St. Louis Blues

There are those whose role it is to remind us that history didn't begin with yesterday's games and that the latest incarnation of something isn't perforce the best. I mention this in light of recent proclamations, including my own, that Michael Jordan is the best basketball player in the history of this or any other galaxy. I still believe in Jordan 's preeminence but feel obligated to include a historical asterisk offered by Jeremiah Tax , a former writer for and editor of SI who was covering NBA championship games before Jordan was born.

"I'm not suggesting that Bill Russell was a better player than Michael Jordan ," Tax said last week. "But if Jordan had to go through what Russell went through, I wonder how much harder it would've been for Jordan to achieve what he has achieved."

An episode during the 1958 Finals makes Tax's point. Russell , then in his second season with the Boston Celtics , had severely sprained his right ankle during a Game 3 loss in St. Louis that had put the Celtics down 2-1 in the best-of-seven series against the St. Louis Hawks . Those were the days before sophisticated rehabilitation techniques that put a player back on his feet quickly. Boston coach Red Auerbach didn't even take Russell back to St. Louis for Game 6, but the night before the game, as Auerbach , Tax, Bob Cousy and Tom Heinsohn sat conversing in a hotel lobby, Russell limped through the revolving door and headed for the reception desk. He hadn't arrived aboard a chartered plane, as one of today's players might; he had flown commercial out of Boston , which in those days meant making two connections to get to St. Louis .

"What are you doing here?" Auerbach asked him.

"I didn't come to watch," answered Russell .

Russell was hungry, so the five men walked to a cafeteria. They lined up at the counter and discussed the chances of tying the series. (The Hawks would win Game 6 to interrupt what would've been a string of 10 straight Celtics titles.) Soon it became clear that the counterman was ignoring them. "I don't think they're going to serve me," said Russell .

"That's right," said the man. "We don't serve colored here."

The group walked out. Auerbach remembered a hamburger joint around the corner. They sat down on stools at the counter. A waitress said to them coldly, "We don't serve colored here."

The fivesome returned to the hotel and headed for their rooms. As the world celebrates Jordan , Tax can close his eyes and see Russell , a proud man who was the Jordan of his time, hobbling on a swollen ankle toward the elevator, angry and ravenous, the night before a championship game.