The Legend
When Larry Bird first stepped foot on the Garden parquet in
October of 1979, Boston, in spite of thirteen NBA titles for the Celtics, was
still very much a hockey town. The rankings of the local pro teams at the time
went, Red Sox-Bruins-Patriots-Celtics, in that order. The Celtics were awful.
The 1976 championship seemed far in the distant past. Then Larry showed up, and
The Legend was born.
Like Bobby Orr
several years earlier, Boston knew Bird was coming well before he arrived.
Drafted as a junior eligible in the 1978 draft, Bird played his senior season
at Indiana State while the Celtics retained his rights. Celtics fans got a
taste of what was to come as Bird led the Sycamores to 33 straight victories before
losing to Magic Johnson’s Michigan State team in the NCAA final (A friend of
mine visited the Indiana State campus in the late-80s. The Hulman Center was
empty save for a lone custodian dry-mopping the floor. When asked about Bird,
the man had this to say, “Nothing ever happened before Larry was here, and
nothing has happened since.” Carrying that team to within one game of an
undefeated season was probably where the back problems that would plague Bird
late in his NBA career got their foothold).
It was clear
from the very start that Larry Bird was worth the wait. He did everything well.
His shooting range stretched from the low block all the way out to the newly
adopted 3-point line. He passed like a point guard, rebounded like a center and
made all of his free throws. Most importantly, though, was his unwavering
desire to win every game no matter what it took. Bird played with utter disdain
for anyone not wearing Celtic Green and Boston fans loved him for it. Suddenly,
the Celtics were winning again, and uncoordinated white guys were showing up on
playgrounds all around Greater Boston, rubbing the bottoms of their Converse
sneakers, doing their best (and worst) Larry Bird.
What I loved
most about Bird—even more than all his physical gifts—was that he was never out
there looking to make friends. On the court, he was all business, never losing
his edge. Bird’s loyalty was to his teammates. He chose his friends carefully.
The only opponent he ever befriended was Magic Johnson and that didn’t happen
until about their sixth season in the league, and after that, they were friends
for life. This was a Boston-type attitude, something we fans could all relate
to (Another thing we could all relate to had come to light when Bird revealed
that the reason he always looked up during the national anthem at home games
was to find inspiration in Bobby Orr’s retired number 4. Larry Bird was a
Bobby Orr fan!).
Something else I loved about Bird—was in awe of,
actually—was his ability to “see” the game of basketball. On a recent drive
home from work, I heard former Bruins great Rick Middleton on the radio talking
about what it was like to play on a line with Wayne Gretzky in the 1984 Canada
Cup. “He passes the puck where you should be,” Middleton said, “and if
you’re not there, you know you should’ve been.” I’ve got to believe it was the same for basketball players who
played with Larry Bird. But with Bird, it seemed to work both ways; if he was
open and you didn’t get him the ball, well, you’d probably hear about it. You had
to be better when you played with Larry Bird. He could elevate your game, but
he had to trust you. I’m sure that’s why he always said that Dennis Johnson was
the best teammate he ever played with. No one worked the blind, top-of-the-key
pass to the backdoor cutter like DJ and Larry. Bird was a remarkably intuitive
athlete, and a consummate team player.
Now let’s talk about the mid-80s. I’ll have to ask you to
indulge me here. I’m about to veer off course again, but there will be a point to
what follows.
I don’t put much
stock in regular season MVP awards. These days we know way too much about the
voting process and it’s clear that many of the ballot holders either do not
take the privilege seriously, or vote irresponsibly to draw attention to
themselves. Who really knows what most valuable means anyway? I like to think
of individual NBA greatness in terms of mini-eras, where the seasons begin on
opening night and stretch to the last game of the Finals. Like quarterbacks in
the NFL, the alpha player on an NBA team gets most of the credit in victory and
most of the blame in defeat. My picks weigh heavily towards the best players on
the best teams; championships, not MVPs, matter most (but if you
cross-reference my list, you’ll find plenty of both).
Here’s how I see
it (I’m guessing the early years would’ve been dominated by George Mikan and
Bob Petit, but I’m going to start with 1960):
1960-1969 Bill Russell (Boston Celtics)
1970-1973 Lew Alcindor/Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (Milwaukee Bucks)
1974-1976 Julius Erving (New York Nets - ABA)
1977-1978 Bill Walton (Portland Trailblazers)
1979-1983 Moses Malone (Houston Rockets/Philadelphia 76ers)
1984-1986 Larry Bird (Boston Celtics)
1987-1990 Magic Johnson (Los Angeles Lakers)
1991-1993 Michael Jordan (Chicago Bulls)
1994-1995 Hakeem Alajuwan (Houston Rockets)
1996-1998 Michael Jordan (Chicago Bulls)
1999-2002 Shaquille O’Neal (Los Angeles Lakers)
2003-2007 Tim Duncan (San Antonio Spurs)
2008-2010 Kobe Bryant (Los Angeles Lakers)
2011-Present LeBron James (Miami Heat)
A few points
- Russell’s reign is indisputable and if you don’t know why you’re probably a stat person and this list will never make sense to you. In the 1960s, Bill Russell was the most dominant athlete in the history of professional team sports. And don’t give me that crap about the level of play being inferior due to fewer teams. Fewer teams meant fewer roster spots and that meant deeper teams with better talent up and down their lineups and you played those deeper teams more often and the ABA had not yet lured away as many great players as it would in the 1970s.
- The 1970s were a bit of a mess with no back-to-back champions and so much talent divided between the NBA and ABA.
- Julius Erving of the ABA belongs here; we’ll discuss him further in a future essay.
- If you’d like to know more about Bill Walton’s and Hakeem Alajuwan’s reigns, just Google “Blazermania” for Walton, and “Michael Jordan minor league baseball” for Alajuwan.
- Moses Malone was an absolute beast and the only player on the list whose reign spanned stints with two teams.
Still with me?
Okay. Nobody beats Russell, and, most likely, nobody ever will. And despite
what I wrote above about the 1960s, most basketball fans will tell you that the
1980s were the golden age of the NBA (I don’t disagree. I just think the logic
used in arguments against the 60s is severely flawed.) Like Bobby Orr and the
Bruins of the 70s, I feel so fortunate to have witnessed Larry Bird and the
Celtics of the 80s. Bird was spectacular throughout the decade, but from
1984-1986, he played as well as anyone I’ve ever seen.
The stats, as
always, were impressive, and yes, Bird did win three straight MVPs, but
the Larry Bird of 1984-86 was so much more than stats and awards. He was
healthy; missing only 6 of 308 games (regular season and playoffs combined),
and could be seen nightly diving on the court or into the stands for a loose
ball, doing anything to secure an extra possession for his team. And, oh yeah,
the Celtics won NBA titles number 15 and 16 during that span (warning! veering
off again: in 1986, the NBA celebrated its 40th anniversary, the
Celtics, with 16 titles, had won 40% of the league’s championships up to that
point [but only 1 of the next 27 for 3.7% -- Yikes!] – current title standings:
Boston 17, Los Angeles 11, Chicago 6, Minneapolis 5, San Antonio 4).
But perhaps it’s
a quote following a February 2, 1985, game against the Utah Jazz that best
defines the Larry Bird of the mid-80s (and really, his whole career). Up 90-66
after three quarters, Bird came out of the game with 30 points, 12 rebounds, 10
assists and 9 steals. After The game, Bird was asked if he considered going
back in (to get a 10th steal).
“What for? I
already did enough damage to them.”
At that point,
only Nate Thurmond (Chicago 1974) had recorded an NBA quadrulpe-double (three
have done it since: Alvin Robertson, Hakeem Alajuwon, David Robinson). Bird
didn’t care. The game was won. If that happened today, there would be timeouts
called to discuss how to manipulate garbage time to collect that 10th
steal, and every NBA affiliate would be doing live cut-ins of a 24-point
blowout.
Bird never cared
about double-doubles, triple-doubles or double anything. If the game was in
hand, and he had 9 rebounds or 9 assists—as he often did—he would gladly take a
seat so someone else could get some playing time. It’s because of Larry Bird
(and Oscar Robertson, who not only averaged a triple-double for an entire
season, but for the first five seasons of his career) that I role my
eyes over all the stat worshippers.
Thank you, Larry
Bird, for not going back into that game. There’s a Most Valuable Lesson there.
Bird continued his amazing play for several more seasons
after 1986. His shooting percentages and point totals actually rose in 1987 and
1988, and the Celtics home court dominance continued (79-3 over the 1985-86 and
1986-87 seasons), but in spite of all his efforts, the Celtics would not win
another title during the Bird Era and his ailing back would force him into
retirement in 1992.
Larry Bird
played basketball with grace and abandonment. His supreme intelligence matched
his will to win. He pushed the Celtics to the forefront of the Boston sports
scene (Red Sox-Celtics-Bruins-Patriots, at Bird’s peak). I remember those words,
at that first championship celebration in 1981, “There’s only one place I’d
rather be, French Lick.” Bird will always be Indiana. He came from there. He
went back when his days with the Celtics were over. But for thirteen
unforgettable seasons, he was Boston, too. The greatest small forward I’ve ever
seen.
The Legend.
Larry Bird.
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