Pride of the Celtics

By Bob Ryan, Globe Columnist, 05/26/99

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 lived 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.

This story ran on page D01 of the Boston Globe on 05/26/99. � Copyright 1999 Globe Newspaper Company.

By Peter May, Globe Staff, 05/26/99

He thought the price was a bit stiff. But Red Auerbach felt Bill Russell was worth it. He never let himself lose sight of that one critical premise.

Russell was worth it.

Of course he was. We know that now. We knew it in 1957. But in 1956, it wasn't an automatic thing. Far from it.

Many looked at Russell and saw a dynamic defender, but, alas, one who was only 6 feet 9 inches and offensively challenged. Auerbach was reminded time and again of Walter Dukes, who had just completed his first year in the NBA with New York.

Dukes was a legit 7-footer who could score. But he averaged only 7.8 points a game as a rookie. And he ran as well as Russell and shot better than Russell and he was barely hanging on. How could Auerbach expect anything better from Russell?

"They forgot one thing," Auerbach says today. "They forgot about the brain. The heart. The desire."

OK, so it's three things. But that's what Auerbach saw in Russell and that's what made him pursue the University of San Francisco center with a passion. How he got him is a casebook study of maneuvering in the NBA when money was tight, deals were commonplace, and Auerbach reigned supreme.

The Celtics of 1955-56 posted the second-best record in the eight-team NBA, 39-33. They led the league in scoring at 106 points a game as Bill Sharman, Bob Cousy, and Ed Macauley ranked 6-7-8 in scoring. But they also led the league in points allowed (a mid-50s version of this year's Sacramento Kings) at 105.3 a game. That's where Russell fit into Auerbach's grand scheme.

He needed a defender and rebounder. He needed someone to get the ball. Russell could do that.

Auerbach had first heard of Russell in a conversation with his former coach at George Washington, Bill Reinhart. Reinhart's team had just lost to San Francisco in a tournament at Oklahoma City. USF was led by a 6-7 sophomore center named Bill Russell.

"He told me, `Red, I just saw a kid who's going to be something,"' remembered Auerbach. "`Set your sights on him. He's just what you need."'

That's what Auerbach did. But whatever inside knowledge of Russell he may have had got out when San Francisco ran off 55 straight wins and consecutive NCAA titles. The 1956 draft approached and Russell was available. Auerbach determined he would not last until the Celtics' own pick (seventh), so he went to work.

The Rochester Royals owned the first pick. They had several problems with Russell, starting with his reported asking price of $25,000. There also was certain to be competition from the Harlem Globetrotters, then a serious threat to NBA teams who were only beginning to sign black players. Finally, Russell was committed to playing in the 1956 Olympics in Melbourne, meaning he would not be available until December.

Auerbach and Celtics owner Walter Brown hatched a plan; Brown called Rochester owner Les Harrison and offered him a couple weeks of the Ice Capades. Brown was president of the skating show and it was a big draw.

"There were two things that all owners wanted in those days, the Globetrotters and the Ice Capades," Auerbach said. "The Globetrotters kept a lot of teams in business. The Ice Capades was a big deal, too. So Walter promised him some shows if he wouldn't break his word.

"But Rochester could have double-crossed us," Auerbach went on. "[Harrison] didn't have a reputation that you could rely on."

But Harrison kept his word. (He also wasn't sold on Russell the basketball player, either.) The Royals drafted Sihugo Green of Duquesne.

The St. Louis Hawks had the next pick, and this is the one Auerbach wanted. He and Hawks owner Ben Kerner were both shrewd, and neither one particularly cared for the other.

"I had a pretty good relationship with Ben," Auerbach says now, "even though I punched him in the mouth a couple years before."

In addition to the same stumbling blocks in drafting Russell (Olympics, money, Globetrotters), Kerner faced another: race. St. Louis was among the most hostile places in the league for black players. The 1957-58 Hawks were the last all-white NBA champions.

Auerbach offered Macauley, a St. Louis native and six-time All-Star, for the second pick. Kerner originally said yes, then discovered that Harrison had received the Ice Capades. He asked for the rights to Cliff Hagan, too.

This was something Auerbach was reluctant to do.

"I had drafted this guy after getting the owners to change the rule about college players being eligible," he said. "I said, `Why not make them eligible four years after they leave high school? Then, if he stays in college, he's still your property.' Well then I drafted [Frank] Ramsey and Hagan and they get kinda nervous and they changed the rule in the same meeting. If he went back to school, you lost him."'

Boston had selected Hagan in the third round of the 1953 draft. He played another year at Kentucky and then spent two years in the military. He was still Boston's property. But Auerbach had fought hard for the rule change, fought hard to keep Hagan, and now he was asked to give two All-Stars for the unproven if promising Russell.

Auerbach agreed, and sent the two players to St. Louis.

"You had to remember why you were doing it," Auerbach said. "You had to feel it was worth it or why bother? We thought he was worth it."

The Celtics and Hawks met in the NBA Finals in 1957, with Boston prevailing, and in 1958, with St. Louis prevailing.

Auerbach had not seen much of Russell in the flesh prior to the center's arrival in Boston. But after a couple of practices, the legendary coach knew he had gotten the player he wanted and needed.

"We were already in first place when he got here, but he still was ready," Auerbach said. "Arnie Risen helped him out and taught him some tricks of the trade. But he saw it, too. No one objected to being Russell's backup.

"This is a guy who made shot-blocking an art," Auerbach went on. "Today, there are very few people who know how to block shots like he did. They like to smack it away into the stands. Russ kept the ball in play and I'd say 75 percent of the time, we came up with the ball."

The rest, of course is history. Auerbach gambled in 1956 and the bet paid off with 11 titles in 13 years. In retrospect, of course, he got Russell for a bargain because no one has, or likely ever will, win the way he did.

This story ran on page D12 of the Boston Globe on 05/26/99. � Copyright 1999 Globe Newspaper Company.

He knew center was 'something special'

By Mark Blaudschun, Globe Staff, 05/26/99

Bob Cousy says he had never heard of him. Why should he have? Cousy was in Boston, an established National Basketball Association star, and Red Auerbach was talking about a college kid from California.

Two different players. Two different worlds.

"I wasn't really aware of him in college," said Cousy, peeling back nearly 44 years of memories. "But Red was. I remember he came up to me the previous December and told me there was someone on the West Coast that would be the answer to all our prayers."

Cousy filed the information. It wasn't that he was doubting the vision of Auerbach, but maybe it was just "Arnold" being "Arnold," getting a little carried away in his search for a big man who would turn the Celtics into something more than an average NBA franchise.

Again, Cousy plugs into his memory bank and flips the dial on the time machine to December 1956. The "someone" that Auerbach had told Cousy about was Bill Russell, of the University of San Francisco.

The expectations were mounting as Russell, after a stint in the Olympic Games in Melbourne, Australia, in the winter of 1956, was about to make his NBA debut.

"Sunday afternoon," said Cousy. "National television game against St. Louis. Even though Russ didn't distinguish himself in the game, I just remember walking out of that game thinking, `Oh boy. Do we have something special here."'

Special? It was beyond that, as Cousy saw over and over again, as the Celtics, with the addition of Russell's special skills, won 11 NBA titles in the next 13 years.

Not that it was all Russell. But it was because of Russell that the Celtics were able to climb to that level and bring championships to a team full of All-Stars and future Hall of Famers such as Cousy, Bill Sharman, Tommy Heinsohn, K.C. Jones, Sam Jones, John Havlicek, and Frank Ramsey.

"It was a perfect fit," said Cousy, who is still associated with the Celtics as a television broadcaster. "All of us together was a perfect match. We keyed on Russ and the skills that he had defensively as well as rebounding. He added a component that none of us had to a degree.

"He literally revolutionized the sport with his defensive prowess, with his shot blocking. He was the most extraordinary athlete to play that position so far."

Cousy says one of the reasons for Russell's success was simple: The Celtics were so talented they didn't need his offense. At least not on a consistent basis.

"If he wanted to, he could beat anyone that was guarding him down the court," said Cousy, who as the 1950s version of a point guard quickly realized what Russell's offensive skills could be. "If we had needed it, we could have gotten him over 20 points almost any time. And that was without any kind of a shooting touch, which was something that we always kidded him about."

From the start, Cousy said, he recognized in Russell something more than sheer athletic skills.

"One of Russ's strengths," Cousy said, "was that he never repeated mistakes. That's something that most great players will do."

The ingredient that Russell brought to the Celtics was dominance in the post. There were legendary battles with the St. Louis Hawks, then the Los Angeles Lakers and later the Philadelphia 76ers for NBA supremacy. But with Russell, Cousy said, the Celtics had the edge.

"Primarily because of his presence," said Cousy. "No team could put a center on a floor that Russ couldn't neutralize."

And it wasn't just one-on-one matchups. Russell produced game-saving, can-you-believe-it plays.

Cousy and Heinsohn still talk about what they claim to have seen on the afternoon of April 13, 1957, during Game 7 of the NBA finals against the Hawks at Boston Garden.

"It was in the last few seconds of the game and we were down by a basket," Cousy said. "We got a fast break going and I led Russ down the floor on a breakaway basket. The momentum of the basket sent Russ into the crowd.

"While that was happening, the Hawks had a player named Jack Coleman, a good workingman's forward, who had stayed at halfcourt on the breakaway. They took the ball out quicker than we had anticipated and we got caught downcourt with Coleman staying halfcourt and no one near him. By the time I looked around, I knew I had no chance of catching him."

Russell did.

"He picked himself out of the crowd and I just saw this blur go past me," Cousy said. "How many strides it took to cover those 94 feet I don't know, but just as Coleman was going in for the winning layup, Russ just took off from the foul line. The ball had left Coleman's hand, but Russ had just banged it against the backboard and we went on to win the game in double overtime. It's the most amazing physical display I have ever seen."

Cousy says no one has ever matched Russell's total package.

"You have guys like Patrick [Ewing] and David Robinson," said Cousy. "Those guys have the physical attributes to do what Russ did. But they simply haven't done it consistently. None of them could play at the level Russ played every night. He revolutionized the game in terms of penetrators. He was 6-9 and had the quickness of a 6-footer."

Cousy says the Russell the Celtics knew was different from what the public saw.

"Within the unit, he was a bright guy with an excellent sense of humor," said Cousy. "But he seldom showed that outside the unit."

With some justification, says Cousy. While Russell might have been idolized at the Garden, when he went home he had to deal with the harsher realities of a world in which blacks were still not treated as equals by many.

"He would get defensive and have a chip on his shoulder," said Cousy. "The indignities he had to suffer, such as people defecating on the wall of his home. People would be celebrating what he did one moment and then they didn't want him to play at the local country club the next.

"It's easy to say, `Turn the other cheek.' But realistically, any of us would have fought back."

Russell turned inward, to his family, friends, and teammates. Then, as now, the characteristic Russell laugh would be an announcement of his presence.

"He's a funny and gregarious guy," said Cousy. "And that laugh ... On the road, I joked that I would request a room three floors away, because that laugh would penetrate steel."

Cousy says that, of all the players who have come along since Russell, only Kareem Abdul-Jabbar comes close to the total package.

"If there is a machine that could measure talent," said Cousy, "Kareem would come off that machine as the most multitalented. Maybe Wilt was the strongest. Kareem was the most well-rounded, but he didn't have Russ's intensity. If he had played the way Russ did, he would have been burned out by 31.

"And that's what lifted Russ above all centers. It's an animal-like intensity that he brought with him to the game. In terms of quality, with 11 championships in 13 years, he is the most productive center that ever played the game."

This story ran on page D14 of the Boston Globe on 05/26/99. � Copyright 1999 Globe Newspaper Company.

By Bob Duffy, Globe Staff, 05/26/99

This confrontation of goliaths occupied a revered place on the calendar. It was as if no ordinary day could contain it, so it became a holiday special.

On five Thanksgivings, Bill Russell would invade the home turf of his fellow towering eminence and NBA megarival, Wilt Chamberlain. They would assume their customary positions across from one another, stare warily at each other, survey the battleground before them, and begin the ritual that became second nature to these combatants.

"More mashed potatoes, Bill?"

"Thanks. And could you pass the gravy, Wilt?"

Now it can be told, this dirty little secret that would have caused pro basketball drumbeaters of the '50s and '60s to choke on their wishbones: "He's a friend of mine," says Russell.

Such a good friend that each Thanksgiving when the schedule called for Russell's Celtics to visit Chamberlain's Warriors or 76ers, Chamberlain would invite Russell to his family's house in the Overbrook section of Philadelphia for a turkey dinner with all the trimmings.

"Bill would sort of have to do that behind [Red Auerbach's] back," says Russell's fellow Celtic Hall of Famer, Bob Cousy. "Red would always tell us, `Don't fraternize with those s.o.b.'s."'

Apparently, Mrs. Chamberlain's cooking and Wilt's hospitality were a siren song, enticing Russell to risk dire consequences for defying his autocratic coach. Like pumpkin pie on the dessert menu, he became a fixture at the Overbrook holiday table, and after the feast, he would indulge in another tradition: an upstairs nap.

"My mother always thought that was kind of rude," says Chamberlain.

Nourished and refreshed, Russell would head to the Palestra or Spectrum for the evening's basketball entree, where he would reacquaint himself with Chamberlain in an entirely different context.

"He'd go out," says Russell, punctuating the recollection with his trademark cackle, "and kick the [expletive] out of me."

Well, not exactly. True, in 142 meetings during the 10 years their NBA careers intersected, Chamberlain dominated Russell statistically, averaging 28.7 points and 28.3 rebounds to his Boston counterpart's 14.5 and 23.7. No revelation there; Chamberlain, basketball's most prolific individual performer ever, dominated everyone statistically, which is why he holds 72 NBA records and wound up averaging 30.1 points and 22.9 rebounds for his 14-year career.

But the bottom line was that Russell's Celtics went 85-57 against Chamberlain's Philadelphia/San Francisco Warriors, Philadelphia 76ers, and Los Angeles Lakers. More significantly, Russell's team beat Chamberlain's team in seven of eight playoff series. Again, nothing to cause a seismic shift; Russell, the most successful team-sport athlete ever, won 11 world championships in 13 years, which is why, apparently, he's considered worthy of a second retirement ceremony 30 years after the fact, his No. 6 being raised again to the FleetCenter rafters tonight.

Tom Heinsohn, another of Russell's teammates from the dynastic years, provides the epitaph for both men's careers: "Wilt's got all that stuff in the record book. Russell changed the way the game was played."

Russell vs. Chamberlain. It was defining duel, diverting sideshow, or media concoction, depending on one's viewpoint.

Alex Hannum, the Hall of Fame coach whose 1958 St. Louis Hawks and 1967 Sixers, the latter featuring Chamberlain, were the only teams to interrupt Russell's reign, recalls the pivot encounters as "always titanic, classics to watch." Cousy thinks they were "certainly the most interesting."

Auerbach, ever the contrarian, scoffs at the notion that an individual matchup transcended the game.

"It was not a duel for Russell; the writers were always building it up as a duel," he says, and cites a historical example of how the rivalry was popularly misconstrued.

In one game, Auerbach recalls, the Celtics were pummeling the Warriors by "like 42 points in the third quarter." So with nothing meaningful to accomplish, the coach lifted Russell, who had "something like 25 points and 18 rebounds." Chamberlain went on to collect "30 points and 20 rebounds, something like that," says Auerbach. "Sure enough, the next day, the papers say, `Celtics win; Chamberlain outduels Russell."'

Regardless of one's perspective, it seems inescapable that, each in his own way, the 7-foot-1-inch, 275-pound Chamberlain and the 6-9, 220-pound Russell made a struggling enterprise part of the national sports landscape.

"Wilt was drawing attention to the game with his scoring feats, just as we were in winning all those titles as a team," says Heinsohn. "You had those two elements in play. They helped establish the NBA."

And Auerbach concedes, "We used to sell out the buildings without any problems even in those days" when the centers were the centerpieces.

No matter how it was described, Russell vs. Chamberlain was, fittingly, a big deal.

Russell was entrenched with three seasons of Celtics service and one NBA championship when Chamberlain arrived in Philadelphia in 1959 after three years at the University of Kansas and one with the Harlem Globetrotters. But Russell's awareness of his future challenger predated Chamberlain's NBA debut by several years. They'd met once when Chamberlain was at Overbrook High and once when he was at Kansas, by which time Chamberlain's combination of size, strength, and agility had earned him a reputation as an extraterrestrial force in the making. With a monomaniacal eye toward removing all potential obstacles from his championship path, Russell became a student of Chamberlain while Chamberlain was still a student.

"He was very tall, very strong, very smart - ergo a problem," says Russell. "You can't use tricks on a guy who's smart. I had determined before he got here what I would have to do to beat him. His statistics had nothing to do with my statistics. He felt that for his team to have its best chance to win, he'd have to be at his best. I felt I had to work with my teammates."

This was perhaps the essential difference in the protagonists' approach, and results. Russell incorporated the other four men in green and white on the floor, ensuring that each had his share of shots, triggering the fast break, creating a unique - and uniquely successful - ensemble. Chamberlain tended to obscure those around him.

"He was so overpowering," says Cousy. "And when you're 7-4 and playing in a league with midgets and dwarfs, it's hard for you to think in terms of integrating the other four players."

In retrospect, this fundamental divergence has created the impression that Russell was the supreme team player, Chamberlain supremely selfish. That may not be entirely fair, for larger forces than Celtics vs. Warriors/Sixers/Lakers entered into the equation. Russell was obsessed with being a winner. Chamberlain was expected to be an attraction.

"Wilt was asked to do a great deal relative to scoring," says Hannum. "He was a dominant force in the league. Management asked Wilt to lead relative to scoring. They considered scoring very important. Throughout his career, Wilt was asked to carry the statistical load. That's one reason he was so concerned about his stats."

There were nuances, too, that the savvy Russell exploited.

"That first year," says Heinsohn, "Wilt would score and trot upcourt accepting the accolades. Russell would run upcourt, Cooz would hit him with a bullet, and we'd score."

"Russell would change the direction of a shot so one of his teammates could get it," says Auerbach. "Wilt would slam the ball out of bounds, so you'd get the ball back anyway."

Regardless, the Celtics knew they were dealing with a handful from the beginning.

Heinsohn recalls a Celtics-Warriors matchup that was part of a Madison Square Garden doubleheader in Chamberlain's rookie season. Chamberlain rang up 53 points and 29 rebounds in a 126-108 Philly romp.

"He was awesome," says Heinsohn, "and they whipped our ass. We said, `Wow, this guy is something.' Russell tried to find ways to beat him and found his Achilles' heel: free throws."

Indeed, Chamberlain was execrable at the line for much of his career. But that wasn't necessarily the telling distinction between the two. In the final analysis, it came down to personalities. Chamberlain simply lacked Russell's ruthlessness, and it went beyond his willingness to serve as holiday host.

"He only had one flaw, and we took advantage of it," says Russell. "He was a nice man. We'd beat up on him. He would never hurt anybody. I would."

Cousy calls Chamberlain "a gentle giant"; Hannum doesn't consider it a compliment, at least not in a basketball sense. Chamberlain's tendency to interpret the ramifications of having a killer instinct a bit too literally would drive his coach to distraction.

"I can't say how many times I wanted him to be more aggressive," says Hannum. "He was afraid he'd break a guy's arm if he really slammed the ball down. I can't tell you how many times I've seen him go up with a guy and ease up. I told him, `You break a guy's arm just once and just see the respect you get.' He'd look at me as if I was crazy."

Likewise, the Celtics question Chamberlain's sanity when he claims, as he has in the past, that if he and Russell switched teams, if he had Russell's surrounding cast, he'd have the titles to go with the numbers.

"I think we would've won maybe one or two," says Cousy. "Look at the styles. They'd have to wait for Wilt to get the rebound and lumber downcourt. We had racehorses who could run, pass, shoot - we just needed a guy to get the ball off the backboard and get us started. And no one was better at it than Russ. For Wilt to say that, he better start smoking something else."

While the comparative lack of success - Chamberlain won two titles, only one at Russell's expense - may gnaw at Chamberlain, both men deserve their due, Chamberlain for his protean individual efforts, Russell in a team framework. There is room for both in the NBA pantheon, and they will be together again tonight in the FleetCenter.

Russell maintains that despite the hostile public face on the rivalry, it was fueled by mutual respect. And in the view of one inside observer, such familiarity may have magnified the intensity.

"It's like playing against your best friend or brother or father," says former Boston frontcourt stalwart Satch Sanders. "You don't want to have the other person say while you're socializing, `I kicked your behind."'

This story ran on page D14 of the Boston Globe on 05/26/99. � Copyright 1999 Globe Newspaper Company.