The Book of Basketball (107 page)

111.
This is an underrated part of the story—not the 7:30 part, but that Falk was afraid to come over and he was only Jordan’s agent at the time.

112.
I wanted my son to have the initials B.O.S. for obvious reasons. The
O
candidates were awful: Oliver, Oscar, Omaha and so on. Then I noticed Oakley and liked the sound of it (strong name) and the thought of my son sharing the name of the single coolest person alive. Will you grow up to be a pussy with a middle name like Oakley? No way. And since my wife had just pumped a nine-pound fetus out of her body, was doped up on pain meds and had stitches in a place where you definitely wouldn’t want to have stitches, she readily agreed. Would we have come up with that middle name if this 2006 Four Seasons story hadn’t happen? Probably not. See, everything happens for a reason.

113.
I’m almost positive that it’s illegal for white people to play Bid Wist.

114.
That’s a nickname for All-Star Weekend that I used as the headline for my 2006 All-Star Weekend column after my friend J. A. Adande emailed me, “Have fun at the Black Super Bowl.” College basketball’s Final Four is the Caucasian Super Bowl (just 80,000 middle-aged white guys wearing warmup suits), the women’s Final Four is the Lesbian Super Bowl (they cater some of the events toward a gay audience now), the Daytona 500 is the White Trash Super Bowl, and the Super Bowl is the Super Bowl.

115.
But not for much longer—she filed for divorce a couple of months later. The good news is that Juanita Jordan will always live on for this story, as well as for one of the most awkward TV moments ever: when MJ was celebrating his first title in the locker room, they threw it to Bob Costas, who mistakenly introduced Juanita as Michael’s mother, followed by Michael coldly saying, “That’s my wife.” This clip is on YouTube and I’ve watched it 10,543 times. It never stops being funny. Not ever.

TWELVE
THE LEGEND OF KEYSER SÖZE

AFTER KEVIN GARNETT
gave the most incoherent postgame interview in sports history following the 2008 Finals,
¹
I never imagined leaning on his insights for my Pulitzer winner. But before Boston’s title defense commenced in October, a writer named Chris Jones asked the Ticket how long he thought Celtics fans would remember that 2008 team. Would their memories have a shelf life? Would the team’s magical season eventually fade away? Here’s how Jones described Garnett’s response:

“Listen,” Garnett interrupted, leaning in closer, eyes narrowing. “It’s the one thing that connects me to this city and these guys forever. Ain’t no one can take that away. It’s like knowledge.” He pointed to the side of his bald, shining head. “Once it’s obtained, it’s obtained.”

Perfect. Who knew that someone who never attended college would provide one of the more illuminating quotes in the book? He’s right. Every championship season matters. So let’s figure out which one mattered most. Please don’t confuse this chapter with the consistently botched “Who’s the greatest NBA team of all time?” argument that ranks among the dumbest in sports, right up there with “Emmitt or Barry?” “Gretzky or Lemieux?” “Ali, Marciano, or Louis?” “Elway, Montana or Marino?” “Should there be a college playoff system?” “Will pro soccer ever make it in America?” “Should golf be considered a sport?” “Was the 1985 NBA Lottery rigged?” and “If you mated two current superstars in a deliberate attempt to create the greatest athlete of all time, which two would you pick?”
²
Some topics just don’t need to be debated. Especially this one. Russell’s Celtics captured eleven titles in thirteen years, including eight straight from 1959 to 1966, while winning at least two playoff series against every Pyramid guy from that era. No NBA team has won four in a row since. Of course, when the league convened its 35th Anniversary panel in 1980 they threw in an extra wrinkle: pick the greatest single-season team ever as well.

You know who they picked? The 1967 Philadelphia Sixers.

That’s right, the one team from 1959 to 1969—an eleven-year stretch—that defeated the Celtics in a Playoffs series.

Take a step back and consider how brainless that is. If
The Sopranos
won ten of eleven Best Drama Emmys from 1997 to 2007, and
Mad Men
won the other year, nobody would ever say,
“Mad Men
was the best show of all time.” If Tom Hanks won ten of eleven Best Actor Oscars from 1991 to 2002, and Russell Crowe won the other year, nobody would ever say, “Russell Crowe was the best actor of all time.” You’d go with
The Sopranos
and you’d go with Hanks. It wouldn’t even be a question. So please, if only for my sanity, let’s all agree that Bill Russell’s Celtic teams earned “greatest basketball team of all time” honors. We will never see anything like eight straight or eleven of thirteen ever again. In any sport. We really won’t.
³

And since that’s the case, what if we twist the argument and switch “greatest team ever” for “most invincible season ever”? Now we have something! Remember in
The Usual Suspects
when Verbal Kint told his Keyser Söze story: how Söze sought revenge for his murdered family and ripped through an entire town like a tornado from hell, killing everybody, burning everything down and leaving nothing in his wake? We’re looking for the ultimate Keyser Söze team. We want to find the team that, more than anyone else, shredded everyone in its path and left us saying afterward, “Wow,
nobody
was beating those guys.” Those Russell-Auerbach teams were unbeatable, but they never submitted a defining Söze season in an unfavorable preexpansion climate (8–9 teams, 88–99 players, cream of the crop at all times) as they constantly battled the “been here, done that” syndrome.
⁴

Check out Boston’s regular season record as well as its total number of Hall of Famers and Pyramid guys, point differential, overall playoff record, and Finals record from 1959 to 1966.

Here’s the one great Philly season from 1967:

Hmmmmmm. Pay special attention to the ’65 Celts and ’67 Sixers. Heading into
’65
as the back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back champs, the Celtics had exhausted so many different motivational gimmicks that “We need to win for Tommy Heinsohn, it’s his last year!” was their only galvanizing force other than Russell’s puking, Auerbach’s hollering and the promise of playoff money. Two years later, the Sixers were driven by a chance to capture their first title and topple Boston’s dynasty, as well as Wilt’s obsession with beating Russell and proving he could be a team player; those powerful, once-in-a-career incentives propelled them to 68 wins (six more than the ’65 Celts), a 9.4 scoring differential (one point higher than the ’65 Celts) and a 12–4 playoff record (four wins better than the Celts, who only played two rounds). And that wasn’t the most talented Russell team: the ’60, ’61 and ’62 groups were better.
⁵
Comparing Russell’s Celtics to Robert DeNiro’s career, the ’65 team would be
Heat.
Great movie, iconic movie, astoudingly rewatchable movie, but not his best work.

Now add this: The ’67 season featured an expansion team (Chicago) and a hopeless doormat (the 20-win Bullets); Philly went 16–2 against those clowns but finished 4–5 against its only opponent with a winning percentage over .550 (the 60-win Celtics).
⁶
The ’65 Celtics had one whipping boy (the 17-win Warriors, who dropped nine of ten to them) and three legitimate foes: the 49-win Lakers (West and Elgin), the 48-win Royals (Oscar at his apex) and a 40-win Philly team became competitive after stealing Wilt from San Fran in mid-January. Boston went 15–5 against Cincy and Los Angeles and 3–3 against Wilt’s Sixers. So what’s more impressive—the back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back champs winning 62 games in a tighter and more competitive league, or Philly winning 68 in an easier league with loads of incentive?

Any “most invincible season ever” argument hinges on motivation and
timing. The ’96 Bulls wanted to avenge a disheartening playoff defeat. The ’71 Bucks and ’83 Sixers smelled first titles for Oscar and Doc/Moses. The ’86 Celtics were rejuvenated by Bill Walton and sought retribution for blowing the ’85 Finals. The ’87 Lakers wanted to prove they weren’t finished. And the ’67 Sixers were blessed with a secret weapon that any Celtics team from 1960 to 1966 was fundamentally disqualified from having: a burning desire to prove themselves and accomplish the great unknown. In retrospect, the biggest tragedy of Russell’s career was Selvy missing the winning shot of the ’62 Finals.
⁷
Imagine an absurdly loaded ’63 Celtics team declaring war and finishing something like 72–8. They had Russell in his prime, Sam Jones emerging as a top-ten player, Cousy and Heinsohn still thriving, Satch and K. C. killing teams defensively, Ramsey and Havlicek coming off the bench … and unfortunately, the ’63 Celts lacked any incentive other than “We need to win for Cooz in his last year” and “We could use the playoff money for cigarettes and rent.” Even then, they rolled through the league with ease. What if they had been supremely pissed off? How can you get properly pissed when you keep winning?

We also can’t ignore the benefits—and really, that’s the perfect word—of a respected contender nipping at the alpha dog’s heels. That wrinkle pushed the ’86 Celtics, ’87 Lakers and ’67 Sixers to heights they might not have reached otherwise. For instance, the ’67 Celtics jumped to a 14–2 start before eventually falling behind a 26–2 Sixers team. As Philly extended its record to 46–4 in January, the Celtics were ripping off eleven straight and staying close enough that Philly never relaxed. What if Boston won 45 games instead of 60? Are the Sixers still driving to the finish line like Secretariat in the Belmont? Of course not. They
needed
that Celtics team to keep pushing them. Contrast that with ho-hum seasons for the ’60 C’s (who started off 30–4 and opened an eight-game lead before blowing six of their next eight) and the ’65 C’s (46–9 and leading the league by double digits before “stumbling” to 14–9 down the stretch).
Why couldn’t they keep it up? They got bored! Nobody cared about anything like “Whoa, they might win 70 games!” back then; the league hadn’t been around long enough to place such an achievement in perspective. That changed during the ’67 season. Everyone wanted Philly to topple Boston’s dynasty and break the 70-win barrier (or come damned close); between that and Boston breathing down Philly’s neck, suddenly the NBA had never seen a hungrier regular season team.
⁸
Again, much of this “most invincible team ever” stuff is totally, completely, undeniably circumstantial. That’s why the twenty best single-season teams (don’t worry, we’re getting there) fall into one of three categories.