened in no other sports organization and with no other player.

I can't say I really coached the team. I was the guy at the head of the club.

The idea of the emotional Cowens coaching the club would have been remote back in the early days. He played two full seasons on heart and raw talent before he began to incorporate thinking into his game. Clever opponents knew how to taunt him. He was respected and often feared, but he was thought by those at the top of the profession to be controllable.

His maturing began in the 1972-73 season. He played well enough in the regular season to win the Most Valuable Player award, but it was in the playoffs that he came away with the basketball equivalent of his master's degree.

Willis Reed, the great New York Knicks' center, chronicled Cowens' development in his 1973 book, A Will to Win. Speaking of Cowens' play in the fifth game of the Knicks' series with the Celtics, Reed wrote:

"Every time you looked up it seemed as if Cowens was there, squirting through the defense, going over the outstretched arms, ducking under the guards, muscling on the boards, outrunning men he had no right to beat in a foot race.

"In this game Dave Cowens came of age. He had always had all of the necessary equipment, but in the past he had shown signs of immaturity. He would blow sky high if he got a few early fouls on him. He'd push back if he thought he was wronged on a call, picking up an added personal foul. But this night he was cool and graceful as a ballet dancer, and he turned in one of those performances that can't be captured on canvas.

"Cowens has the competitive fire of a Havlicek with possibly more natural ability, by which I mean he can hurt you in more ways. Cowens could move out and be a top NBA forward if Heinsohn had anybody else who could play the pivot. He's strong and quick and smart. And he showed all of these things in the sixth game.

"In football, I guess, it's called the animal instinct. That doesn't necessarily refer to hurting another man . . . just going all out."

Until the constant pounding robbed him of too many physical skills, he truly loved what he was doing. But participation alone was enervating, and although he eventually claimed a clinical understanding of the fan's motivations, he could not possibly relate to them. As the team was returning home from winning the 1974 championship in Milwaukee (thanks mainly to his spectacular play in the deciding seventh game), he was asked how he felt now that he had finally achieved the ultimate goal of any player's career. "It doesn't mean much to me now," he said. "Maybe tomorrow. To me, the fun was in th doing.

I was sorry when that game, and that series, were over. It had been such a great series, such great basketball. The reason it was so good was that we had contrasting styles. One of our styles was going to win, one of our tempos.

The older he got, the more the science of the game intrigued him. The young Cowens had looked at the game in a more simplistic fashion.

My approach when I went on the floor was something like this: I figured the other guy had more size or more offensive skills than I did. I wanted to look at him in the eye and say, "Dammit, you're going against one tough bastard tonight. It's just you and me, pal."

Having meshed his talent and his experience by 1973, he embarked on a stretch of four superb years. He did things on a nightly basis that have not been seen since. He continually made unmakable plays. One save of a loose ball in Madison Square Garden so thrilled his teammates that the bench responded with a standing ovation while the game was in progress. There was a night in Portland when he leaped over the Celtics' bench to keep a ball in play. Rather than returning to the floor by the original route, he instinctively turned and ran the length of the floor behind the press table, the result being a basketball reenactment of the classic car-train parallel race to the crossing so popular in silent film days. He returned to the court by leaping over the startled Portland players seated on their own bench. Whether or not it actually accomplished anything was irrelevant. It had been a uniquely Cowensian solution to a problem.

Off the court, he was becoming more of a loner. His four and a half months as coach guaranteed a restricted social life with his teammates. But even before that development, he had begun to detach himself from the team away from the floor. He missed friends such as Don Nelson, Paul Silas, and John Havlicek. For the first time he found himself actively disliking at least one of his teammates. Only when Pete Maravich, labeled a kook by most everyone else, became a Celtic last season did Cowens find anything resembling a kindred spirit. And when Maravich abruptly retired before the Celtics had even played an exhibition game, Cowens may have been influenced to follow suit.

The one-time eccentric bachelor has become the serious family man. He married a vivacious woman named Deby Cimaylo in 1978, and they are now the parents of 8-month-old Meghan. He is a homeowner. Some believe he has changed because of his marriage, but they are wrong. Rather, the marriage was the most visible manifestation of the change that had already taken place.

The determination he displayed on the basketball floor was often being applied to his other activities. About five years ago he became interested in purchasing an abandoned piece of property in Canton known as Prowse Farm. An avid horseman, Cowens wanted to restore the site to its nineteenth-century use as a horse farm. At the same time, a division of Motorola called the Codex Company expressed an interest in securing the farm as the site for a new plant.

Many angry town meetings later, Cowens is still fighting to save Prowse Farm. What began as a personal venture has become a quixotic crusade based on a principle. Cowens will never be the owner of Prowse Farm. But because in his view the Codex Company has disregarded environmental concerns and has been generally deceitful, he continues to fight them in the courts, whatever the expense.

He is naturally tenacious, and he expects to conquer the business world because of that tenacity. He is not sure exactly what he will do, now that he has retired, but he is eager to embark on a new way of life.

There have been other things on my mind, but as long as I was playing basketball I couldn't deal with them. While playing basketball I found it necessary to begin preparation a month and a half before the season started. When the season was over, I needed a month to wind down. If you put so much time and energy into something, you have no time for anything else. Now I find my mind is tuned in and I absorb things faster.I have the time and energy to concentrate on other projects. I probably have more energy than most people, and I think I'll be able to wear them down.

His two current business interests involve the proper care of one's body. He will represent a spring water company, and he is also excited about the possibility of constructing a comprehensive health and fitness center in Natick on the site of the Natick Country Club, which is being sold and subdivided. Toward that end, he recently spent time in Houston surveying a prototype operation, the elaborate Houstonian.

Finances should not be an immediate problem. He has been frugal with his money, living modestly, dabbling in investments, and, in general, treating money as a useful commodity, not as a solution to the mystery of life. He is confident that he will enjoy Life After Basketball.

The thing that money does for me is give me a sense of independence and a certain feeling that I have something to show for my work. I have the excitement of investing money with something I've earned. But my basic approach and values are the same as always. I still believe that knowledge, having knowledge and being able to use it and manipulate what you know in order to bring in enough money to survive, is what's important. That's more important than owning something.

By electing to retire, he forfeited an estimated $500,000, the amount he would have collected on the final year of his contract. He admitted that coming back solely for the purpose of taking the money was a large temptation. But when in doubt, he always resorts to his moral code. Had he come back for the money, he would not have been Dave Cowens, the man he must live with for the rest of his life. He would have been cheating, trying to draw the fake foul. He was in Terre Haute, Indiana, when he concluded that his body and spirithad both taken all the punishment they could stand. He knocked on the motel room door of a writer who is proud to be considered his friend. He was standing in his practice uniform - he had just returned from practice - and he was holding a sheaf of yellow legal pad pages on which he had handwritten a retirement statement to the fans, whom he believed deserved an explanation. "I'd like you to read something," he said.

The statement said, in part:

"I used to treasure the individual confrontations with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar or Bob MacAdoo and relish playing against teams like the old Chicago Walker- Love-Sloan quintets, who made you reach for everything you had to compete with their type of team play. These challenges were exciting and real; they were invigorating and exhausting.

"However, I can no longer play that caliber of basket-ball, and it is unbelievably frustrating to remain in a rugged occupation with waning skills. . . .

"I pointed out (to a team of foot specialists that recently examined his feet* that I had sprained my ankles at least thirty times over my career, broken both legs and fractured a foot. . . . I have highly weakened and worn- out feet and ankles.

"I am basically playing on one leg. My right ankle is so weak that I can best describe it by saying I have a sponge for an ankle. My left leg and ankle are therefore taking an extraordinary amount of abuse and they would no doubt give out before the year was over. . . .

"I have climbed the ladder of success in the NBA to the point where I command top dollar for my services. But the last time I negotiated a contract was five years ago. The only reason I am paid top dollar now is not because I am a top talent; it is because I negotiated from a position of strength five years ago. I have one year remaining on my contract, and part of the pressure to play comes from the commitment I have to live up to my obligation with the Celtics.

"I wouldn't feel guilty about the amount of money I would earn under these conditions if I thought I could play even as well as I did last year. But I can't. . . ."

The writer read the statement and asked what he could do.

"Two things," he replied. "Help me put it in order. You know, give me some professional help. And tell me what you think."

The writer thought that if Dave Cowens said he couldn't play anymore, there was no sense in arguing with him. He also said that the statement didn't need much professional help.

He hadn't cheated or taken shortcuts. The statement hurt to read, but it could not have been better said. Dave Cowens had ended his career by taking a legitimate emotional charge.

30 Things About Dave Cowens

1.

He holds the block/charge rule sacred: As a pro basketball player, Cowens lived by a firm personal code of right and wrong. Essentially he believes there's no excusing shortcuts or cheating at your craft.

He thought a player who flopped to the court to draw a charge is the worst kind of cheat. So he once flattened Houston Rockets guard Mike Newlin in a violent but poignant demonstration.

Newlin was a master at stepping in front of a moving player, then hitting the court as if flung there by contact. Twice in a game in 1976, Newlin drew charges on Cowens this way. So later in the game, an irate Cowens sprinted at Newlin, slamming him blind-side with both forearms and splattering Newlin along the floor.

``Now that's a foul!'' Cowens announced to referee Bill Jones.

Cowens was branded a savage for that stunt, so he followed it up with a lengthy letter to the editor in the Boston Globe. Cowens wrote that ``fraudulent, deceiving and flagrant acts of pretending to be fouled when little or no contact is made is just as unsportsmanlike as knocking a player to the floor. . . . This, in plain words, is what I call cheating.' ``

Cowens forwarded copies of the letter to the NBA's supervisor of officials and Newlin. Newlin already got the message; he said Cowens' body-block still stung a month later.

2.

He's frugal: The NBA is a world of Mercedes, Gucci and Rolex. Cowens makes a statement these days by driving a school-bus yellow Suburban.

Cowens never did need expensive toys or a luxury apartment to reinforce his ego. The year he was named NBA most valuable player (1973), he lived in a one-room converted bath house 15 miles west of Boston.

``The thing that money does for me is give me a sense of independence,'' Cowens once said, ``and a certain feeling that I have something to show for my work.''

3.

Still, he likes money: He's earthy and believes in causes, but as he pointed out just before his job interview in Charlotte, ``Hey, there's nothing wrong with money!''

4.

He's a notoriously bad dresser: In part this goes with being frugal - he'd rather spend his money on more practical things. But in his playing days, Cowens never looked right in anything more formal than a flannel shirt and faded jeans.

Two years of coaching with Bob Hill, a real clothes horse, seems to have updated Cowens' wardrobe. But we suggest he lose that short-sleeve, white shirt he wore on his job interview - it screamed for a pen-protector.

5.

He's socially conscious: He devoted lots of time and money to causes he supports, like the environment, the homeless and children. This was not writing a check or two as a marketing ploy, this was hours upon hours of effort.

6.

He can have an ugly temper: Allan Bristow, who once choked an agent, has nothing on Cowens. While coaching in the Continental Basketball Association, Cowens grabbed rival coach Bill Musselman by the neck at midcourt and lifted him off the ground.

As a player, he slugged Guilford's Bob Kaufman, appropriately nicknamed ``Horse,'' at the foul line, then patiently waited for Kaufman to swing back. Kaufman hit Cowens so hard Cowens finished the game wearing an eye patch.

7.

He's owned a race horse: Kentucky-born, Cowens loves horse racing and has owned at least one trotter.

8.

He'll fight for a lost cause: This, too, involves horse racing. One of Cowens' dreams was to restore some land in rural New England to its 19th century status as a horse farm. Motorola also wanted the land to build a plant.

Cowens fought for years at town meetings to keep the land from being industrialized. Long after it was clear he would never own the property, he kept lobbying for environmental reasons.

He lost the fight. The plant was built and later abandoned.

9.

He once drove a taxi: Just to find out what's it's like to be a Boston cabbie for one night. He joked that, ``I only took one guy the long' way. He was a Knick fan - he deserved it.''

10.

He spent a night on a park bench after the Celtics won the title in 1974: Cowens ended a night of partying by curling up on a bench until the sun came up, then waking a friend to make him some breakfast.

11.

He hung out in college with a Pulitzer Prize-winner: At Florida State, Cowens used to visit an art student in his dormitory to watch him draw and talk philosophy. That art student was cartoonist Doug Marlette, who won a Pulitzer while working for The Observer.

12.

He broke NCAA rules big-time: Cowens was a senior at the height of the war between the NBA and the American Basketball Association. Carl Scheer, now president of the Charlotte Checkers hockey team, signed Cowens to a contract with the NBA before Cowens' senior season. After the Celtics drafted Cowens No. 4 overall, Boston was assigned that contract.

13.

He sends thank-you notes: Friends were amazed to receive warm letters from Cowens for attending a surprise birthday party his wife threw for him several years ago.

14.

His dad was a barber: He comes from a working-class family, although not from the rural background many assume. Hometown Newport, Ky., is just across the state border from Cincinnati.

15.

He's humble: A woman sitting next to Cowens at a Final Four in the '80s wondered why people kept walking up to him, asking for an autograph. Finally, the woman sheepishly asked Cowens if he was famous. Cowens said he used to play for the Celtics, never patronizing her by explaining he was Dave Cowens, the hall-of-famer.

San Antonio Spurs vice president Gregg Popovich says Cowens' humility made him an excellent assistant coach. According to Popovich, Cowens never assumed that because he was a great player he already knew everything he needed to coach.

16.

He thinks autographs are silly: It goes with being humble.

Cowens never understood why people saw value in holding a scrap of paper with his signature. He often suggested a handshake instead. For awhile, he'd sign an autograph, then ask the fan for his autograph.

Friends say Cowens just wants to be treated like a regular guy.

17.

He wasn't always great at sports: He's from Kentucky, so he must have been recruited by the Wildcats, right? Wrong. His only in-state scholarship offers were from Ohio Valley Conference schools.

18.

He played out of position: Former Celtics coach Bill Fitch says, ``he would have been the greatest power forward who ever lived.''

But success as a 6-foot-9 center provided Cowens with a mystique he treasures:

``I would not have enjoyed the game as much if I didn't play center. I've always liked center. I thought it was a special position. There are two guards and two forwards, but only one center.''

19.

He has Bill Russell to blame for a losing record so far as an NBA coach: Red Auerbach named Russell player-coach of the Celtics in 1966 because ``the only guy who could motivate Bill Russell was Bill Russell.''

Hoping to shake Cowens and the Celtics out of a slump, Auerbach named Cowens player-coach in 1978. Cowens went 27-41 in what sounds like a miserable experience.

``I can't say I really coached the team,'' Cowens said shortly after that season. ``I was the guy who talked during timeouts.''

20.

He can't go to his right: His left-handed hook was quite a weapon, as was his jump shot. But opponents always knew Cowens was no real threat to score off his right hand. That limitation makes his effectiveness against bigger centers night-in and night-out all the more impressive.

21.

He was lousy at setting picks: It was a strange flaw for a player so willing to deliver and absorb physical punishment. A pick - essentially forming a wall with your body to separate an opponent from a teammate - is a basic skill for an NBA center. For some reason, Cowens would never quite set his feet right or stand straight when he was setting one.

Actually, he never used picks well, either, though doing so would have made him an even more effective jump-shooter.

22.

He once took a two-month hiatus in the middle of a season: To play the way he did at his size demanded exceptional effort night after night. Cowens used to say he could never afford to play with less intensity against an average center than he did against Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

In essence, Cowens burned out in the fall of 1976, so he asked for, and received, a two-month ``leave of absence'' during the season. This was not Cedric Ceballos going AWOL over a spat with his coach, this was Cowens questioning if he'd lost his desire altogether.

He bummed around the country, at one point picking up drift wood along the Oregon coastline. He even flirted with the idea of retiring as a player and going to work for a New England harness track. Finally, Auerbach convinced him to return.

Cowens' conclusion? ``It was easier for me to play than not to play.''

23.

His wife will soon be a published author: Wife Deby is a nurse practitioner with training in holistic healing. She has a book coming out in June based in research she did in touch therapy.

24.

He helped found a museum: Before going to work for the Spurs, Cowens was chairman of the Sports Museum of New England, which he jokingly described as the ``Salvation Army of sports.'' He struggled to raise funds for the museum, which wasn't quite high-brow enough for Boston society, despite offering a number of writing and arts programs for school children.

25.

He has a silly nickname: ``Big Red'' was the name fans used. But we hear at least one buddy calls him ``Gooney Goo Goo.''

No, we can't imagine why.

26.

He wrote his own retirement speech: One early afternoon in the fall of 1980, Bob Ryan of the Boston Globe was writing a preseason story in the Terre Haute, Ind., Sheraton. There was a knock on Ryan's door; it was Cowens, still in his practice uniform, holding several sheets of paper.

It was the first draft of Cowens' retirement statement. He wanted Ryan to edit it. In part the statement read, ``I am basically playing on one leg. My right ankle is so weak that I can best describe it by saying I have a sponge for an ankle.''

Cowens went on to say he couldn't justify taking a $500,000 guaranteed salary from the Celtics if he couldn't play effectively.

Ryan said the statement basically needed no editing; it was classic Cowens. Then Ryan asked if he could call in the story of Cowens' retirement for an afternoon edition.

Cowens asked to make a quick phone call first; he hadn't even told Red Auerbach of his decision.

27.

He's been one-upped by M.L. Carr: Cowens climbed onto the team bus that afternoon to announce in great detail his decision to retire. There were tears. Finally, Carr, a teammate then, the Celtics coach now, broke the tension by telling Cowens, ``Well, if that's the way you feel, get off our bus!''

28.

He considered playing last season: Spurs coach Bob Hill talked to Cowens about placing him on the roster for the playoffs last season after Moses Malone was hurt. Cowens still maintains his playing weight - about 240 pounds. The Spurs never went with what Cowens called a ``last-ditch'' alternative.

29.

He attended Tony Conigliaro's funeral: Cowens showed up in an overcoat and Red Sox cap to mourn the former Boston star whose career was so disrupted when he was beaned in the eye in the batter's box.

Cowens told Ryan he had no special tie to Conigliaro other than respect for his work and family.

30.

He claims to out-gonzo Dennis Rodman: Coaching the NBA's resident kook last season, Cowens once told Dennis Rodman he's crazier than Rodman ever thought about being.