The Celtics Have Phil Woolpert to Thank for the First 11 Banners

Phil Woolpert (December 15, 1915 - May 7, 1987) was an American college basketball coach. In 1950, Woolpert was hired by the University of San Francisco to become the men's basketball coach and athletic director. During his nine-year tenure at USF, Woolpert posted a 153-78 record, including a 60-game win streak that at the time was the longest in college basketball (surpassed later by John Wooden's 88 straight wins at UCLA.). He is best known for coaching the University of San Francisco Dons to two straight national championships in 1955 and 1956.

--Wikipedia

There you have the standard account of Phil Woolpert's career. Impressive, but lacking the debt of gratitude that Red Auerbach, the Boston Celtics, and all of Celtics Nation owe him. In The Rivalry: Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, and the Golden Age of Basketball, John Taylor recounts how Woolpert was singularly responsible for Bill Russell and KC Jones having decided to go to college, play basketball, and not go straight to work out of high school.

While Bill Russell was a good high school player by his senior season, he was largely ignored by college and university basketball programs. In fact, on the day Russell planned to apply for a job at the local sheet-metal factory near his home, he received a visit from Hal DeJulio, one of Woolpert's assistant coaches, asking Russell to try out for USF. The rest is history. A year earlier, Woolpert had rescued KC Jones from his job at the post-office with a scholarship offer. In Russell's freshman year, Woolpert assigned #6 to room with the sophomore Jones. The two soon became inseparable, and would stay that way through two college national championships and eight NBA titles.

Sounds to me like but for Phil Woolpert, the Celtics tradition that we all celebrate might not exist.

Red on Russell v. Bird

People are always asking me, "Who's the best player you ever saw?"

I tell them that's not a fair question. There are so many factors you have to consider: The era a man played in, the caliber of his teammates, the types of systems his coaches installed, and how well those systems were tailored to his particular skills. These are all important considerations.

A John Havlicek for instance would have been outstanding wherever he played. But a Bob Cousy? No way. He would not have been an outstanding player if he ended up someplace like Chicago in the kind of slowed-down game played when Dick Motta was there. Cousy would have been stifled; he needed a running game.

Quite often, the team makes the player - more often, in fact, than the player making the team, though it can work both ways. There's an old line about how the strength of the wolf is in the pack, and the strength of the pack is in the wolf; there's some truth on both sides. But though it's nice to have a guy who'll get you 35 points a game, that's not enough to win. Bernard King can score 55 points and the Knicks might still lose. It's happened. It used to happen all the time with Wilt Chamberlain. That year he averaged 50.4 with the old Philadelphia Warriors, we finished 11 games ahead of them.

But all factors being considered, if I had to pick the best of all, the answer would be easy.

Bill Russell and Larry Bird.

And I'm not picking them just because they're my guys; I'm calling them the best of all time because they are the best of all time.

Okay, you say, but there's a draft tomorrow - the hypothetical all-time draft - and I've got the first pick. Whose name do I call? That would be the hardest thing in the world for me to decide. I'll tell you why - and then I'll tell you whom I'd pick.

A one of a kind

When Russell quit in 1969 I knew in my heart that we'd never see anything like him again, and no one's ever come along to change that opinion.

I'll be the first to admit I didn't know what we were getting when we drafted Bird. But people forget that it was the same thing when we drafted Bill. I knew we were acquiring someone who'd get us the ball. That was our big need back in '56, the one missing element that could make us a great, great team.

I'd heard about Russell when he was a sophomore at San Francisco. My old college coach, Bill Reinhart had seen him play. He came back and told me, "Red, you've got two years. Start planning now. This kid can be outstanding." Reinhart was the first to spot it.

So, yes, getting him was premeditated. It was no accident. We wanted Russell. And we went after him, working out a deal with St. Louis in which we gave them Ed Macauley, who was our all-star center, and Cliff Hagan, who was just coming out of the Army and was certain to be a top-notch forward. In return we got their first pick, which was the number two pick in the draft that year. Rochester had the first pick overall, but we already knew that they were taking Sihugo Green of Duquesne. We took Russell.

Did I know what I was getting? Not really. A great rebounder? Sure. But I knew nothing about his character, his smarts, his heart; things like that. You never know those things until you actually have the guy. No one in the league really thought much about it at the time. They certainly didn't know what was about to happen: 11 Boston championships in the next 13 years.

Most of your centers in those days - Mikan, Pettit, Johnston - were also your predominant scorers, and here was a guy who, word had it, couldn't hit the backboard; that wasn't really true, but that was the rap against him.

After we made the deal to get him, Walter Brown, our owner at the time, went with me to watch him perform in an exhibition game the Olympic team was play at the University of Maryland. He was terrible. Just awful! Walter and I sat there looking at each other all night. What in the world had we done?

But later that night, after the game, Russell came over to see us. "I want to apologize," he said. "I am really embarrassed. That was the worst game I ever played."

So we talked about it, then got onto other things and it was never mentioned again. At the end of the night, after Russell left, Walter turned to me and asked, "Well, what do you think?"

"I was worried for a while," I told him. "But after looking into his eyes and hearing him talk like that, I'm not worried anymore."

From gold to goofing off

Russ joined us in December 1956, after leading the Olympic team to a gold medal in Melbourne. I brought him into my office and we had a little talk.

"You're probably worried about scoring," I suggested, "because everyone says you don't shoot well enough to play ball."

"Well, yes," he smiled, "I am a little concerned about that."

"Okay," I told him. "I'll make a deal with you today, right here and now. I promise that as long as you play here, whenever we talk about contracts we will never discuss statistics."

We never did. There was only one statistic that mattered to Russell, and it was the same one that mattered to me: Wins.

"Russ," I said, "we have a pretty good organization here. No cliques. Everyone gets along real well. All we want you to do is something no one's ever been able to do for this team: Get us the ball. Forget everything else. Just get the ball."

He nodded and smiled again. "I can do that," he said.

A lot of great basketball minds didn't think he would make it, and if you analyzed their thinking, you could see their point. Take a guy like Walter Dukes. He was bigger than Russell, and he could shoot better. Why, then, was Russell so great while Dukes was just another player?

It was his ability to perform in the clutch. It was his brilliant mind. It was his great defensive anticipation, which led to his great ability to intimidate. And in addition to all of his innate abilities, Russell was a student of the game. Sure, he had quickness, reaction, all the tools he needed. But most of all, he was a thinker. If you faked him a certain way and wound up making a basket or grabbing a rebound, he'd file it away in his mind, and you'd never fool him the same way again.

We played the Knicks in one of his early games with us and Harry Gallatin ate him up. Harry knew his way around. He was cute. So the next time we played New York I started telling Russ: "You take so-and-so and I'll have Heinsohn take Gallatin."

He didn't say anything at first, but then he pulled me aside just before the game started.

"I'd like to play Gallatin," he said. "It won't happen again."

I said okay, and as I watched him walking onto the court I knew that this was a momentous occasion. He killed Gallatin. See, his pride had been wounded, and that made Russell a dangerous man to deal with. It's like they say in the jungle: Don't ever wound a lion, or he'll be twice as deadly. When Russell's pride was hurt he became like that wounded lion, and God help anybody who got in his way.

I remember one day when I really got angry at him in practice. Russell hated practice. Everyone knew it, but none of us made a big deal about it because we knew the guy would give us 48 tough minutes every game. So I'd shut my eyes to the false hustle he was giving. Still, practice had its purpose, even for him, especially when we were working on plays. And sometimes I'd want him to put out just so he wouldn't upset the other players' timing. Those were the only times when I'd really get on him; otherwise, I'd allow him to set his own pace, figuring I didn't want him leaving all of his energy in a workout.

But one particular morning he was loafing more than usual, and pretty soon everyone else started goofing off, too. So I blew my whistle. "Okay," I said, "are we all done resting now? Good. Let's go! Let's have a twenty-minute scrimmage, real strong, and then we can all get out of here."

So they start in, but pretty soon they're loafing again. Now I blow my whistle and I'm steamed. "Out! Everybody out. Right now. Don't let me hear another ball bounce. Just get out."

They all scrammed, wondering what I was going to do next. But I wasn't going to do anything. The feeling just wasn't there that day, that's all. It happens sometimes. You have to know when to push and when to back off.

Now comes our next practice. "Listen up," I tell them. "We will not discuss what happened before. All I want is a good, hard practice today. Let's go."

Sure enough, Russell starts in loafing again. All he's giving me is more false hustle. I stop the practice.

"Damn it, Russell," I yelled. "You destroyed practice the other day, but you're not going to destroy this one. I'm going to go up into those stands, light a cigar, and I'm going to sit there two hours, three hours, four hours - whatever it takes - until I see a good 20-minute scrimmage. I don't care if you're here all day long. I'm going to see a workout, so make up your mind to that now."

I grabbed some cigars, went into the stands and blew the whistle for them to start.

They began to play, and after five minutes I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. Russell must have blocked 9,000 shots. He'd grab a rebound, throw the outlet pass, race down court to stuff in a shot, then beat everybody back on defense, where he wouldn't allow anyone to get within 18 feet of the basket. I watched this incredible display and thought to myself, "If I don't stop this right now, he's going to leave his next game right here in the Cambridge Y."

I decided the only way to handle it was to make a joke of it, so I blew my whistle and walked back onto the court.

"Russell," I said, "what the hell am I going to do with you? I didn't mean for you to play that good. Can't you give me a happy medium!"

The Russell magic

Bill's calling card, his speciality, was the blocked shot. I began to notice that he didn't block shots the way all the other big guys blocked them. Chamberlain and all those other guys were what I called shot-swatters - 7-foot fly-swatters - who'd knock the ball out of bounds, or else belt it into the open court where anybody could retrieve it.

Russell didn't do that. With his great timing and body control, he'd hit the bottom of the ball, forcing it to pop up into the air like a rebound, which he'd then grab. Or else he'd redirect it into the hands of one of his teammates. Either way, we ended up with possession. He turned shot-blocking into an art, and he's the only man I've ever seen on a court who could do that on a consistent basis. No one's ever been able to duplicate, his style, although Bill Walton came the closest when he was healthy.

Russell, took that one great skill and revolutionized the game by terrorizing the league. As word spread and his reputation grew, he began instilling fear into the hearts of all the great shooters. He didn't react the way other centers reacted, so these shooters never knew how to react to him. Most shot-blockers, anticipating a shot, would go into the air with the shooters. Not Russell. He was so quick, so fast, that he wouldn't make his move until after the ball had left the shooter's hand. Against other centers, they'd just go behind a screen, or fake, or maybe double pump. That didn't work with Russell. He'd just stand there, watching you, waiting for you to commit yourself. The moment you released the ball, he'd be on it like a cat.

S hooters would come racing down the court, stop, and go up for a jumper - but hesitate just long enough to ask themselves, "Where is he?" And that split-second was all it took for one of our other guys to catch up to them. In situations like those, which we saw all the time Russell didn't have to move an inch to break up a play. His presence alone was so unnerving that opposing players would blow their shots just worrying about what he might do.

I used to lead teams of NBA stars on State Department tours all over the world. One summer our tour took us to Yugoslavia. When we offered to put on clinics, as we did wherever we went, the officials there told us they weren't interested. Apparently some AAU team had been there, before us and was beaten easily by the Yugoslavian national team.

We tried to explain that there was a big difference in our country between pros and amateurs, but they didn't want to hear anything about it. All they knew was that the guys they had whipped had worn USA on their jerseys. There was nothing they wanted to learn from us, they said, and they were pretty arrogant about it.

That irritated me. I wanted to set the record straight, to show the fans over there that they hadn't seen the best America could offer, because of course that's never explained to them whenever poorly-trained pickup teams of American kids get their asses handed to them by pros behind the Iron Curtain.

Yugoslavia had this redheaded center who was the leading scorer in all of Europe. So I pulled Russell aside just before the game got under way. "Look," I told him, "don't worry about the ball tonight. Don't worry about rebounds. Let Pettit and Heinsohn worry about that stuff. All I want you to do is guard that big kid over there. If he scores one basket, I'm going to break your neck. Understand?"

We start the game and the kid gets the ball. He fakes right, bounces once to his left, then goes up into the air - and you can see this big smile on his face. All of a sudden, Russell uncoils his arm. Blocked shot. We take the ball to the other end of the court and score.

This happened again. And again. And again. Russell blocked about six shots in a row, and now the kid's going bananas. He comes down the court a seventh time, takes two steps backward and throws the ball like a baseball.

"Damn it, Russell," I yell, "you let him hit the backboard!"

Russ looks at me. Now he's figuring he's got to find a way to get both the kid and me off his back. So the next time the guy takes a shot, instead of blocking it again he smacked it as hard as he could and it hit the kid in the face. He began screaming, going into a tantrum like a three-year-old, and he winds up kicking the ball into the crowd.

That was it for him. Technical foul. They threw him out of the game - the hero of the country, mind you. He had seen all he wanted to see.

That's what Russell could do when he put his mind to it.

From player to coach

Would we have had the success we enjoyed without Bill Russell? No way. But would he have had the same success if he played for another coach? I don't know.

I do know this. When I let it be known at the start of the 1965-66 season that I was beginning my final year of coaching, he came to me, more than once, and urged me not to quit. He called my wife and urged her not to let me quit.

Then one day late in that season, when he realized my mind was made up, he came to me and said he'd like to take over as coach when I retired. His reason was that he didn't want to play for anyone else. Suppose he didn't like the new guy? Or suppose the new guy brought in a different system after all these years?

Well, my mind started moving pretty fast. Suppose the new guy didn't understand Russell? Suppose they weren't able to develop a productive chemistry? I started thinking the same way Russell was thinking.

"I don't want to play for anybody else," he told me. "If I can't play for you, I'd rather play for myself, if you'll let me have the job."

I jumped at the idea. What better way to motivate Russell, I thought to myself, than to make him accountable for the whole team's performance? Remember, the year I left the bench we won our eighth championship in a row. Every season it became more difficult to sustain the intensity. But I knew Russell's pride, and if anybody could get the most out of Russell the player, it would be Russell the coach. Now there would be two reasons he had to win! Talk about a great self-motivating situation.

At our breakup banquet that spring, after all of the other speakers had been to the mike, Russ got up and talked about replacing me. He was leading up to a point, and when he got there he turned and looked directly at me.

"People say Red was lucky to have me," he said. "And he was. But I was lucky to have him, too. Red, you and I are going to be friends until one of us dies."

My throat got tight and my eyes filled and I had to look away. Lucky to have him? You bet I was.

I'm not much for showing my emotions in public, but I did that night.

I almost did it again when they had that big weekend for me in Boston. After all of my old players, from the '50s, '60s, '70s, right down to the present club, had assembled on the Garden court, they announced my name, and I walked out into the middle of a tremendous ovation. It was very emotional, but I was in full control as I started shaking hands with each old Celtic.

Then as I started moving toward Russell he held his arms out, and I stretched my arms, and the next thing I knew he was lifting me off the floor and holding me in a bear hug. Everyone was cheering, but all I was thinking was that I didn't want to cry because I was afraid I might not be able to stop. I almost cracked, but I got through it.

You see, what Russell and I share will always be special. My wife loves the guy. I love the guy. I understand him, just like he understands me. As he once said, we have the most essential ingredient for friendship, and that's mutual respect. He made no demands of me, and I made no demands of him. As he likes to say, we "exchanged favors."

One year, the night before training camp opened, I called him to my room. "Russ," I told him, "I'm going to yell at you all day long tomorrow. I may yell at you all week long. Don't pay any attention to it, okay? You see, if I can't yell at you, then I can't yell at anybody." He said that would be okay, so for the next couple of days I really climbed all over him, and he didn't react. I figured that was because of the little agreement we'd made. It wasn't until later that he told me I'd gotten him so mad he wanted to kill me. I was such a good actor that I guess I forgot I was acting.

Other times he'd come to me and ask if he could skip a practice, or maybe travel ahead by himself and meet the team on the road. It didn't happen often, but if I thought it really meant a lot to him I'd sometimes go along with his request. And I'd always add one condition: "You owe me one."

He'd laugh and say okay. Some night, maybe a month or two later, We'd be getting ready for a tough one and. I'd go over to him.

"You owe me one, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I want it tonight."

Then he'd play his heart out.

Today, when I look back in private thoughts, I enjoy reflecting on some of the things I did which helped win games. And I'm sure Bill, in his private thoughts, enjoys the same type of reflections. Many of those thoughts - his and mine - go hand in hand. We were a lot alike: Two strong personalities, both having the same goals, the same philosophies, both doing anything and everything we could to achieve the triumphs that meant so much to both of us.

I think it's safe to say there's a bond between us that very few men will ever be privileged to share.

The private side

I've always wished the public could know the Russell I know, but he's a very private man who's hard to get to know. He just wants to be left alone.

There have been things he's said and done - like refusing to let us formally retire his number, which we did without him, or refusing to attend his own enshrinement in the Hall of Fame - that I have not agreed with, and I've told him so.

Yet throughout his playing days I didn't want to go into his personality or eccentricities unless I felt I had to. That was Russell. That was his thing, so to speak. Other than giving advice where I felt it was welcome or needed, I made no attempt to change him. Who knows? If I had tried to change his personality it might have affected the way he played.

I'll always remember the time I heard him speaking off the cuff to some students at Notre Dame. We were there for an exhibition, as I recall, and it was during the period of great campus upheaval: Civil rights, Vietnam, protests. It seemed students were mad at everyone and raising hell every chance they got.

I watched Bill sit on the edge of a stage and rap with those kids, and all the respect I had for him doubled. He was so articulate, so down-to-earth, so open and honest - and all these kids, including the long hair types, sat with their eyes wide open, fascinated by what they were hearing. I don't know of anybody else in the country who could have held that particular audience under that kind of control. Even today, if he'd go around talking to kids the way he did back then, he'd do a better job of communicating with them than just about anybody else in the nation.

That's the Bill Russell too few people ever get to know.

Heirs to greatness

Will there ever be another Russell?

I don't know. I think the next Dr.J is already here; his name is Michael Jordan. And we might be seeing the next Bob Cousy in Isiah Thomas.

But another Russell? I don't know about that. Patrick Ewing's no Russell. He's a great player and a super kid, but he's a power center; Russell was a finesse center. A guy who'd have a shot at being a Russell-like center if he wasn't so offensive-minded is Ralph Sampson; he's got the quickness, the smarts and the reactions. Akeem Olajuwon? Keep your eyes on him. He might be the one.

I'll always remember what Russell said the first year of his retirement when Kareem Adbul-Jabbar, then known as Lew Alcindor, came into the league with a great flourish. Someone asked Russell, "How would you have done against Alcindor?"

I think that bothered Bill. He was never one to use the word "I" a lot; he never had that kind of ego. But here was this kid, this great offensive machine, creating such a stir that already people were forgetting the way Russell had dominated every center he ever faced.

"The question," he told the interviewer, "is not how I would have done against Alcindor, but rather how Alcindor would have done against me."

It was a great line, and he was absolutely right to have said it.

When you think about it, maybe that's the only way to measure the next Bill Russell: How would he have done against the original Bill Russell? Personally, I don't think I'll live to see the man who might have beaten him.

Another flies in

You're always looking, always hoping, to find the next great one, and back in 1977 we started hearing rumors about this kid out at Indiana State. No one ever said he was great at that time, but the word was that he was good, very good. So I watched him on TV a couple of times, and then, during his junior season, I went to see him in person for the first time.

Like Russell, Larry Bird showed me what I wanted to see the first time I laid eyes on him. Here was a kid who could shoot and who knew how to handle the ball. He was going to be eligible for the draft that spring, 1978, even though he was a junior, because he started his collegiate career at Indiana and then sat out a year. But he made it known he intended to play his senior season. Anybody drafting him would have to wait a year. Most teams don't want to do that, but we looked at it differently. Back in 1953 I drafted three Kentucky players - Frank Ramsey, Cliff Haan and Lou Tsioropoulos - a year before they graduated. Like Bird, they were all junior-eligibles.

Why? Because you'd rather have potential great fresh-blood than potential good fresh blood coming into your organization. Any good player you draft probably won't make that big a difference, but a great player can make all the difference in the world. So what's one year? It goes by very quickly, and it's well worth the wait if the player you're talking about has the potential for making a major impact upon your team.

Larry, I felt, had that potential - yet I didn't even dream of the surprises which were to come. I didn't realize how quick he was. I had no knowledge of his rebounding abilities. I knew he had a court presence on offense, but I didn't realize he had one on defense, too. And I had no sense of his leadership qualities, or his ability to motivate other people as well as motivating himself.

I had no great insight into his character, or his personality, or his willingness to play in pain. I have never had an athlete in my 39 years in the league who liked to play more than Larry does and who would make every effort to play, whether he was hurt or not. He symbolizes that old line he can walk, he can play better than any athlete I've ever met.

Yet he was drafted solely on the premise that he was a damned good ballplayer who could put some points on the board and move the ball around. That's all I was expecting, just as I was only expecting Russell to get us the ball.

We had a terrible season in 1977-78- (32-50) but the one thing it gave us was the sixth pick in the first round. So we waited until the first five names were called: Mychal Thompson, Phil Ford, Rick Robey, Mike Richardson and Purvis Short. Then, it was my turn to speak: Boston takes Larry Bird of Indiana State.

The following spring, after his senior season, I opened negotiations with his agent, Bob Woolf. They lasted three months and at times were somewhat heated, though a lot of that was just newspaper talk.

I knew Larry was going to cost us some money, and I was prepared to pay a reasonable price, but the point I kept hammering home was that no forward ever made a franchise in our league. And historically, I was correct. The only guys who ever had the ability to turn around an entire franchise were centers: Mikan, Russell, Chamberlain, Reed, Jabbar, Walton, Malone. All of your other players, no matter how great they were, were contributors. Look at Dr.J - as great as he is, he didn't win it all until Malone joined him. No forward could do it by himself, because forwards are at the mercy of the guards; the guards control the ball.

That's why no forward ever made a franchise - until Larry Bird made ours. He was the first exception, and he may go down in history as the only exception.

The day he walked into our rookie camp was the day my eyes were opened: The way he shot the ball; the way he passed it around; the way he crashed the boards; the way he raced up and down the court; the way he controlled the tempo and action; the way he seemed to make no mistakes. As I sat there watching, all I could think of was the day Havlicek first showed up 17 years earlier. It was the only thing I could compare it to.

John had just been cut from the Cleveland Browns camp. He flew into town, someone picked him up, and the next thing I knew he was walking onto the court. Ben Carnevale, the Navy coach was with me at the time. We started watching John, and after about three minutes I turned to him and said, "Oh my God, what have I got here?" Ben looked at me and said, "I don't know, but I've got a hunch it's going to be something good."

That's how it was with Larry, though maybe not as dramatic - because, remember, I wasn't coaching now. My first thought was simply that this kid was worth every nickel we ended up giving him, which at that time amounted to the richest rookie contract ever signed in any sport.

Larry's very stoic, very unemotional in his expressions, so the more you watch him, the more you appreciate him. He's the consummate pro: He's got a job to do, and anything that might get in the way of doing that job is simply shrugged off, disregarded. Knock him down, he gets back up. He gives as much as he gets in that department. Very seldom does he blow up; diving onto the floor, getting hit with elbows, whatever it is, the look on his face never changes. He just keeps doing the job.

You know what he reminds me of? A street guy with class. That's the only description that keeps coming to my mind: A tough kid off the streets who exudes nothing but class.

I'll tell you something else about him: He's got more mental toughness than any player I've ever seen, including Russell. And I know that Russell has tremendous respect for Bird's ability and for Bird as a person.

There are very few players I would pay to see. I would have paid to see Calvin Murphy play at Niagara. He was spectacular. I'd have paid to see Russell, just to admire the art of his defense. But I wouldn't have paid to see Chamberlain or Jabbar; they don't excite me that way. Don't misunderstand; they're great. But I'd find them monotonous. I wouldn't have paid to see Mikan; he was like a robot. But I'd pay to watch Isiah Thomas, and I'd have paid to watch Dr.J in his prime. Years ago I'd have paid to watch an Elgin Baylor or a Bob Cousy.

As a rule, however, I very rarely jump out of my seat to applaud a player. I guess I've seen too many over the years to react that way anymore. Yet Larry has lifted me out of my seat more than any other player ever has.

It's those moves, that variety of shots, that way he has of improvising as he goes along so that you just don't know what he's going to do, what's coming next. He keeps coming up with the damndest plays I've ever seen. It's like watching Cousy in his prime - yet we're talking about a forward who rebounds like a center!

He is - and I say this unequivocally - the greatest all-around player who ever lived.

Larry's a student of the game in a different way than Russell. Russ might have thought to himself: "If a guy's standing next to me in the pivot here, and I put my hip into him this way, then he can't make the following moves ... "

Larry doesn't break it down like that. He just sees a shot go up and tells himself: "I'm gonna get it." Yet Bird, in my opinion, would be a better coach than Russell was. Russell hated the nitty-gritty stuff. Even though he loved to think about the game, he hated all the routines.

Bird sees what has to be done, feels what has to be done, knows what has to be done, and he can teach. I've heard him telling things to guys. I've even asked him, on occasion, to explain certain things to players, things I thought they should know which he might not volunteer unless he was asked. He's sensitive to the fact some people might resent it.

Auerbach and the '56 Draft

1997

Forty-one years ago, a man who served his team as coach/general manager/marketing director/traveling secretary/business manager pulled off the finest draft in the history of professional sports. And the local media gave it far less play than your average New England Revolution-Dallas Burn game of 1997.

Russell was a Revolutionary

There are decorated athletes, and then there is Bill Russell.

As the dominant man in the middle for the Boston Celtics from 1956 to 1969, Russell was a 12-time All-Star selection. He won 11 N.B.A. championships, the last two as the team's player-coach. He was the first player to win an Olympic gold medal and an N.B.A. championship and a college title. Indeed, he won two of those at the University of San Francisco.

Old Bill Russell Makes Appearance in Documentary

November 17, 2005
The hard-driving Bill Russell of yore shows up, ever so briefly, in "Iconoclasts," the Sundance Channel documentary that premieres tonight. He reminisces, at one point, about his championship days: To succeed, he says, "I had to be in a state of positive rage."

But it's hard to watch Russell at 71 and see the angry man who towered over Boston during 13 Celticsseasons. This portrait, told through the eyes of actor Samuel L. Jackson, is all about the grumpy old Russell of today, goofy and sometimes disarmingly gentle. 

Number Six Out of the Mix

October 31, 2005

When the Celtics media guides are distributed this week, one famous face will be missing from the front of the tome.

Red Auerbach and the 1956 Draft

1997

Forty-one years ago, a man who served his team as coach/general manager/marketing director/traveling secretary/business manager pulled off the finest draft in the history of professional sports. And the local media gave it far less play than your average New England Revolution-Dallas Burn game of 1997.

Russell Trades Barbs with Walton while Hot Tubbing

 

December 22, 2002

With NBA action spread across multi-channels, ABC sought a unique way to spread word that its 14-game package will be launched on Christmas. It opens with a doubleheader, the Celtics-Nets test of last spring's Eastern finalists (Ch..5, 6 p.m.) and the Kings-Lakers. It represents ABC's first NBA involvement in 30 years.

     What could be better than Bill Russell, sitting in a hot tub, trading good-natured barbs with fellow ex-Celtic Bill  Walton and declaring in a network-arranged conference call with critics how NBA telecasts have changed since he was aboard those 30 years ago versions with Keith Jackson.

Who is the Best Center Ever? (Bob Ryan Knows the Right Answer)

 June 3, 2011

Apropos my ranking of Shaquille O'Neal vying for the fourth spot on the all-time roster of NBA centers along with Moses Malone, and my assertion that no one could reasonably argue against Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain and Kareem Abdul-jabbar being the top three (in that order), a few people have asked about my well-known belief that Bill Walton was the greatest center we've ever had.

For those who don't know, here is my premise:

If Planet Earth were involved in a winner-take-all one-game basketball playoff against an alien invader, the loser to go into servitude for all eternity, my first pick of anyone who has ever played basketball in our known world would be a healthy Bill Walton. He was the most complete center ever, the perfect control tower through which to run both your offense and your defense.

Jabbar was No Russell

1983-84 Boston Celtics
Record: 9-4
11/21/1983

By Bob Ryan

Item: Kareem Abdul-kabbar passes the 30,000-point mark.

And some day he will surpass Wilt Chamberlain's record of 31,419 points to become the NBA's leading scorer. He is certain to be hailed in Los Angeles as the greatest player ever. We in Boston will say, "I beg your pardon. It's about this guy who used to wear No. 6 . . . " It has now been 14 years since Bill Russell played his last game for the Celtics. Millions have grown up without having seen him play, unable to understand how a man with a lifetime scoring average of 15.1 points per game could be viewed by their elders as the starting point for all pivotman discussions.

Does Rodman Belong in the Hall?

Dennis Rodman has played a lot of roles in his lifetime. He has twice been an NBA All-Star and defensive player of the year. He has also been a bridegroom and a bride, a father and a surrogate son. He has been an author, an actor, a corporate spokesman and a full-time enigma.

Rodman, 45, who won five championships during a tumultuous 14-year NBA career filled with as much controversy as glory, would like to add another title to his lengthy resume: Hall of Famer.

"Getting into the Hall of Fame would be something very special," Rodman said recently over lunch in Times Square. "I don't think it would mean as much to me as it would to all the people who brought me up, like my mother, my college coaches and Chuck Daly and Phil Jackson, who were both like a father to me. It would also mean the world to my wife and children."

He won five NBA titles

One of the greatest rebounders in NBA history, Rodman retired after playing 12 games for the Dallas Mavericks in the 1999-2000 season. In his prime, he won two championships with Daly's Detroit Pistons (1989 and '90) and three more with Jackson's Chicago Bulls (1996-98).

But what Rodman accomplished on the court, including his seven rebounding titles and his seven-time selection as an NBA all-defensive first-team player, was often overshadowed by his antics. The 6-foot-7-inch, 228-pound Rodman had a nose ring for the ball, a pierced navel and a bleached head that was not always in the game.

The list of Rodman's disciplinary problems is almost as long as the wingspan that helped him soar for 11,954 regular-season rebounds. As a result, Rodman and his marketing agent, Darren Prince, say that the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame is keeping its distance.

"Dennis has been out of the NBA for at least five years, and yet the Hall of Fame has not contacted him about being nominated," said Prince, who is based in West Orange, N.J. "Dennis should be eligible this year."

A question of eligibility

In lobbying for Rodman, Prince contacted John Doleva, the president and chief executive of the Hall of Fame in Springfield, Mass.

In a letter to Prince, Doleva said that Rodman was not eligible to be nominated because he had played professionally since retiring from the NBA. In the past six years, Rodman, still muscular, still covered in piercings and tattoos, played in the new American Basketball Association, the International Basketball League, Finland, Britain and Mexico.

Doleva wrote to Prince, "The clock really has not 'started ticking' towards his five-year retirement eligibility requirement and cannot until he is fully finished with professional paid basketball."

Doleva added that "the clock had to be reset when both Earvin Johnson and Michael Jordan returned to the court professionally" after they retired.

No such clock exists for coaches.

Prince asked why the Hall was holding the ABA and leagues abroad against Rodman.

Doleva replied, "Professional basketball is not defined specifically as the NBA."

Though Rodman will eventually be nominated to the Hall of Fame, he is not sure if he will be elected. His lifestyle aside, there is another obstacle for him to clear on the path to Springfield. A power forward whose strength was defense, he averaged only 7.3 points a game.

"Was Bill Russell too one-dimensional?" Rodman said. "Russell wasn't a scorer, but he won 11 championships with Boston and led those teams by averaging over 20 rebounds a game, which is unheard of." (For the record, Russell averaged 15.1 points in his 13-year NBA career.)

LINK to rest of article.

Was Dennis Rodman a Better Rebounder than Bill Russell?

Class is in session in the visitors' locker room of the Miami Arena, and the instructor is a tall, tattooed gentleman with a nose ring, hair dyed a shade of brownish yellow not found in nature and a T-shirt that reads, I DON'T MIND STRAIGHT PEOPLE, AS LONG AS THEY ACT GAY IN PUBLIC. Chicago Bulls forward Dennis Rodman may not look like a teacher, but he is nothing less than a professor of rebounding, and before a game last Friday against the Miami Heat he is holding an impromptu seminar.

Rodman is the only Bull studying the tape of Chicago's game against the Atlanta Hawks the previous night. "Anytime I see Scottie or Michael shoot from the top of the key, I know the ball will come off the rim to the right," he says, referring to teammates Scottie Pippen and Michael Jordan. "Watch this." He fast-forwards the tape until Pippen appears on the big-screen TV, shooting a three-pointer from the top of the key. While the shot is in the air, other players wrestle for position under the basket as Rodman slides into an open space to the right of the hoop. The shot caroms hard toward the right corner, just as he anticipated, and he is the only one in position to chase the ball down. He fast-forwards again, first to another Pippen miss from the top of the key and then to a Jordan miss from the same spot. Both times the ball bounces off to the right, and both times Rodman--who has spent hours observing the arc of their shots--is in position for an uncontested rebound. He looks away from the television, raises his eyebrows and says, "See?"

It was not by accident that through Sunday Rodman led the NBA in rebounding, with an average of 15.4 per game, and that if he maintains his lead, he will become only the second player (the first was Moses Malone) to win five consecutive rebounding titles. As he showed when he had a game-high 17 rebounds in the Bulls' 111-91 victory over the Orlando Magic on Sunday, he rules the backboards because he is relentless, superbly conditioned, a trifle dirty when he needs to be and, perhaps most important, surprisingly analytical. "He compares himself to a computer sometimes," says teammate Jack Haley. "The hardware is his body, which he keeps in peak physical shape, and the software is his knowledge, what he knows about different shooters' tendencies and how shots from certain spots on the floor tend to come off the rim. And dirty? Well, let's just say I have the bite marks and scratches from going up against him in practice."

At the very least Rodman, who has averaged 18.7, 18.3, 17.3 and 16.8 rebounds the last four seasons, deserves a place next to Wilt Chamberlain and Bill Russell as one of the greatest rebounders of all time. An informal SI poll of NBA players, coaches, executives and broadcasters placed Chamberlain at No. 1, Rodman No. 2 and Russell No. 3--with esteemed board men Malone, Paul Silas, Wes Unseld, Charles Barkley, Nate Thurmond, Bob Pettit and Jerry Lucas rounding out the alltime Top 10. An argument over whether Rodman is a better rebounder than Chamberlain or Russell could go on for ages. Chamberlain's career rebounding average was 22.9 and Russell's was 22.5, compared with Rodman's 12.5 entering this season. But Chamberlain and Russell, both centers, played in an era when more shots were taken per game and shooting percentages were lower, and thus there were more rebounds to be had.

However, Rodman's dominance of the backboards is even more remarkable than that of either Hall of Fame pivotman because at 6'8" and 215 pounds he overcomes a size disadvantage faced in their era by neither Chamberlain, who was 7'1" and 275, nor Russell, 6'10" and 225 (and also blessed, as Rodman is, with disproportionately long arms). Thus it is fair to say that, inch-for-inch and pound-for-pound, Rodman is the best rebounder in NBA history. "Wilt was just bigger and stronger than everyone," says TNT analyst Chuck Daly, who coached Rodman when they both were with the Detroit Pistons. "Russell was built more along the lines of Dennis, but he didn't have to go up against power forwards and centers as big as the ones Dennis has to face night after night. When you factor size into the equation, I don't know how you could say there's ever been a better rebounder."

George Herman, Teddy Ballgame, Bill Russell, Larry Bird, or . . .

Who's the greatest player in Boston sports history?

Bill Russell Night 1999

Ask him about Game 7 in 1969.

"Oh, you mean the balloon game?" he cackles, as only Bill Russell can.

"I knew they couldn't win it," he says. "I just knew it. At the beginning of the game, I told Bailey Howell it was literally impossible for them to beat us. It was just not possible for them to beat us."

Final score, in case you're a bit late to this saga: Boston 108, Los Angeles 106.

For two years as a collegian and 13 years as a professional, it very often was impossible for opponents to defeat a team anchored by the 6-foot-9-inch Bill Russell in any game that really mattered. In those 15 years, his teams won 13 championships. Toss in an Olympic gold medal in 1956, and an unshakable case can be made that William Felton Russell is the greatest team-sport athlete this country has ever known. That he is also one of the most independent thinkers and magnetic personalities in the history of American athletics thickens the plot immeasurably.

The man whose shamefully belated tribute will take place at the FleetCenter this evening is now 65 years old. He played his final game -- yes, the "balloon" game -- on May 5, 1969. In the interim, the NBA he left behind has grown from a mom-and-pop operation into a worldwide conglomerate with offices in Paris, London, Barcelona, Hong Kong, Taipei, Tokyo, Melbourne, and Mexico City. In the interim, we have seen Kareem, Dr. J, Magic, Larry, and Michael, not to mention Sir Charles and Shaq. What we have not seen is another Bill Russell.

Before Bill Russell came along, basketball was essentially a horizontal game played by landlocked Caucasians. And then . . .

"I could kick the net and jump up and touch the top of the backboard," he points out. "I introduced the vertical game to basketball."

There. He said it. I introduced the vertical game to basketball. It's not a boast. It's simply the truth. Russell brought an entirely new element to the game.

He's proud of that, and who wouldn't be? It must be a silent kick for this man to fire up his dish out there in his Mercer Island home to watch one of the many games he views each week and see all those pups playing in the manner of Russell, not that any of them can play with the effect of Russell. He knows they are playing his game, not George Mikan's game.

Offensive catalyst, too

You honor Russell when you tell him you appreciate how much he changed the game, but it is also very easy to anger him. That is done by writing the following sentence: Bill Russell was a great defensive basketball player.

"I know I was a great player," he points out, "but I was not a great player on just one half of the court. Maybe my view is wrong, but I feel very strongly that to say I was a great defensive player diminishes my achievement. They say, `Oh, he was a great shot blocker,' but, in reality, I was as good, if not better, offensively. I had a complete game."

Stand back, here come the critics. What's he talking about? He never even scored 20 points a game for a full NBA season. How many times did the Celtics go to Russell when they needed a basket? Didn't his jersey number (6) pretty much equate to his range?

"Teams used to take 100 shots a game," he explains. "Let's say each team now takes 80. How long does it take to get off a shot? You take each man's time with the ball in his hands, whether it's dribbling, shooting, passing, or rebounding. What does it add up to? Four or five minutes? That leaves 43 or 44 minutes. Now, of those 43 or 44 minutes, what else is going on, and what can I do to affect the outcome of the game? Those are what I call the `subtle skills,' and they are very important.

"People talk about my scoring. I could have scored more. Say I averaged 16 points a game in an average year. If I wanted to go to 19 or 21 a game, I'd have to take four or five more shots. That would have disrupted the offensive continuity of our team. My idea always was for the energy to flow from me to them. There was a period of time when we had seven double-figure scorers on our club. For me to score more would have required energy that I thought could have been better used elsewhere."

Players came and players went during Russell's 13 years as a Celtic, but there was always one constant: The offense, as well as the defense, revolved around him. He was a focal part of all the set plays, as a passer, pick-setter, or shooter. As much as Bob Cousy, John Havlicek, or Larry Bird, he had the wondrous capacity to take a quick mental snapshot and know where each of the other nine men on the floor were at any given time. And there was something else, too.

"The first year after I retired," Russell continues, "John said he missed me more on offense than defense, and that was very gratifying. I could have run any of our plays from any spot on the floor. That was very important to me, and it came in very handy when I coached, because if one of the guys were having difficulty I could understand the problem. Also, if I knew all the plays from any spot on the floor, the coordination had to be better."

Psychological edge

He is not into the business of rating players. If you think Michael Jordan is the greatest NBA player, Russell says you are entitled to your opinion. However . . .

"I never say any one player is, or was, the best player," he declares. "Everyone now says Michael Jordan is the best player. Michael Jordan is a friend of mine. I don't think I've ever seen anyone better. But there were other great players. Before him there was Oscar, Pettit, Baylor, Wilt, Bird, and Magic. Times change. I say you can be as good as those guys, but not better."

As for Bill Russell's place on that list?

"I had some skills that were obvious and some skills that were not so obvious," he says. "I think I had the best set of total skills."

By that he means he believes he had the best combination of physical, mental, and emotional development. The physical part was self-evident. The competitiveness, likewise. But what set this man apart was the brain power. No one of even remotely comparable skill has ever approached the game with more mental agility and psychological shrewdness. He always knew what had to be done, and how to do it.

"One year (1969) we were playing Philly in the first round," he recalls. "I blocked the first seven shots Luke Jackson took. My object was to take him out of the series, so they'd have to play another center who was far less efficient, and they would not be able to utilize one of their strengths.

"In the next series we played New York. They had beaten us something like six or seven times that year, and when I looked at the stats I saw that I had only averaged 7 points a game. In the first game of the series I took 23 shots, or something like that. What I had set out to do was disrupt the flow of their defense. Willis Reed loved to roam and help out, and during the season that's exactly what he did. I had to let him know that in this series he would have to worry about me."

He was then in his third, and final, season as a player-coach. It is a source of at least minor irritation to him that people tend to dismiss his coaching role during championship years 11 and 12. It is a further source of irritation that people have not given him proper credit for the job he did in Seattle during the early '70s. "I helped save that franchise," he says matter-of-factly.

The truth is he is as proud of having coached the Celtics to the 1968 and 1969 championships as anything he has ever done. People seem to think that either Red Auerbach was some kind of silent Gepetto, or that the team somehow operated on automatic pilot. The Celtics had a coach, all right. He just happened to be their best player.

It is certainly true that the Celtics of the time were a veteran team that hardly needed a heaping dosage of X's and O's. They knew how to play the game. But someone had to select a final roster. Someone had to say what time the bus left. Someone had to make decisions on who played, and how much. Someone, in short, had to be in charge. Russell was very comfortable in that capacity.

"Every time we went to Cincinnati people wanted John to do this and do that, and he always tried to accommodate everybody," says Russell. "The demands on him were unbelievable. He finally came to me and said, `Russ, what am I going to do? I can't say no.' I said, `Here's what we're going to do. If there's something you really want to do, do it. If it's something borderline, or something you'd rather not do, you come to me in front of the whole team and ask me for permission in front of the guys. I'll say no. I'll be the heavy.' "

Russell tried to accept individual player idiosyncracies -- to a point.

"If you do something for someone once, they appreciate it," Russell maintains. "Do it four or five times, and they come to expect it. Do it more than that, and they start to demand it. I tried to respond to requests just enough to keep the team functioning smoothly."

He had, after all, studied at the foot of the master.

Friends and rivals

Russell has long been on record as saying that he never could have become the complete NBA force he was playing for any other coach. From the beginning, he understood Red and Red understood him.

"I had complete trust in Red," Russell salutes. "It was off the scale. And the reason I had such trust was that whatever Red did was geared toward one thing: winning."

He is equally grateful to a pair of early teammates for getting him acclimated properly to the NBA.

"After about 15 games I could get off any shot I wanted," he says. "That's because Bob Cousy and I were so coordinated. I will always be thankful to him for that. He was the first one to figure me out and understand how best to play with me."

The true one-on-one mentor, meanwhile, was Arnie Risen, then in the 12th year of what would turn out to be a Hall of Fame career.

"No one could have been nicer or more helpful to someone who was there to take his job," marvels Russell. "He said to me, `I'm going to be in your ear durng every timeout. I'll tell you how I would handle a situation. You may or may not want to do it that way. That will be up to you.' "

There is a belief that all great sports figures are defined by their chief rivals. Ruth had Cobb. Ali had Frazier. And Russell had Chamberlain.

It was the greatest subplot in the history of American team sport. For 10 years Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain waged war for both individual and team supremacy. Absent the other, either man would have had a far easier professional life, but neither would be as remotely fulfilled today.

"People say it was the greatest individual rivalry they've ever seen," Russell says, "and I agree with that. I have to laugh today. I'll turn on the TV and see the Knicks play the Lakers, and half the time Patrick isn't even guarding Shaq, and vice versa. Let me assure you that if either Wilt or Russ's coach had ever told one of them he couldn't guard the other guy, he would have lost that player forever!"

The challenge was greater for Russell.

"After I played him for the first time," Russell recalls, "I said, `Let's see. He's 4 or 5 inches taller. He's 40 or 50 pounds heavier. His vertical leap is at least as good as mine. He can get up and down the floor as well as I can. And he's smart. The real problem with all this is that I have to show up!" (Lots of cackling.)

"But I did have something going for me," he continues. "I was quicker -- not faster -- and I was much better laterally. So I realized that what I had to do in order to compete with this man was to make him move laterally as much as possible. I had to make him work for his points. There are `hard' points and there are `soft' points. Sometimes a guy can get 25 or 30 points and not hurt the other team. Another guy can get 10 points and kill you. I tried to make Wilt get `soft' points."

Two sides to Boston

He live two lives during those 13 years in Boston. His Celtics life was idyllic. He enjoyed playing basketball in general, and he truly enjoyed playing with those particular people for that particular coach. This is one reason he is willing to have his number formally re-retired.

"I am so proud to have my number up there with those great players," he explains, "and I want everyone to know that. We are all friends for life."

The time spent outside the Celtics' cocoon wasn't always so pleasant. He was -- horrors! -- a strident Negro in a city where deference was expected of its minority citizens, superstar athletes included. He chose not to sign autographs. He said more than once that all he owed the public was a great performance. He was dignified and aloof. He bought a house he liked in a town (Reading) where, as it turned out, he wasn't wanted, and it was vandalized. He says he'd do it all again.

"I didn't really care what they thought," he insists. "I saw a house. I liked it. I bought it. I was the one making the mortgage payments. It didn't matter to me what anyone thought."

It still doesn't.

"My citizenship," he points out, "isn't a gift. It's a birthright."

To some, he will always remain inscrutable. Why wouldn't he allow the Celtics to retire his number properly 27 years ago? Why has he never set foot in the Hall of Fame? Why has he spent the past decade and a half refusing most interviews? Why is he consenting to this tribute, 30 years after his last game?

The last question is easiest to answer. The proceeds will go to the National Mentoring Partnership.

"There are no `other' people's kids in this country," he says. "They're the children of the nation, and I refuse to be at war with them. I'll always do anything I can to make life better for a kid."

Beyond that, he is mellowing, at least temporarily, although he'll never use that word. There's no statue, no plaque, no nothing to celebrate him in this town, and that's just plain ridiculous. We've had far more than our share of athletic demigods in Boston, but none who ever accomplished more than Bill Russell.

And just to make sure you don't think he's gone completely soft, he makes it clear that he is all interviewed out. He has said what he has to say.

"This," he cackles, "is a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

Bill Russell is a once-in-a-lifetime man. And while he may reside in Seattle these days, he will, in truth, be coming home tonight. Why, just a couple of weeks ago, Russell was a guest on NBC when the following exchange took place.

Hannah Storm: "We have with us Hall of Famer Bill Russell."

Bill Russell: "No, Hannah, make that Boston Celtic Bill Russell."

Thanks, Bill, we needed that.

Bill Russell Night 1999

Bill Russell wanted things kept a bit light on his night and Larry Bird, dropping by for a quick break from Indiana Pacers playoff basketball, was happy to oblige.

"I have a question," Bird said shortly after being brought on stage with Bill Walton, Dave Cowens, and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in a legends-of-basketball session at last night's tribute to Russell. "What's Bill Walton doing up here?"

Russell, Walton, and the FleetCenter crowd loved it.

Bird was also more than willing to step up and defend Russell, Celtic pride, and tradition in the face of any attack, real or imagined.

Michael Jordan had appeared via video message shortly before Bird had his turn and after duly noting Russell's feat of 11 championships in 13 seasons as amazing added a postscript. The titles were collected, Jordan noted, while there were eight teams in the league.

MJ doing a little long-distance busting on Big Bill? Perhaps.

But the crowd hooted. And Bird dropped down to cover Russell and pointed out that he would rather play the teams in the league these days than the teams in those days.

And NBA commissioner David Stern took his own shot at Jordan a little later.

"There were only eight teams, so all the great players were concentrated on eight teams, Michael," Stern admonished.

Bird did mention that Russell didn't make things any easier for the Celtics who came after him.

"Bill set the standards so high that if you came to Boston and put the Celtics uniform on and did not win a championship, you had no game," Bird said to more laughs.

And soon, Bird was back in his limo and headed back to the NBA playoffs, complete with a motorcycle police escort.

A lasting impression

Julius Erving, dressed nattily for Russell's big night, bent his knees just a bit, put his left hand up, and began to imitate a Russell foul shot.

"I mean, you'd watch him shoot free throws -- he was kind of awkward," Erving said. "And the way he passed. He couldn't dribble the ball. You look at a whole lot of things with basketball skills, basketball talent. Where is it? But at the end of the game they've got 120 points and the other guys have 106.

"It's his focus, his tenacity. Never when I saw him play did I look at him as the most talented player on the court. But he would be the best player because of what he could bring to the table and how he could make everyone better and how he was in the clutch and how he was always a step ahead."

It was 1970 and Erving had just finished his sophomore All-America season at the University of Massachusetts and Russell had wrapped up his professional playing career and drove out to Amherst as part of a distinguished visitors program.

Erving introduced him, Russell spoke, then the two adjourned to a coffee shop.

"We spent three hours chewing the fat and rehashing things that were important to him and that he wanted to share and then he got back in his car and drove back to Boston," Erving said. "For me, it was one of the single most important days of my life."

Erving still remembers Russell's first question of him.

"He asked me what was the most important building on campus," Erving said. "Like any athlete, I said `the gym.' He said, `I don't think so.' I said, `Then what's the answer to that, Mr. Russell?' He said the library. You can find anything you want to know about the world in the library and there should be things you want to know about. You seem like a bright enough young man, there should be things you want to learn about. The library is the most important building, remember that."

A study in success

Linda Alioto-Robinson, executive director of the Mass. Mentoring Partnership, had mixed feelings about taking Russell to Chelsea High School yesterday morning.

She was not sure how the students would react to their guest. Would they even know who he was? Would they realize the huge role he played with the Celtics?

Maybe they realized, maybe they didn't. Didn't matter.

"I couldn't believe it," Robinson said. "The kids were hanging on every word."

Russell smiled. He laughed. He talked of the value of education. Talked some more.

And by the end of the session they were hanging onto the big guy.

"They were all giving him hugs," Robinson said.

It was Russell's association with the National Mentoring Partnership program, of which Mass. Mentoring is a chapter, that led to last night's event. Russell has been involved with the program for a few years and wanted to do something to financially help the association that hooks youngsters up with mentors.

The tribute was born.

The goal was to raise a million dollars and Robinson said last night that while final figures were not in, the event was "pretty close" to its target.

Early encounter

Tommy Heinsohn met Russell up close -- too up close -- and personal before they teamed as rookies with the Celtics for the 1956-57 season.

The previous year Heinsohn's Holy Cross team and Russell's University of San Francisco squad had hooked up in the Holiday Festival at Madison Square Garden.

The Dons were coming off one national title and headed toward another.

"They had quite a team," Heinsohn recalled. "We were up by 11 at the half. And then the defense started. He blocked every shot I took."

So Heinsohn knew what to expect when Russell joined the Celtics midway through that first Russell championship season after helping the United States to the Olympic gold medal in Melbourne.

And Russell proceeded to deliver. The Celtics won that title. And 10 more in Russell's 13 seasons.

"He approached the game in a way modern athletes would find very difficult to appreciate," Heinsohn said. "He wasn't about me, me, me. He was about team, team, team."

And Heinsohn put in a plug for the old times.

"Some think old-timers couldn't play in today's game," Heinsohn said. "I just want to let them know that I think every single member of the Boston Celtics of that era could play in the current NBA. And Russell would still be dominant because he was the finest athlete on our team. He would beat the Jones boys in the wind sprints and he would beat them going away, I might add. He had speed and tremendous mobility and he had the fire that very few of the current, modern players seem to have."

Always the villain

Wilt Chamberlain, ever the foil of Russell, also caught some grief from the crowd when he said that Russell made a good move by getting out of the league just before Abdul-Jabbar arrived. "You're not doing very well," said master of ceremonies Bill Cosby to Chamberlain . . . Abdul Jabbar, who grew up in New York City, on Russell and the Celtics: "I learned how to play the game watching him, literally. I would go to Madison Square Garden every time there was a doubleheader and the Celtics were playing. And it was a seminar. I just watched and learned."

Bill Russell Night 1999 (Part 2)

Bill Sharman, the man who greeted Bill Russell at Logan Airport when he came to Boston as a rookie in 1956, was there. Arnie Risen, who lost his starting center job to Russell but gained a championship ring, was there, too.

So were Tommy Heinsohn, Bob Cousy, Frank Ramsey, and Jim Loscutoff -- all members of the 1956-57 Celtics who were reunited last night with Russell and shared some memories of the first of 16 NBA championships brought to Boston.

"He was a lion. The greatest competitor I was ever around," said Heinsohn, also a rookie that season. "He refused to lose."

Russell made his debut on national television at Boston Garden against the St. Louis Hawks in December 1956, and, Cousy recalled from the podium with his former mates of 43 years ago, "We didn't quite know what we were going to get. But when I walked off the floor, I remember saying to myself, `We've got something special here.' "

Cousy, who presented Russell with a watch on behalf of the '57 team, kidded Russell that he could have used it as a player because of his lateness for practice.

"He won me a championship ring," said Risen, who starred for the Rochester Royals before coming to Boston for three seasons at the end of his career. "I earned my other ring with Rochester, but Russell really put the second one on my finger.

"I knew right from his first practice that he was going to be special. We ran through the plays with him and he showed he could jump over the moon and do it quickly," said Risen.

"The first couple of scrimmages, why, I was eating every other shot that I threw up there and that hadn't happened to me very much in my career."

Russell and that '57 team were all about winning and not about individual stats. "In those days, everybody tried to help everybody out," said Risen. "We genuinely liked each other. And Red (Auerbach) liked to have the older guys like myself help the younger players. We didn't have scouting reports or film in those days, so I would tell him about some of the other centers and he learned pretty quickly, and he's been gracious in crediting me for that."

Loscutoff recalled playing for an Army team against Russell, who was a freshman at the University of San Francisco at the time, and having a couple of basketballs thrown back in his face.

"When Bill came to the NBA, he immediately broke my Celtics rebounding record, and I can remember telling Red, one thing about Russell is that we'd always get the edge on a tipoff, that we'd get a quick two points to start."

Loscutoff remembered Russell as a player who always elevated his game in clutch situations.

"He could shoot, but he wasn't a great shooter," said the man nicknamed Jungle Jim. "On free throws he was a lousy shooter. But funny thing. In a tough situation, when we needed a free throw or two free throws, the damn guy would always make them. He had the guts of a steer. Unbelievable."

Ramsey, who was Auerbach's and the Celtics' first sixth man, was stationed at Fort Knox in his native Kentucky when Russell made his Celtics debut. The "Kentucky Colonel," as he was dubbed by Johnny Most, watched Russell's debut on television.

"And just from watching the screen, I could see his timing was incredible. You knew he was going to be great."

Ramsey rejoined the Celtics later that season and in Russell, he found a teammate with "a good sense of humor and that piercing laugh. But he was also a competitor. He wanted to win and he would do anything to reach that goal."

But not necessarily in practice, laughed Ramsey. "Well, we knew he had to play 47 or 48 minutes a game, so in practice, we tried to get Russ to referee."

Sharman, meanwhile, said that when he saw Russell prior to last night's affair, a lot of memories and emotion marked their reunion.

"I told him, `Bill, I spent a lot of years playing and coaching and I owe most of it to you.' He's the best there's ever been."

Russell, said Sharman, gave the Celtics the rebounding and defense they had sorely lacked in the first few years of the Auerbach era.

"He wasn't a great scorer or a great shooter, and that's maybe why the Hawks gave up their rights to him to the Celtics," said Sharman in reference to the trade that brought Russell to Boston. "But he went on, in my opinion, to become the greatest player in the history of the game.

"He's the one player I would pick to be at my side in the seventh game of the NBA championship finals."

Russ, KG, & Walton

When Red Auerbach sat down with Bill Russell to negotiate their first contract, Red told Russ that he didn't care about statistics. Red told Russell that his true value could never be measured by raw statistics.

Instead, the only statistics that mattered to Red were wins and losses. Red continued to apply this philosophy to negotiations even after Wilt Chamberlain came into the league. In fact, Red made a point of always paying Russ at least $1 more than Wilt, just to clear up any ambiguity that existed over the relative worth of the two players.

Red had a similar discussion with Bill Walton during their first contract negotiations, which relieved the Mountain Man, because his numbers had been in decline for some time. Red wasn't alive when Danny acquired KG, but Danny understands the bottom line has nothing to do with KG's declining fantasy numbers.

YR        G  GS  MIN   FG      FG%    FT     FT% STL BLK  TO  PF OFF TOT  AST PTS

95-96 MIN 80 43 28.7 4.5-9.2  .491  1.3-1.9 .705 1.1 1.6 1.4 2.4 2.2 6.3  1.8 10.4

96-97 MIN 77 77 38.9 7.1-14.3 .499  2.7-3.5 .754 1.4 2.1 2.3 2.6 2.5 8.1  3.1 17.0

97-98 MIN 82 82 39.3 7.7-15.8 .491  3.0-4.0 .738 1.7 1.8 2.3 2.7 2.7 9.6  4.2 18.5

98-99 MIN 47 47 37.9 8.8-19.1 .460  3.1-4.4 .704 1.7 1.8 2.9 3.2 3.5 10.4 4.3 20.8

99-00 MIN 81 81 40.0 9.4-18.8 .497  3.8-5.0 .765 1.5 1.6 3.3 2.5 2.8 11.8 5.0 22.9

00-01 MIN 81 81 39.5 8.7-18.2 .477  4.4-5.8 .764 1.4 1.8 2.8 2.5 2.7 11.4 5.0 22.0

01-02 MIN 81 81 39.2 8.1-17.3 .470  4.4-5.5 .801 1.2 1.6 2.8 2.3 3.0 12.1 5.2 21.2

02-03 MIN 82 82 40.5 9.1-18.1 .502  4.6-6.1 .751 1.4 1.6 2.8 2.4 3.0 13.5 6.0 23.0

03-04 MIN 82 82 39.4 9.8-19.6 .499  4.5-5.7 .791 1.5 2.2 2.6 2.5 3.0 13.9 5.0 24.2

04-05 MIN 82 82 38.1 8.3-16.6 .502  5.4-6.7 .811 1.5 1.4 2.7 2.5 3.0 13.5 5.7 22.2

05-06 MIN 76 76 38.9 8.2-15.7 .526  5.2-6.4 .810 1.4 1.4 2.4 2.7 2.8 12.7 4.1 21.8

06-07 MIN 76 76 39.4 8.4-17.6 .476  5.5-6.6 .835 1.2 1.7 2.7 2.4 2.4 12.8 4.1 22.4

07-08 BOS 71 71 32.8 7.5-13.9 .539  3.8-4.7 .801 1.4 1.3 1.9 2.3 1.9  9.2 3.4 18.8

08-09 BOS 18 17 32.8 7.0-14.2 .494  1.9-2.4 .814 1.1 1.3 1.9 1.9 1.6  8.5 2.2 16.0

It is interesting to contrast KG's numbers not only with his numbers from last year but with his numbers from his last couple of years in Minnesota.

Points per game--Down from last year, way down from Minny
Rebounds per game--Down from last year, way down from Minny
Assists per game--Down from last year, way down from Minny
Free throws per game--Down from last year, way down from Minny
Shots per game--About the same as last year, down from Minny

Some of this might be attributable to the fact that his minutes are down, too. But the Celtics continue to pile up the wins in convincing fashion, and KG is playing no small role.

Verdict?

Like Bill Russell and Bill Walton before him, KG's value can't be measured by numbers. He's found the perfect environment, perfect coach, and perfect team for what he brings to the floor.

Did Race Influence the Ainge Acquisition?

1981-82 Boston Celtics

He is a black guy and he is a sportswriter in another city and he is a friend. He called during the past week, asking about the arrival of Danny Ainge with the Boston Celtics .

"Ainge will be all right," I told him. "He'll help. He's rusty now, just getting back to the game and learning about this league, but watch him at the end of the season. He'll be playing a bit."

The sportswriter listened to all this, wrote it down or did whatever he was going to do with it. He then asked who would be going when the new man was added to the roster. I told him the thinking was that either Tracy Jackson or Terry Duerod or maybe Charles Bradley probably would be moved.

"Figures," the sportswriter said.

"How's that?" I asked.

"One more white guy replacing one more black guy. That's the Celtics."

There wasn't anything new to what he said about the roster of this team - I have a basketball-playing relative who says all the time he hates the National Basketball Assn. but loves the Celtics "because they have the white guys" - but I was disappointed. I thought this friend of mine knew better.

Because the Celtics just ain't that way.

Talk to me about the Red Sox and their history of black-white relations, their sad showing in the past recruitment of Latin-American ballplayers, and I will nod in agreement. Talk to me even about the Patriots, because they have had some less-than-glorious racial situations. Don't talk to me about the Celtics.

"Who had the first black player in the NBA?" I asked.

The Celtics.

"Who had the first black head coach of any team in any major US professional sport?" I asked.

The Celtics.

"Who put five black players on the court at the same time before any other team in the NBA did?" I asked.

The Celtics.

I am sick of the counting that is going on when this team plays basketball these days. I am sick of guys gleefully nudging me and saying,"Well, if McHale and Bird are the forwards and Ainge and Ford are the guards and if Rick Robey replaces Robert Parish at center . . ." I don't want to hear it from white guys. I don't want to hear it from black guys.

It simply doesn't matter.

The Celtics aren't Ronald Reagan's team now and they aren't the Klan's team and they aren't some white man's All-Star team put together for higher television ratings. They aren't any different now than they were when the counting was done in reverse, when the white guys were worrying and the NAACP was applauding. They're a basketball team, another in a succession of well- built basketball teams, filled with individual pieces that do one, collective good thing. The colors of the pieces don't matter. Never have. Function matters. Period.

The one lesson this team always has taught - the one characteristic that has covered all of the Celtics' championship years - is that unselfishness is the key ingredient. It doesn't matter who does what just as long as the what gets done. The who could be anyone, tall or short, rookie or veteran, big- money or small, black or white. The result is what counts.

Talk to me about the fact that these Celtics draw bigger crowds than the Bill Russell Celtics ever did and that part of the reason is that these Celtics have - what? - six white and six black players in a predominantly black league. I'll sadly buy that. Tell me that the reason this team is on television more and on more magazine covers and making more commercials is because there are a number of white guys. I'll buy part of that. Tell me that the team has been built this way on purpose, as some sort of racial design? I'll say this team was built to win basketball games. Period.

I listened to Celtics' coach Bill Fitch on Wednesday night, trying to explain the move that finally was made to put Ainge on the roster. Tracy Jackson had been sold to the Chicago Bulls and Fitch was almost tongue-tied trying to describe how many hours of thought had gone into the move. He talked about considerations of who would help more in a particular role, who had helped already in winning a championship, about potential and a half-dozen other things. He never mentioned, "Well, we figured we could get rid of another black guy."

I listened to general manager Red Auerbach, who has made all of the moves for this team through all of the good years. He sounded as if he had sent his mother to Dubuque on a waiver deal.

"What a good kid," he said about Tracy Jackson. "We really wanted to keep him. I even tried to make a deal with Chicago that we could return whatever we gave for him at the end of the year and get him back. They said Heyyyyy,' and what what could we do? The money was insignificant. We put him in a place where he was wanted, where we think he'll do well."

I listened in the locker room to Larry Bird as the possibilities of a final move were discussed. Forward M.L. Carr is on the disabled list and when he returns, that means someone else will have to go. One of the possibilities that has been mentioned in the papers is that Carr simply will be traded.

"That better not happen," Bird said, almost bitterly. "I read those things and I say that M.L. is the heart of this club. He's the guy who makes us go, the biggest guy in this locker room. No, sir. Not M.L."

Sorry.

The only counting that counts with the Boston Celtics is when you sit in the Garden and look at the rows of flags hanging down. That is the number that always has been important with this team.

Bill Russell and Jerry West Chat

Jerry West: Another thing I admire about the Celtics teams, particularly, Bill, when you were there, your teams had a certain swagger about them. I’ve often felt that you should never take yourself seriously, but you should take what you do seriously. A tribute to those teams was that they came ready to compete every year. I irritated an old friend of mine, Mr. Chamberlain, by saying that you were the most competitive player of your stature that I had seen during that period of time. There was a certain approach that you guys took that was so uniquely different than other very good teams. We tried to match you but physically sometimes we just couldn’t compete against you. That was my fondest recollection of those guys. Terrific players, great character on the team and they were selfless.

Bill Russell: When Cousy retired …

Jerry West: When Cousy retired I then had to play against K.C. [Jones] and I couldn’t stand playing against K.C.!
Link

How Did Russell & Chamberlain Get All Those Rebounds?

Bob Ryan

The men who watch NBA basketball closest and love it the most are in general agreement: Whereas once certifiable mastodons assaulted each other and shook backboards in aggressive pursuit of free basketballs, now a breed of benign creatures prefers to watch and wait, hoping someone else will do the work. It is almost as if they have forgotten one essential basketball maxim: namely, you can't play without the ball.

American cars, airline schedules and Hollywood films aren't the only things that, regrettably, ain't exactly what they used to be. NBA rebounders aren't, either. We are living in an age where starting 7-foot centers such as Bill Cartwright and Darryl Dawkins average well under 10 rebounds a game (7.47 and 7.17, respectively) and aren't at all embarrassed about these numbers. For a variety of reasons, rebounding has become, in the words of Utah player personnel director Bill Bertka, "a lost art."

It's not just the numbers, for there is a very simple explanation for the dearth of 20-rebound men. The game has changed dramatically in the past 20 years, as befits the more intense control of the coaches and the superior shooting skills of the modern player. Consider that in 1960-61, the Celtics attempted 119 shots per game and every team in the league tried at least 101. The best team shooting percentage in the league, meanwhile, was St. Louis' .419. In the 13 years that comprised the Bill Russell era (1956-69), the lowest shot average among team leaders was 104.7 (Seattle, 1967-68).

We now live in a totally different age. It has been eight seasons since any team has tried 100 shots per game. Even Denver, generally viewed as the only throwback to the good old "run-and-gun" days of yore, was under 100 last year, leading the league with 97. Conversely, Utah has attempted only 83 shots per game in each of the last two years. In other words, the Jazz last season attempted nearly one-third fewer shotsover the course of a 48-minute game than the 1960-61 Celtics. While this radical change in offensive thinking has been going on, marksmanship has improved at an astonishing rate. The last four team field-goal percentage leaders have shot over 50 percent from the floor. Five teams, including Boston, reached that watershed level last season.

What this all means is that teams now take significantly fewer shots than they did in years past, and make far more of them. Put Russell and Wilt Chamberlain, each with seasons of more than 20 rebounds per game (neither ever dropped under 18) in today's league and their figures would drop correspondingly. But the fact remains that they would still lead the league and no one would be close.

Because no matter how far you stretch the numbers and how much you talk about the percentage of available this or the logarithm of that, people who make their money running this league will still go by what they see and feel, and what they feel is this: Not enough players want to rebound.

"Maybe," suggests Philadelphia general manager Pat Williams, "because it's the dirty job, the unattractive job, and takes hard work and determination, nobody wants to do it. You need a passion. It's got to be a high priority to be done well."

Williams will get no argument from Red Auerbach, who has observed every great rebounder from Ed Sadowski to Buck Williams. "Unless you're just naturally a super rebounder or dedicated to a team concept, you're only going to go after the ball to a point these days. If your rebounding average goes up from six to nine, so what? But if your scoring average goes from 14 to 18, you can make more money. The lack of rebounding is a matter of dedication and personal achievements, with a leaning toward economics."

Rebounding takes work, and at the highest level of play, it has very little to do with that most hallowed of all basketball skills - jumping. One might legitimately rate the keys to rebounding in the following order: 1) effort (i.e. "Do you want the damn ball or don't you?"), 2) position, 3) timing (along with its unteachable corollary, anticipation) and 4) leaping.

Some strength is required in order to maintain the position. But one of the greatest of all rebounders was Jerry Lucas, and he could barely bench- press a case of beer. Of more importance is mental tenacity, for successful rebounding requires some stick-to-itiveness. "Take a guy like Bailey Howell on the offensive boards," says Auerbach. "He felt that if he went after every missed shot and got his hand on one out of five, it was good. Lots of guys get frustrated easily."

There is yet another unteachable asset, and that is quickness to the basketball. There is a millisecond when the ball is available, and the rebounder must arrive at the proper instant. Larry Bird, for all his celebrated non-jumping ability, nonetheless gets to the apex of his limited leap very quickly. Dawkins, by contrast, must flex his legs in order to jump, and he is shockingly slow going after the ball. New Jersey rookie Buck Williams will be a rebounding sensation because he is extrordinarily quick to the ball. He can be up on a third effort while Opponent X is thinking about No. 2. Since Williams also fulfills requirements 1 through 4, he simply cannot miss being a force on the boards in the NBA.

Great rebounders excite the professionals. Listen to Paul Silas on the subject of Dave Cowens: "The thing is to have that burning desire to get to the ball. Larry Smith and Larry Bird have it, but Cowens had it most of all. The ball was like a diamond to him . . . a $100,000 diamond."

Cowens entered the league in 1970, at the tail end of what would be considered the Golden Age of Rebounding. Russell was gone, but Chamberlain, then 34 and still averaging 18 rebounds a game, was still in flower. Westley Unseld was in his prime. The top 10 rebounders were Chamberlain, Unseld, Elvin Hayes, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (nee Lew Alcindor), Jerry Lucas, Bill Bridges, Cowens, Tom Boerwinkle, Nate Thurmond and Willis Reed. Eight of those 10 men would, without a trace of remorse, pick you up and deposit you in the 17th row in order to add one rebound to his total. The exceptions were Lucas, with his uncanny timing and dedication to the art, and Alcindor, to whom rebounding has always been a bother but who, at 7 feet 3, has not been able to escape his obligations. The transition from freestyle offense to today's football mentality was in progress, and the numbers were impressive. Reed was 10th at 13.7 rebounds a game. There were 11 instances of 30 or more individual rebounds in games during the 1970-71 season, and 35 more of 25 or better. Last season 30 was reached on one occasion (Golden State's Larry Smith, 31 against Denver), and 25 was attained in just five other instances. The top defensive rebound total in a given game was 18. Rather than basket-ball, many modern big men appear to think the sport is called porcupine-ball.

In fairness to the contemporary center, especially, it should be pointed out that a further subtle change in modern thinking has led to the reduction in rebounds. Both Auerbach and Bill Fitch are in agreement, for example, that the overall rise in shot-blocking has had a direct effect on rebound totals for certain big men. "Take a good shot blocker," says Auerbach, "and he's generally not a good rebounder." Adds Fitch, "I'm certain that if Robert Parish (1980-81 rebound average: 9.5) stopped concentrating on blocks and went harder to the boards, he'd increase his rebounds to 12 or 13 a game. Kevin McHale has the potential to be a great rebounder, but he's also concentrating on blocks. The idea is intimidation first, but it's still all part of defense."

That Russell somehow managed to intimidate generations of shooters and still pull down 25 rebounds a game only serves to underscore his unparalleled virtuosity.

Fitch, incidentally, must be ranked as one of the leading detractors of modern rebounders. Asked to rank his top five active board men, he listed "Moses" as No. 1, skipped places 2, 3 and 4 and placed the much-admired Smith, Kermit Washington, Swen Nater, Maurice Lucas, Mitch Kupchak and Bird in a six-way tie for fifth. Fitch concedes that Malone's reputation rests, to a disproportionate degree, on his offensive rebounding (in truth, Big Mo is frequently an indifferent defensive rebounder) but points out that "all those offensive rebounds are defensive rebounds you don't get, so what's the difference in the long run?"

One thing is evident in rebounding evaluations, and that is that numbers don't overly impress the pros. Take Phoenix forward Leonard (Truck) Robinson, for example. This former rebound king (15.7 a game in '77-78) is never discussed when the topic is legitimate rebounders. Far more admired is Washington, described by aficionado Silas as "a very, very aggressive rebounder who does it with strength." Robinson gets more rebounds, but the latter is considered to be a "real" rebounder and the former is not.

A rebound, you see, is not just a rebound. Some guys pad stats with rebounds of missed free throws. Others board ferociously during garbage time. General managers try to weed out the "stat" rebounders from the "honest" rebounders. A good rebounder, according to Bertka, is a "creative rebounder, a guy who gets hard-to-get rebounds." Scouts deride "funnel rebounders," players who only get rebounds in a vertical plane. Russell, Silas and Cowens were three extraordinary rebounders who continually got rebounds that "didn't belong to them." Seattle rookie forward Danny Vranes appears to have that knack as well.

There are a few throwbacks - Washington, the wiry Smith and, of course, Bird. Jack Sikma is from the old school, as is Dan Roundfield. LA reserve Mark Landsberger annually piles up impressive rebounds-per-minute figures, but no one thinks he'd maintain that pace given regular time.

"You can't rate them by minutes played," contends Auerbach. "Somebody who comes in for two or three minutes isn't affected by fatigue. A great rebounder is somebody who can play 35 or 40 minutes and still get that clutch rebound."

What really bugs the pros is the knowledge that these gifted athletes of today simply won't put out the required effort to be rebounders. They just don't make Russells, Unselds or Silases anymore. "That Silas," remembers Celtics' assistant Jimmy Rodgers. "You'd spend your pregame talk saying, You've gotta keep Silas off the boards. You've gotta keep Silas off the boards.' It never mattered. Silas would find a way to get to the boards."

The pros hunger for more Silases, which is why a Buck Williams goes third in the country. The pros think Buck Williams is a walking piece of gold.Best active rebounders1. Moses Malone2. Larry Bird3. Larry Smith4. Jack Sikma5. Kermit Washington

Comment: Malone is the best offensive rebounder ever, so far ahead of the field that his proficiency makes up for average defensive rebounding abilities. Bird, Smith and Sikma are superb two-way rebounders. Washington is better offensively than defensively.Bes t all-time rebounders1. Bill Russell2. Wilt Chamberlain3. Paul Silas. Westley Unseld5. Moses Malone

Comment: Chamberlain got more, but Russell got more that mattered than anyone. Silas was a clinic. Unseld proved Russell's contention that 90 percent of the rebounds are taken below the rim. Malone sneaks in because of his offensive work alone.Best all-time offensive rebounders1. Moses Malone2. Paul Silas3. Tom Heinsohn4. Bailey Howell. Elgin Baylor

Comment: Malone and Silas you know about. Howell was a Bible-toting assassin. Heinsohn was good for one stolen rebound a game, usually in the clutch. And Baylor was relentless and as strong as a Russian shotputter.