A Requiem

While I remain in my “rest” period from discussing (or watching) the New York Yankees, there are a three topics worth mentioning.

First is the death of Bill Russell. The iconic center of the Boston Celtics was the first legitimate black star in the NBA, and among the many accolades and achievements he accumulated during his basketball career, was a two-time NCAA champion while at the University of San Francisco and an Olympian.  

There is little doubt that he is one of the greatest basketball players EVER. Period. He would make my personal NBA Mt. Rushmore, which would consist of Russell, Kareem-Abdul Jabbar, Steph Curry and Michael Jordan. (For the record, Larry Bird was next in line) He would also make my College Basketball Mt. Rushmore—again with Abdul-Jabbar, Bill Bradley and Bill Walton. (Oscar Robinson and Pete Maravich were fifth and sixth) These are my favorites, not necessarily the best of all time, for favorable arguments can be made for Lebron James, Kobe Bryant, David Thompson and Magic Johnson among others. 

I grew up watching the Sunday afternoon NBA telecasts on ABC. Invariably, it would be Philadelphia’s giant of a man, Wilt Chamberlain, and his team facing Russell’s Celtics. Usually on the parquet floor of the smoke-filled Boston Garden—a place I would see in color in the years after Russell stopped playing and when I sat alone for a Buffalo Braves-Celtics matchup in 1976. 

Those teams were replete with stars whose careers were Hall of Fame caliber. It seemed like Russell somehow outplayed Chamberlain almost every time, especially in the playoffs. His early Celtics teams had more trouble with Bob Pettit and the St. Louis Hawks, going 1-1 against the man from LSU and his mates. 

Whoever the Celts faced, with Russell manning the center position, the team was always in the contest. He didn’t have to score a ton. His presence was immense on defense and in rebounding. Bill Russell was one smart man on a basketball court. So much so that he became the logical successor to the Celtics’ acerbic head coach, Arnold (Red) Auerbach. 

Mr. Russell was also very principled. So much has been written about his time in a very racist Boston, where he kept on winning yet was vilified for being black and sharing his beliefs in a racially-charged environment in a city which was largely white and in a country which was struggling to figure out how to end segregation. 

He never wavered in his thoughts and opinions. Even if shared by few where he lived and worked. 

Bill Russell was a man among men. This applied to individuals of all colors, faiths and ideologies. This man was a legend. Our country needs more like Bill Russell. He will be sorely missed. 

The NBA has done the right thing in decreeing that number 6 will not be worn anew by any player. His number will be seen in every arena as a vivid reminder of who Bill Russell was and what he stood for.

Another legendary person died this past week. Vincent Edward Scully, born in the Bronx, a graduate of Fordham University, and from 1950 to 2016, the voice of the Brooklyn/Los Angeles Dodgers first on the radio, and then on TV, too. 

To Angelenos,  he was baseball. His melodious voice was poetry over a transistor radio in the early days of the Dodgers relocation to Los Angeles. How many children have stories of listening to Dodgers broadcasts while under the covers on a school night, hearing Scully lyrically describe the action in a way that they could actually visualize what was happening? 

Scully was more than a regional celebrity. He was a national voice for the big baseball games, a familiar face on NFL telecasts, and he somehow made golf that much more remarkable. If you were a sports fan, you knew who Vince Scully was from his subtle tones and pertinent commentary. 

Vince Scully made the obvious special.  Vince Scully changed the incredible to sublime. 

Scully was the last of a spectacular group of men who brought baseball into homes in the halcyon days of the 1950’s and 60’s, when television had not quite taken over as the medium for the game. Such a treasure, he easily transitioned from vocalist on radio to the emcee on TV. 

If you were looking for somebody to emulate in the broadcasting business, it was one Vincent Edward Scully. Many have tried to imitate. He was an original.  

The third topic is the seven part ESPN series entitled The Captain. This was an authorized version into the life of Derek Jeter, the Hall of Fame shortstop of the New York Yankees, which concluded on Thursday night.

Let’s get this disclaimer out of the way. I loved Derek Jeter as a player. He was my favorite Yankee. This is from a man who does not try to miss an Aaron Judge at bat and learned how to switch hit by copying Mickey Mantle’s swing from both sides of the plate. 

The guy was the ultimate competitor. Sure, he was blessed with extraordinary athletic skills. Yet those skills paled in comparison with other shortstops and sluggers. 

It was his drive to win which separated Jeter from other mortals. Derek Jeter was a leader and his teammates followed his lead. Which is why the mercurial owner of the Yankees, George Steinbrenner, butted heads with Jeter and respected him enough to make him the real team voice in the Yankees clubhouse. 

This documentary was carefully crafted. One of the Executive Producers was Casey Close, Jeter’s long time agent. So you knew that what you got to see was exactly what Derek Jeter wanted you to see, even where there might have been dicey parts—like his vacillating relationship with Alex Rodriguez, a fellow shortstop and later a Yankees teammate.

On the heels of an earlier look at the life of Michael Jordan, it was clear to see that they are friends. That is because they have a fierceness to them, one which demanded absolute “loyalty,” which was the word Jeter used to define his relations with others. 

The incongruous divulgence of Jeter’s private life was in stark contrast to his deflection of the media when he played. Like Jordan, Jeter was no angel. He frequently cursed when providing his views on subjects before the documentary’s cameras. 

It was plain to see that Derek Jeter was first and foremost a baseball player. He had his opinions, much of which he kept to himself. Jeter had more friends than enemies, but it was clear who they were—GM Brian Cashman famously was one of those who went into combat with Jeter and could no longer be trusted. 

If you haven’t watched the series and you are a fan of baseball, I suggest that you do so. You will form your own opinion of the man whom the Yankees fans refer to as “The Captain.” Whatever conclusions you draw, I think this is apparent—I hope Derek Jeter is as successful in his future ventures as he was on the ball field. 

That’s it. Three men whose paths probably crossed a number of times, even if they operated in separate environments. 

A requiem for a center, a broadcaster and the man called The Captain.