April 10: Bill Russell: 'The Presence' of the Court Boston -- The final score was 112-97 for the Boston Celtics over the Knicks last night in the National Basketball Association playoffs. The more meaningful score was 55-33 at halftime because the Celtics blew the Knicks out of the ball game early, putting on a dazzling exhibition that was as awe-inspiring to Boston as it was embarassing for New York. On this evening it looked as if the Celtics could beat the old Yankees, Joe Louis, Notre Dame and the Fighting 69th all wrapped into one. Those were the unbeatable champs of yore; the Celtics are still of the here and now. And they are what they are, because of Bill Russell, the greatest winning force in sports. The Celtics were losers until Russell arrived in 1957. They have been playoff winners every year but two since then. All that they were was evident last night. Russell emasculated the Knicks. He intimidated Willis Reed so that Reed stumbled and bumbled in the early moments when it mattered. Russell's shadow loomed over every Knicks' shoulder; dandies like Walt Frazier and Dick Barnett were hesitant, scared shooters. Russell's presence can pick up the rest of the Celtics so that a fine ball player like Dave Debusschere is taken right out of the game by Bailey Howell. Reed and DeBusschere are great ball players, among the bestest in the land. But Russell is The Presence of the basketball court. What he has done and what he is still capable of doing combine to strike fear in the hearts of the finest of men. He blocked off all the Knicks' offensive avenues, making it seem as if it will be an insurmountable task for the Knicks to win even one game, let alone this playoff series. Russell came into the locker room afterward and, to use his phrase, "blew a lot of smoke" about how his team has much respect for the Knicks; how the Celtics will try to fight a letdown; how they were fortunate the Knicks missed so many easy shots. They all miss easy shots in the presence of The Presence. Russell laughed and mugged and made it all seem not very important-as he always does. When I entered into the spirit of the tomfoolery by throwing him the cliché, "When do you think you had it won?" he laughed and said, "I'm going to cut you." Now then, that is a race joke, and if it was said by somebody like Sammy Davis Jr. it would have an ecchy quality about it. But Russell could say almost anything he wants in context because of the awe for what he does on the court and his nothing-but-a-man personna off the court. He considered the question of the Celtics' artistry from a basketball standpoint. He said, "We pros have taken what is basically a simple game and taken it as far as it could possibly be taken. Take one simple play. It involves five guys who have been training a long time — in my case the 26 years I've been playing basketball — to execute that play. The play comes out looking simple, but think of the training that went into it." That sounds pretty high-falutin for a man who always has prided himself on seeing sports in its proper perspective. Was he suggesting that sport was an art form like painting or ballet or whatever? He said, "Well, I don't think painting is really that important. I think if you look at a basketball game right, look at what goes into the action rather than who won or lost, I think you can get the same out of it that you could get out of watching ballet. "Nobody roots for the ballerina to win or lose, so people think in terms of getting aesthetic qualities out of watching her. It can be done in sports. I can get that feeling from watching--not basketball, that's work to me--but track. The individual effort of a runner can be magnificent and inspiring. "A ballerina is graceful. But to tell you the truth, when I was young I think I was graceful. I don't think anybody in the whole world was more graceful that it was when I was young." By "young" he meant when he was 28. Now he is 34 and, he said, "You are looking at an empty shell." And he laughed. In view of the general admiration that prevailed in the arena for this empty shell of a man, would he venture to say how well he felt he played, putting 100 per cent as an optimum performance? He said, "I'd say about 65 per cent. The highest I've ever played in my own mind? I'd say about an 80 when I was very young." And he laughed again. It is a laugh that echoes like a cackle over the bedazzled Knickerbockers.
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Bill Russell's State Of the Union Message 
