Don Cherry: Prehistoric viewpoint

Just when the focus should be 100% on the game, on the upcoming NHL Stanley Cup Playoffs, NHL Hockey Night in Canada tv analyst Don Cherry - one of the true characters in the game - took a step away from his role as tv commentator to harken back to what now seems to be "prehistoric times," as he put forth his "opinion" on whether female reporters should be given equal access to male reporters in NHL dressing rooms.

I think it was 1984 when Boston Celtics team president Red Auerbach put forth his viewpoint on the matter and it was quickly squashed by the NBA.  In 1984!

Now?  It's 2013.  It will be interesting to see how the NHL deals with his barbaric viewpoint.

Just when you thought it was safe to assume we were well past this type of baloney.  Here ya go...




 

The Real General ...

The nickname of "The General" in the basketball world is usually associated with the one and only Bobby Knight. There is no question, the nickname fits the person. Knight won the nickname for all the wrong reasons. He bullied his way to the name and tarnished his career as a coach and mentor at the NCAA level. Knight made Patton look like a choir boy.

In my mind, Knight is no general. He lacks the character and has lost the respect of all sports fans outside of the state of Indiana.

The real "General" in sports is a Washington General. While Boston Celtics legend Red Auerbach might be the winningest sports team executive to ever hail from Washington, the real "General" might be the losingest. Red applied his trade and winning ways in Boston and the NBA cities he visited as a coach, general manager and team president. The real "General" has lost more games than any coach or player and he's lost them everywhere in the world.

Check out today's NYT and this story on Red Klotz, the real Washington General:

When the Generals Lose to the Globetrotters, Everyone Wins

By JOHN BRANCH

MARGATE CITY, N.J. — Red Klotz was not at the game in White Plains the night before, so he did not see his Washington Generals make another spirited comeback against the Harlem Globetrotters, only to fall short for something like the 10,000th time in a row.

Klotz was here, at his beachside brick house of 47 years, the true home of the wayfaring Washington Generals, a team he founded in 1952 and named in honor of Dwight Eisenhower. Someone surely would have called if his team had won.

“It’s not a matter of winning and losing,” Klotz, 88, said on Wednesday.

Good thing. Klotz stood in an upstairs room filled with the mementos of a globe-trotter, if not a Globetrotter. There were posters and photographs of Klotz with famous basketball players, politicians, even popes. There were framed magazine and newspaper articles about him on the walls. Clippings filled notebooks on the shelves.

Outside, the waves fell against the shore, one after another, each quickly forgotten and left uncounted, like so many Generals losses.

Klotz long ago came to grips with his basketball legacy: that of the victim, the foil, the loser. He is the founder, owner and longtime player (until the late 1980s) and coach (until 1995) of a team that must have the worst record of any in history.

As the Globetrotters prepared for a weekend of performances in and around New York, including two on Friday at Madison Square Garden (the Globetrotters and the Generals simultaneously have a West Coast tour going, too), Klotz was just happy to see his Generals in their familiar green-and-yellow uniforms again.

When Kurt Schneider became chief executive of the Globetrotters in 2007, he immediately asked Klotz to change the name of his team back to the Washington Generals, not the New York Nationals, the New Jersey Reds, the Boston Shamrocks or any of the other monikers that Klotz had created, at the Globetrotters’ behest, over the years.

“I brought back the Washington Generals because, first of all, the Globetrotters have to play the Washington Generals,” Schneider said on Tuesday evening as the Westchester County Center in White Plains filled with fans. “This is the team that has been playing against them since the early ’50s and ’60s and ’70s. They are almost as big in pop culture as the Globetrotters are, albeit for different reasons. One wins and one loses.”

The Globetrotters and the Generals have a long and often misunderstood relationship. They are separately owned and operated, bound together as opponents through a contract. Klotz’s son-in-law, John Ferrari, is the general manager of the Generals, collecting unsung former college players willing to play the straight men for the Globetrotters’ time-tested bag of tricks.

The teams do not travel together. Behind the arena on Tuesday night, two buses idled: one an intricately painted tour bus for the Globetrotters, the other a standard-issue charter bus for the Generals.

And never, Klotz said, has his team been asked to lose.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “Not with anybody. None of these owners have told me to lose. Whatever obstacles they’re going to do, that’s their business. I’ve been against the Harlem Globetrotters for 50-some years, and I know nothing about their business. I don’t ever bother about their business. That’s their business. I have my own team.”

Klotz, a 5-foot-7 sharpshooting guard at South Philadelphia High School and Villanova, won an N.B.A. championship with the Baltimore Bullets in 1948. (A fit and ebullient great-grandfather, he still plays halfcourt pickup games several times a week, draining two-handed set shots, but he is temporarily sidelined because he threw out his shoulder throwing a baseball.)

The first time he played the Globetrotters, as a member of the American Basketball League’s Philadelphia Sphas in the 1940s, his team won.

“I dribbled out the clock, like Marques Haynes,” Klotz recalled.

He led teams over the Globetrotters a couple more times. Abe Saperstein, the owner of the Globetrotters, eventually called.

“He said, ‘I want you to get a good team together to play us every night,’ ” Klotz said. “I said: ‘I’m going to beat you.’ And he said, ‘You’re going to try.’ ”

It happened once, officially, and twice, in Klotz’s mind. The controversial one was in 1962, when the scorer’s book said the Generals had won but the scoreboard disagreed, and no one was in the mood to set things straight.

In 1971, in Martin, Tenn., the Generals — playing as the New Jersey Reds — won in overtime. Klotz made a shot, Meadowlark Lemon missed one. The Generals celebrated in the locker room by spraying soda on one another. To fans, though, Klotz said it was as if his team “killed Santa Claus.”

“It’s the worst thing in the world that can happen, to beat them,” Klotz said.

He walks a fuzzy line. On one side is the desire to win, to earn an audience’s respect, to allow his players a chance to exhibit their skills so that they may find other basketball jobs, maybe even with the Globetrotters, which is not uncommon. On the other is the recognition for why fans come: to watch the Globetrotters, not the Generals.

The teams get nervous when asked about the legitimacy of their games. The biggest trick has been to make the Globetrotters look invincible while the competition appears formidable.

The Generals know their place. They play a utilitarian, under-the-rim style, all layups and jump shots. They play man-to-man defense, following their men through the renowned weave (“If they slip up and make a mistake, they’re going to lose the ball,” Klotz said) and falling for the backdoor alley-oop every time.

When the Globetrotters go into one of their many routines, where the rules of the game are suspended (along with the clock, sometimes), the Generals never upstage the stars. Night after night, they have their shorts pulled down or the ball stuck into the back of their jerseys, which do not have their names on them. They patiently watch the confetti-in-the-bucket trick and gamely play defense during the Globetrotters’ football sketch. When the game ends, they slip from the court practically unnoticed.

Antoine Maddox is in his second season with the Generals. He played at LaGrange College in Georgia, and hoped to land a professional basketball job. From December to April, he plays more games than he would anywhere else (about 120 in 115 days), travels the world (100 cities), and is paid about what he would make in the Continental Basketball Association or the N.B.A.’s Development League.

“I love being part of this,” Maddox said. “But my hoop dreams do go beyond this — hopefully, one day. But right now this is just a blessing, and I love it.”

The Generals have become more of the shtick than ever, rebranded as the Globetrotters’ rival and painted as the rare unlovable underdog. The crotchety coach taunted the fans, eliciting boos. Several routines involved him cheating, which would seem to contradict Klotz’s hope that the legacy of the Generals is that of “good sports.”

One bit involved a bet between the coach and a Globetrotters star, Special K Daley. If the Generals won, the Globetrotter showman had to switch teams and become “a dreaded Washington General,” the announcer explained.

The idea was to build suspense in a game where there really is none.

“Can we win again?” Klotz said. “If they turn around instead of doing some of the routines, we’d have a chance. You know what I mean. But those routines are what people want to see. They’re giving the audience what they want to see.”

His team has been good for the Globetrotters, and the Globetrotters have been awfully good to him. There is no doubt which side of the won-lost column Klotz sees himself on.

“It turned out to be the greatest experience of my life,” he said. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Out the window, the waves pounded the shore, over and over, and over again.

My Salute to Jackie MacMullan ... the very best.

When I left the NBA about a year ago, David Stern said, "Terry grew up with the NBA and the NBA grew up with Terry." I was truly awestruck by the quote and it really made me think. I did grow up with the NBA and I am very proud of that fact. I always will be.

And, not only did I grow up with the NBA, but I grew up with Jackie MacMullan.

For readers of this blog, it's no secret that I have a fondness for Boston and a great deal of respect for the Boston media. The TV guys, the photographers, the radio guys, the columnists and the writers. The Herald and the Patriot Ledger. The suburban papers and The Globe. Hell, now I even eat up the Bloggers.

Then, there's Jackie.

Right from the start, I had a special relationship with Jackie. It was a relationship born of mutual respect. Contemporaries. She knew the game. Loved it. I thought it was great that Jackie covered the NBA and the Celtics. She was among the small handful of women who covered our league and I always thought it was the coolest thing in the world. Bring us the people who love and respect the game, I always thought, and the truth will set us free... and get us some damn coverage!

Jackie was cool. Still is and always will be.

She decided to take a buy-out from my beloved hometown paper. And, while it made me so sad to hear that news, so sad to not see her column when we move north in the weeks or months to come, I knew the truth and said, "GOOD FOR YOU!" I was so happy for her and for her family.

Jackie's job had her on the road for a load of weekends, holidays and a bunch of night games. Even for home games, she would work late into the night and we all know it's tough on a family. Now, she is on her own time and can enjoy her family. That's the way it should be. That is the way it will be.

A little side story; When I was leaving the 2007 NBA Finals, knowing I had worked my last NBA game, I circled outside of Cleveland's Gund Arena (The Q, now), lit up a 'victory' cigar, walked by myself toward the hotel. As I came towards the intersection, just around the corner from the arena loading dock, who do you think was there?

Jackie and Ian Thomsen, the former Boston Globewriter, IHT columnist and now with Sports Illustrated. How fitting, I thought. It made that last night so special, just to walk back to the hotel with Ian and Jackie.

So, here's to Jackie, who will be filing from Yankees Stadium tonight. It will be her last official column for The Boston Globe.

Thanks Jackie.

Thanks for sharing the ride. From the the old Boston Garden, covering the '80s Celtics right up until the C's of today. My shoulder still hurts from the time you punched me so damn hard when you had to find out from Clare that we were having our first little girl.

Thanks for working so hard, for competing as a writer and a columnist. Thanks for looking out for the others, like Clare. Thanks for being tough and for knowing when not to be tough and showing us the right path to help pave the way for women in the locker rooms.

Thanks Jackie. Thanks for allowing me to grow up alongside of you, and with you, with Brian and the NBA. You have taught us a lot and I will look forward to many, many years of learning more through a rock solid friendship that started at the Boston Garden and grew from professional respect.

TL

Here's a good one from Jackie, written a day or so after Red's death;

Tough man had a tender side

By Jackie MacMullan, Globe Columnist | October 29, 2006

The first time I met Red Auerbach, I was 22 years old, and I was terrified.

It was January 1983, and I had been working at the Globe as a full-time writer exactly two months. My assignment was the Boston College-St. John's basketball game, which seemed manageable enough until five minutes before tipoff, when this silver-haired gentleman in a blue blazer plopped himself down next to me and lit up a cigar.

Of course. What else would he do?

No one dared to instruct Arnold "Red" Auerbach to extinguish it. We were in Boston Garden -- the house Red built -- and he did whatever he wanted when he roamed that creaky old arena with the hallowed banners hanging from its rafters.

I wanted so desperately to impress him, but I couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say. Instead, I diligently took notes while Boston College and its waterbug point guard, Michael Adams, wreaked havoc on the heavily favored St. John's team. Red didn't say much to me, other than offering to buy me an ice cream midway through the first half.

At the intermission, as the cheerleaders sprinted to center court to began their spirited, peppy routine, the greatest coach in basketball history gestured toward the parquet -- his parquet -- and asked, "So . . . what do you think?"

It was the moment I had been waiting for. I immediately explained how I thought BC's full-court press was particularly effective, and if St. John's didn't begin to respect the Eagles' perimeter shooter soon, maybe BC could pull off the upset.

"No, no," Auerbach interrupted." I meant the girls. Aren't you the cheerleading coach?"

Well, no. I wasn't. Red would learn that soon enough. Over nearly 24 years, our paths would cross on a regular basis. I was a young reporter trying to capture the Celtics' mystique, and he was the man who invented it. In the beginning, he vociferously objected to everything about me, particularly when I entered his team's locker room.

"You don't belong in there," he'd bark.

"What if you were trying to decide whether to draft a player, and everyone got to talk to him but you?" I'd retort. "Would that be fair?"

"It would never happen!" he'd bellow. "I would already know more about the kid than everyone else anyway!"

This, of course, was true. Back when Auerbach's staff consisted of himself, and, well, himself, he relied on a Rolodex full of numbers for nearly every prominent college coach in the country to glean his scouting reports. He was always one step ahead of the competition. And, when he'd fleece his fellow NBA executives, he did so without a trace of humility.

"If you do something great, kid, then don't apologize to anyone," he told me. "If you're a winner, then act like one."

He called me "kid" right up until yesterday, the day he died of a heart attack. He had battled respiratory problems in recent years, and I suppose none of us should have been shocked that an 89-year-old man's time finally had come.

Still, the news took my breath away. Forgive me. Red was so stubborn, I assumed he would live forever.

Or maybe I just hoped that was true.

I know how people felt about him outside of Boston. They felt he was arrogant, superior. They hated the fact he lit up that cigar in the waning moments of a sure victory. It was showboating, they said, a galling lack of sportsmanship. The book on Red outside of our city was he was a graceless winner and sore loser.

Maybe so. I asked him about it once. He smiled, took a puff, and blew it in my face.

Our relationship was a work in progress, but over time, I grew to love Red Auerbach. We developed a quirky sort of professional friendship that included spirited debates on women's issues, on the merits of different eras, on the best blacktop playgrounds in the country. He grew to appreciate my love of the game, and became one of my most trusted sources.

In the early '90s, he fell ill and almost died. Naturally, the Celtics insulated him, so the public (and most of us in the media) didn't completely grasp how close he came to leaving us. I didn't realize it myself until I went to see him in Washington after he had recovered. I was asking him how Reggie Lewis's shocking death affected him, and, after taking a long draw of his cigar, he admitted he was so sick during that time, he had little or no idea what had happened to the young star.

It was a beautiful spring day in Washington, and he asked me when my flight was leaving. I told him I had some time. We hopped into his Saab convertible (really now, how many senior citizens do you know drive a Saab convertible?), and he took me to the Smithsonian. There was a great Duke Ellington exhibit, he explained, and he felt I should see it before I left.

Who knew? Red loved Chinese food, and owned an eclectic collection of letter openers ("Go to the back of the store," he always insisted. "The best stuff is always in the back."), but until that day, I didn't realize he was tuned into Sir Duke as well.

As we pulled up to the entrance, he parked his car in the little cul de sac in front of the building. A uniformed guard immediately approached us and said, "I'm sorry, sir. There's no parking here."

Red got out of the car, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "That's OK, son."

Then he walked inside. One hour later, we returned to the cul de sac, where his car remained, untouched.

You know most of the facts concerning Red. You know about the championships, his willingness to hire the first African-American coach, his unparalleled tenure as a cunning and ruthless general manager.

I wish he showed his softer side more. It was there, particularly when discussing the two daughters who made him so proud, or his wife, Dorothy, whom he missed terribly after she died in 2000, or when he called to console a young reporter who had experienced her own devastating personal loss, not six months after he had blown smoke in her face.

In recent years, the trip to Boston was increasingly difficult for Red. He walked with a cane, which he hated ("Ask me about it and I'll hit you with it," he groused). He couldn't quite keep up with the team as he once did.

Two years ago, I stood with him in the hallway of the FleetCenter outside the locker room, when one of the young players (who shall remain nameless to save him the embarrassment) came up to the Celtics patriarch.

"Coach Auerbach," he said. "I just want to shake your hand. It is such an honor to meet you."

As the player walked away, Red turned to me and said, "Who the hell was that?"

In his final years, he spent most afternoons at his club in Maryland, where he played cards and held court. He still attended games at his beloved George Washington and took in some of the Atlantic Coast Conference tournament last spring.

"If you come down, we'll go together," he told me.

"I should do that," I said.

I didn't. I got busy with my life and my work and my kids. It sounded good at the time, but I couldn't get there.

I talked to Red for the last time about three weeks ago. I had written a story on Doc Rivers and his attempts to balance his job with commuting to Orlando where his family lives. Red had done a similar juggling act when he was coaching the Celtics in Boston, and his family remained in D.C.

"I don't blame Doc," Red told me. "At the end of the day, your family is the only thing that matters."

He told me he was flying up for the season opener, which is Wednesday.

"Are you coming?" he said. "I'll see you there."

I wish.

Jackie MacMullan is a Globe columnist.

Red should have his... "Auerbach Way" ...

This from a Boston.com post late last week. I stashed it in a file during our busy time in Boston but wanted to be sure everyone saw it today.


Letting Red have his way
By Kevin Cullen, Globe Columnist | March 27, 2008

So I'm sitting in one of the city's finest establishments, C.F. Donovan's of Savin Hill, enjoying perhaps the greatest shepherd's pie ever prepared, when one Thomas M. Menino passes and pauses just long enough to ask, "Did you hear that some people want to change the name of Causeway Street to Red Auerbach Way?"

No, Mr. Mayor, I had not, but now that you mention it, I think it's a grand idea.

Changing street names, especially in a town like this one, which professes to care deeply about history, is a slippery slope.

But if we really care about history, then we need a street named after the late Arnold Jacob Auerbach.

Before anyone suggested creating a Red Auerbach Way, there was a Red Auerbach way. It produced a series of championships for the Boston Celtics that was unprecedented and, given the nature of free agency and the business that is pro sports today, probably will not be duplicated by any franchise, in any city anytime in the future.

The Patriots win three Super Bowls in four years, and we talk about dynasty. The Red Sox win two World Series in four years, and we talk about dynasty.

But with Red as coach, the Celtics won nine of the 10 NBA titles between 1957 and 1966. That's a dynasty. He was in the front office for seven more championships after that.

Beyond winning, it was the way his teams won. We have enjoyed the recent success of the Red Sox and Patriots especially because of the chemistry that is at the heart of them.

Long before, Red elevated the concept to an art form. Red stressed team over individual accomplishment. He emphasized the substance of defense over the flash of offense. After Bill Russell, the great Celtics center, won his first MVP award in 1958, Red pulled him aside to warn him that he was going to rip him at practice so none of the other players would think he would get preferential treatment.

Last night, as they have almost every game this season, the Celtics started five players who happen to be black. No one bats an eye.

But on the day after Christmas in 1964, Red put out a starting five that consisted of Bill Russell, K.C. Jones, Tom Sanders, Sam Jones, and Willie Naulls. History records that as a great moment in the civil rights movement, especially in a town like Boston, when for the first time an NBA starting lineup was made up of five black men. But Red wasn't looking to make history. Tommy Heinsohn usually started, but he was hurt, so when Red looked down the bench he selected Naulls, not because he was black, but because he was the best forward available.

When it came to race, Red was ahead of his time. He drafted the first black player, Chuck Cooper in 1950, and in 1966 handpicked as his successor Russell, the NBA's first African-American head coach. Red made the issue of race relevant by treating people's race as irrelevant when judging them.

For a guy who emphasized team over individual, Red got the most out of his players because he treated them as individuals. And so what worked for Bob Cousy didn't work for Bill Sharman. What Red said to Big Russ was not what he said to John Havlicek.

The guy was a genius, and how many streets do we have named for geniuses?

There are reasons this might not fly. Some will say we shouldn't be renaming streets rich in history like Causeway. Others will say Red was really a Washington guy, not a Boston guy. And, let's face it, we're talking about renaming the street that runs in front of a building owned by the Bruins for a guy who bled Celtic green.

But there is an overarching reason why Causeway Street should become Red Auerbach Way, and it's the same reasoning that guided Red Auerbach through a tumultuous era that challenged our country, and our city and eventually brought out the best in most of us: It's the right thing to do.

Kevin Cullen is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at cullen@globe.com.

Ramble On ...

Slate Suggests...

Maybe Rupert Murdoch should invest in a daily Journal sports section. Send your proposals to slate.pressbox@gmail.com. (E-mail may be quoted by name in "The Fray," Slate's readers' forum, in a future article, or elsewhere unless the writer stipulates otherwise. Permanent disclosure: Slate is owned by the Washington Post Co.

Certainly a full sports section in the Journal, maybe in the Weekend Journal, would boost interest and sales. The failed American sports daily of the late 80s, the "National," might make Murdoch think twice.

###

According to Hollywood Reporter, Boston is fast becoming Hollywood Northeast. Martin Scorsese's "The Departed" was set in the Bay State and more than half of the film was shot on location, but only about $6 million of its $90 million budget was spent in Massachusetts, with a larger amount of the location work going to New York, according to Nicholas Paleologos, executive director of the Massachusetts Film Office.

"Fast-forward 24 months: 'The Pink Panther 2' had nothing to do with Massachusetts and not a single scene takes place in Massachusetts -- but Massachusetts got the lion's share of the location spending," he said.

In large part, this trend can be attributed to an aggressive tax incentive plan allowing productions that drop more than $50,000 in Massachusetts to receive a 25% rebate on everything they spend in the state.

Nine major features were shot in Massachusetts this year, pouring more than $125 million in direct expenditure into the local economy, up 150% from 2006, according to industry sources.

As a side note: Seems to me that Senator Kerry should be more concerned about the WGA strike than a single NFL game on cable TV.

###

What would a year-ender be without mention of the projects of all projects, the Big Dig. Here is what the AP had to say this week:

BOSTON - When the clock runs out on 2007, Boston will quietly mark the end of one of the most tumultuous eras in the city's history: The Big Dig, the nation's most complex and costliest highway project, will officially come to an end.

Don't expect any champagne toasts.

After a history marked by engineering triumphs, tunnels leaks, epic traffic jams, last year's death of a motorist crushed by falling concrete panels and a price tag that soared from $2.6 billion to a staggering $14.8 billion, there's little appetite for celebration.

###

Other news items for the week, include; Merry Christmas in a cold, cruel world:

This from the Dec. 24th WSJ daily email:

MAXjet Files for Chapter 11
Trans-Atlantic business-class only airline MAXjet Airways filed for bankruptcy protection, blaming rising fuel costs and an increase in competition for business-class travelers for the inability to raise funds. MAXjet ceased operations On Christmas Eve, leaving jets on tarmacs and stranding passengers ahead of the Christmas holiday. The company listed just six months ago on London's alternative market. Trading of the stock was suspended Dec. 7 as a result of an inability to clarify its financial position. MAXjet said that shareholders are unlikely to receive any value following the bankruptcy and shares will remain suspended. The carrier, formerly based in Dulles, Virginia, apologized to customers for stranding them on Christmas Eve and said on its Web site that it contracted with rival Eos Airlines to carry passengers returning to New York's JFK International Airport or London's Stansted Airport.

In other Dec 24th news: It was widely reported that the Chicago Bulls fired coach Scott Skiles on Christmas Eve. Skiles took the high road and said the timing didn't matter, as he certainly is not 'destitute' and 'that it was his turn to be held accountable.' The issue that some might overlook? The transaction does effect just the Bulls and Skiles, it has a trickle down to all the media members, many who might have days scheduled with their families. Unless it's absolutely, 100% necessary, holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Easter, Fourth of July, etc, etc. should be avoided for team transaction announcements. We are all in the entertainment industry and - certainly - have to be expected to work on many, many days and nights. In some instances, it can and should be avoided. The Bulls should have circled Thursday, December 27th for their announcement as they host Milwaukee on Friday, Dec. 29th.

###

John Feinstein of the Washington Post did a Christmas column to pay tribute to a few of the finer things in the life of sports. One of them was his friend, Red Auerbach, former, coach, GM, team president and the late patriarch of the Boston Celtics; Here is the missive written by Feinstein:

Red Auerbach...He isn't around to see it but my hope is that the greatest NBA coach and general manager in history is smiling someplace watching this Celtics team play. Red suffered greatly in his last few years when the Celtics were suffering. He never completely got over the deaths of Len Bias and Reggie Lewis which plunged the franchise into years of darkness and he so wanted to see one more championship to go with the 16 he was responsible for from 1950-86.

His desire to see the Celtics win never weakened, even as he did. I can remember being in a hospital room with him -- intensive care no less -- when he heard the team had traded Ricky Davis, the kind of scorer he thought a team needed to have when the playoffs and half court basketball rolled around. He did everything but yank all this tubes out he was so angry.

On what turned out to be his last opening night in Boston, Doc Rivers asked him to talk to the team after the game. When he finished, he found Dan Dickau, a shooter he always believed had potential.

"Hey Dan, can I ask you a question?" he said. (anyone who knew Red knew when he asked if he could ask a question you were about to get nailed).

"Sure coach," Dickau answered.

"Are there baskets on the sides of the court?"

Puzzled, Dickau shook his head. "No coach there aren't," he said.

"Okay then, why the f--- do you keep dribbling sideways? Take the ball to the goddamn hole will you?!"

He really never did stop coaching. I'd like to think he's coaching these Celtics in some way, shape or form.

And smiling.