The Big O

by Oscar P Robertson

  “Maybe he can,” I said. “But think about getting another guard in to handle the ball.”

  I still didn’t think I was finished, mind you, and the last thing I was going to do was give up on the season. Without me on the floor, Lucius Allen moved over to the point and Jon McGlocklin replaced him as the shooting guard, and while they kept the team above water, it wasn’t natural. We slumped a little and slipped in the standings, but we were still a playoff team. I was determined to get back in time for the postseason. Herman Cowan approached me. He said the front office wanted to know what I thought about the team having a day in my honor. It wasn’t the easiest moment. It was my fourth year, and I’d talked to Wayne, so I knew and they knew I wasn’t going to be with the team anymore. At the same time, hearing Herman ask that question really brought things home.

  Suddenly, it was apparent to me that the Bucks weren’t planning on my coming back either. Whether I was planning to leave or not, I wanted the Bucks to be honest with the fans.

  “If this is a retirement party, just say so,” I answered. Then I thought about it. And I told Herman, “Sure.”

  By the start of March, my back was feeling better. Returning to the lineup, I made six of nine shots and scored fifteen points as we beat the Pistons by twenty-three at home. Coach Costello called it an encouraging sign, and Lucius Allen told reporters that I played like I did when he came into the league. Two nights later, I played fifty minutes in an overtime victory over Houston. Then we headed to San Francisco. I scored a season-high thirty-four points, and we rolled to another rout. “Even when he isn’t scoring, he’s getting the ball to somebody else for a basket,” Warriors coach Al Attles said. “This is the best I’ve seen him play in several years.” Kareem remembered that night in his autobiography, writing: “Oscar just dominated the floor. He crushed everyone who opposed him on the court; threw hard, precise passes that demanded to be converted, rebounded with a passion, made seventy percent of his shots and scored thirty-four points before he was lifted. Total mastery. I envy the guys who played with him in his prime. Playing with Oscar was like working with Thomas Edison.”

  We’d won four straight and were on a roll. Then on March 15, we were in Detroit. Lucius Allen was chasing a ball out-of-bounds when he skidded on a warmup jacket and grabbed his knee. Nobody wanted to believe it was a serious injury, but the x-rays showed ripped ligaments. He was done for both the season and the playoffs.

  It was a huge loss. In thirty-three minutes a night, Lucius was good for more than seventeen points, five assists, and four rebounds. He gave us about six running strides on our fast breaks, was an excellent penetrator off the dribble, a strong second ball-handler and decision-maker, and in all ways took all kinds of pressure off me in the backcourt.

  If a team tried to trap me and take the ball out of my hands, for example, Lucius would free himself up, attack the back end of their press, and turn their pressure into our own fast-break opportunities. Without him, we not only lost that ability to attack, but were more susceptible to backcourt pressure. We also lost a second distributor. And by inserting Jon McGlocklin into the lineup, we lost any backcourt depth we might have had.

  Those Milwaukee teams I played on were structured in a very specific manner. I’d say Kareem and I were all-around basketball players, but otherwise our guys had defined and more specific roles. Running the team meant knowing exactly what each guy could and could not do. For example, it meant knowing that Bobby Dandridge was an excellent finisher on the break, had a knack for being in the right place at the right time, and was dangerous in half-court situations where he could strike quickly, while also being aware that if Bobby had the ball too much, he tended to get out of control. It meant knowing that Cornell Warner might be able to rebound and score off a lot of garbage and second-chance efforts, but that his jumper was unreliable from beyond eight feet. That Jon McGlocklin was a great shot but not a point guard.

  Where at the start of the season, Coach Costello had wanted to play me thirty minutes a night and keep me fresh, now, healing back or no, I was going to have to be out there constantly, shouldering the ball-handling responsibilities. I didn’t complain. In fact, I understood immediately what had to happen. My back wasn’t bothering me any longer, and my legs were fine. Larry got to drawing on his pad and simplified our offense even further, so that we concentrated even more on feeding Kareem, then letting everything else build off the big fella. The four-game winning streak became six, then seven.

  On February 24, 1974, Herman Cowan hosted a “Day for Oscar.” The mayor of Milwaukee was there, as were assorted senators and governors, the mayor of Cincinnati, my parents and brothers, Yvonne and our daughters, and close friends like the Browns and Tillotsons. Bill Cosby was supposed to emcee, but it turned out that he had a scheduling conflict and was replaced by another comedian, Arte Johnson. Senator Richard Lugar gave me a key to Indianapolis. The mayor of Milwaukee read a proclamation declaring Oscar Robertson Day, and a pair of scholarships was awarded to two underprivileged African-American youths. I was presented with a thoughtful gift: two pieces of art done by prominent African-American artists. It was a lovely evening, equaled two nights later, at a sold-out game against, yes, my old team—now relocated and renamed the Kansas City—Omaha Kings. The Bucks officially honored me with a halftime ceremony, during which they announced a scholarship in my name to be set up at the University of Wisconsin—Milwaukee, plus a second scholarship for a Nigerian basketball coach.

  It was a wonderful night. Friends from high school and college came. The fans were wonderful, as they always were to me. We won the game and ended the season riding a fourteen-game winning streak, including eight on the road. Where a month ago we’d been struggling, now we’d tied for the best record in basketball, Kareem was on his way to being named the league’s most valuable player for the third time in four years, and we were cresting into the playoffs on waves of momentum.

  Some time after the ceremony, I was talking with J. W. Eventually, the subject of my contract came up, and somehow or another we ended up wondering just when, exactly, the thing would expire. When I got home, I took a look at my copy and, wouldn’t you know, it had expired. Ended with the regular season. The next day I called them and said, “I don’t know if you knew this, but I don’t have a contract with you guys.”

  “We’ll work something out,” they said.

  “No,” I said. “You can’t work out anything. We both know I’m not coming back. I just want you to know I don’t have a contract.”

  It was a very unprofessional situation. If I’d have hurt myself during one of those games, the team wouldn’t have been responsible for my rehab, because I wasn’t an official employee of the Bucks. Without a contract, I shouldn’t have been allowed to play in the postseason, let alone to receive my players’ share of the revenue. Hell, I should have had to buy a ticket to the games. But I was going to play. Our team had worked too hard. And there was no way I was sitting out.

  Kareem and Bobby Dandridge combined for about sixty a night on our way to a four-game sweep over Chicago in the first round. In the conference finals, I provided some key leadership, and we stormed over the Lakers in five. Our half-court offense was operating about as well as I’d ever seen it, and Bulls coach Dick Motta said I was playing as well as he’d ever seen me. Bobby Dandridge told reporters not to pay attention to my stats, I was holding the team together. Wayne Embry said the same thing.

  I was back in the finals. And who better to go out against than my old nemesis?

  The Boston Celtics were back in the finals for the first time since 1969 and were making their franchise’s first appearance there without Bill Russell. I couldn’t think of anything nicer than taking that victory cigar from Red Auerbach’s mouth and puffing on it myself.

  On paper, it was a textbook matchup of opposite styles, with Boston’s blistering fast break, pressure defense, motion offense, and outside prowess going up against our disciplined half-court machine and Kareem’
s dominance in the post. If we had Lucius and had been at full strength, I think we would have been huge favorites, because we could have attacked them all night. As it was, no less an expert than Bill Russell himself predicted that we’d ride Kareem to the title, calling him the greatest player in the game.

  The Celtics were playing inspired basketball. At thirty-five, John Havlicek was probably having the best playoffs of a career that had been built on playoff excellence. Dave Cowens and Paul Silas made life miserable for us in the post. And their backcourt of Jo Jo White and Don Chaney was just a bitch to deal with.

  Boston had led the league in rebounding and assists during the regular season. Before the series started, Tommy Heinsohn announced that he was going to let Dave Cowens guard Kareem one-on-one. Harkening back to the strategy that his mentor Red Auerbach had used against Wilt, Tom said he’d give Kareem his points and try to shut everyone else down. Kareem didn’t seem to mind too much. Presented with his MVP award before the game, the big fella came out and hit three skyhooks, a bank shot, and a free throw, scoring nine of our first fourteen points. The score was knotted at eleven when his counterpart, Cowens, came right back—first with a driving one-handed shot over Kareem’s fingertips, then two jumpers from the top of the key. Then he converted a slick pass from Jo Jo White into a layup.

  He was going to be a problem throughout the series. At six nine, Cowens had no problem popping outside—he was a deadly shooter from out there, and Kareem wasn’t that eager to venture away from the basket. At the same time, Dave was mobile and long and could take the ball to the basket. Really, he was a combination of power and small forward, and he caused all sorts of matchup problems for us.

  Even more daunting for us was the matter of the Celtics’ defense. Boston’s defense relied on pressuring the ball every time it came up court, using Jo Jo’s speed and Don’s physical approach to frazzle and wear you down. If your forwards and centers were still in the backcourt, their men would leave them and jump the ball. The second Boston scored, they started pressing us; we turned the ball over six times in the first quarter. Our spacing was horrible, and guys who should not have had the ball were forced to make decisions, and they just couldn’t do it. Boston pounded us, racing out to a 35–19 lead. And though we closed to within ten at halftime, Jo Jo White came out and scored eleven of Boston’s first fifteen points. From there we got no closer than six. The Boston Garden celebrated as we were blown out, 98–83—and only three garbage jumpers in the last minute got us over eighty.

  While Kareem had forced Cowens into an 8–25 shooting night, Dave finished the game with nineteen points and seventeen rebounds. Jo Jo White added nineteen points and seven assists. Kareem led our squad with thirty-five, and Bob Dandridge and Mickey Davis had twelve each.

  If the loss wasn’t bad enough, Jon McGlocklin—who had replaced Lucius in the starting lineup—pulled a calf muscle late in the first half on a jump shot and was going to be out indefinitely.

  The series was barely underway, and already the pressure was firmly on our shoulders. We couldn’t afford to fall behind 2–0, and now were basically crippled in the backcourt. Jon wasn’t the best ball-handler in the world, but he saw the court and understood the game. He knew where the gaps were in a defense and how to head into those weak areas, or pass ahead and break pressure. Without him, we had to rely on guys who weren’t as strong with the ball, or who didn’t understand the importance of spreading the court to create passing lanes. Fritz Williams was a competitor and hustled like a madman, but he was our third-string guard.

  We flew back home and had a day off. On April 30, we came out and attacked their press the right way, fed Kareem for one basket after another, and led by sixteen halfway into the third quarter. But here came Hondo Havlicek. And here came the pressure. And there went our offense. Our backup guard, Williams, turned the ball over three times. Kareem missed nine of eleven shots in the fourth quarter, and the rest of us stood around like zombies. While we netted just thirteen in the frame, Hondo went nuts, scoring ten of his eighteen points. With fifty-eight seconds left, he hit a jumper to bring them completely back and tie the game at ninety. With six seconds left, I had the ball and tried to drive on him. He hacked and stripped me. No call. His running fifteen-footer at the buzzer wasn’t close. I went back to the sidelines before overtime, screaming at the ref.

  Overtime started and Havlicek hit another jumper. Kareem matched it with a dunk. I hit a baseline jumper. Jo Jo White scored on a backdoor layup off a beautiful bounce pass from Dave Cowens. The game was tied with two minutes left when Kareem hit another turnaround bank shot. On the next possession Dave Cowens came down the lane. Kareem rejected his shot, and the ball bounced to the right corner, into the hands of Fritz Williams.

  Fritz took off into the open court and, going in for a layup, was fouled by Don Chaney. He hit two free throws, and we were up four.

  After a Jo Jo White jumper made it a two-point game, with forty-six seconds left we called time-out. Cornell Warner got the inbounds pass at halfcourt. He was supposed to find a guard and hand off the ball, but Paul Silas was on him, pressuring and overplaying.

  “I just wheeled and took off for the hoop,” Cornell said.

  It was the biggest play of his life. Cornell was six nine. He was athletic and a good role player and had decent skills. He drove the down that lane and took off and dunked right over Dave Cowens, who was called for his sixth and eliminating foul.

  Our crowd went insane. Cornell went to the line and finished off the three-point play, giving us a five-point lead with thirty-four seconds left.

  When Boston missed, Cornell got another uncontested dunk and from there it was all celebration. 105–96. The series was tied.

  Cornell and Fritz may have been two of our less-heralded performers, but they scored our final nine points. Cornell was one of the game’s real stars, finishing with eleven points and thirteen rebounds. His work on the boards helped us to a controlling 55–38 rebounding edge. Of course, Kareem was his usual dominating self inside, scoring thirty-six points and fifteen rebounds. And Bobby Dandridge broke from his slump, scoring twenty-four. As for me, most of my efforts were devoted to getting us through the pressure. Playing fifty-two of fifty-three possible minutes, I had ten points on four of ten shooting, nine assists, and seven rebounds.

  Afterwards, talking with reporters, the Celtics backcourt felt the game boded well. “When it comes to dribbling the ball up and passing, Oscar’s as good as ever,” Don Chaney said. “He hasn’t lost that much. But he doesn’t have the endurance he did several years ago.” Jo Jo White agreed, saying the pressure would eventually wear me and the Bucks down.

  And so the stage was set. Boston came out at home in game three and forced us into eleven turnovers. They rushed out to a 32–11 lead. We chipped at it before halftime, but Havlicek and Cowens outscored us by themselves in the quarter, and the game was never in doubt. Cowens had thirty points and six rebounds. Havlicek had twenty-eight and seven assists. Even a reserve center named Hank Finkel gave them a lift with six points and three rebounds. “Their defense is their offense, and we’ve got to do something about it,” Coach Costello told reporters. “We can’t play the whole game in the backcourt.”

  In forty-two minutes, I’d scored twelve points and had five assists, but a good chunk of the turnovers came when guys were trying to get me the ball. That had to change. And it did. Larry changed our starting lineup for game five, starting Mickey Davis instead of Fritz Williams, who’d turned the ball over three times in game three and drained all of Larry’s confidence.

  Mickey Davis was twenty-three years old and had left Duquesne after his junior year of college to sign with the Pittsburgh Condors in the ABA. At six seven, Mickey wasn’t well known around the league. He was something of a defensive liability—no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t guard outside. A natural forward, he also had never played in the backcourt. But Mickey could score. Given the biggest opportunity of his young career, he came out on
fire in game five, scoring eight of our first sixteen points. When Boston pressed, he and everybody else cleared out and let me bring the ball up myself. We spread the court and took away their double-team, making it impossible for them to trap. For the first time we were consistently able to beat their pressure and execute the way we were supposed to, and on top of that, Jon McGlocklin came back from his injury. Even though he was favoring his leg, Jon was still an excellent outside threat. With him in there, Boston couldn’t sag on Kareem. Jon also knew how to find the open man and get back on defense, which had been a problem for us—especially when we had Mickey out there.

  For what seemed like the first time, we weren’t playing catch-up all night. It was 28–27 after the first quarter. Whenever the Celtics tried to double me, I hit Davis or Dandridge streaming down the court.

  Once again Kareem led our scorers with thirty-four points, fourteen rebounds, and six assists. Bobby Dandridge scored twenty-one, including eight in the fourth quarter to stifle a Celtics run. As for me, playing forty-five of forty-eight minutes, I had ten points (five of ten shooting), and nine assists. More importantly, we had only eleven turnovers. Our 97–89 win tied the series once more.

  Still Tommy Heinsohn kept the company line for the Celtics. “Starting Mickey Davis out of the backcourt was no major move. All it means is that Oscar is going to have to do more work.”

  It was a best-of-three series now, with two games in Milwaukee.

  We made only six of twenty-four shots in the first quarter of game five and fell behind early. But then I started finding my range. I kept us in the game in the second quarter, scoring twelve points; Kareem had nine, and we trailed by just one, 45–44, at the half.

  The second half wasn’t as pretty. A three-second violation. A twenty-four-second clock violation. Offensive fouls. Bad passes. Traveling. We had only fourteen turnovers that night, but seven came during the first nine minutes of the third quarter. Jo Jo White abused our youngster Davis, and Hondo scored eight points in the quarter. With three minutes left in the third, Boston opened an eighteen-point lead. Kareem tried to lead us back; he had thirty-seven on the night, with eleven coming in the fourth. I added twenty-three points on nine of thirteen shooting, defused the great majority of Boston’s pressure, and also had six assists. But for the first time, Bobby Dandridge’s gun came up empty. Though he was our only other player in double figures, with ten points, he couldn’t hit a damn thing all night and shot just four of seventeen from the field.