Russell Rules: To NEVER “shut up and dribble”

A man of massive talent and incredible courage,

Raised by a single father in Oakland, CA (who once upon a time, went to school with the short, round man’s mother—but that’s a story for another day..)

Who was talked into playing the sport that would make him a legend and simply dominated in high school and college.

Dominated the game to the point that much like a decade later when they stopped the kid from UCLA from dunking, the supposed amateur athletic league widened the free-throw lane to 12 feet in an attempt to keep him from getting easy putbacks (“The Russell Rule”)

Drafted by the St. Louis Hawks, and saved from going to (back then) the most racist city in the NBA by being traded to what continues to be the most OPENLY RACIST CITY IN THE NORTH.

A city that even as he won them titles, never understood this fierce man who got so nervous before some big games that he vomited prior to tip off (in fact, he said the coach who became a legend with him would every once in a while, tell him: “Russell, I haven’t heard you puking yet—go get sick.”)

A man who averaged a 20-20 in college who realized the team he played with in the NBA needed his rebounding and defensive skills more than his scoring ability, so he became arguably the most complete defensive player in NBA history and still averaged 20 points and 12 rebounds throughout his career.

He won titles, lots of titles—NCAA, Olympic Gold, and ELEVEN NBA TITLES, the last as a player-coach, the first Black coach in modern sports.

A man that understood, like his contemporary that played football in Cleveland, that at the time he was in the American spotlight he had a responsibility beyond just dribbling a ball. He spoke about the injustices he had to endure as a Black Man in America, and those who were not willing to listen to what he had to say, (who, if they are still alive, likely voted for the failed game show host) broke into his home, destroyed it, and then smeared their feces throughout his home.

But that didn’t keep him from supporting the champ who didn’t want to fight in Vietnam.

Nor did it stop him from supporting, speaking about, and marching with the pastor who had a dream.

For those of use who still mourn the theft of our NBA team because of the petulance of the burnt coffee baron, let us remember the excitement of the first pro sports team in Seattle (in modern times) to make the playoffs, a team coached by this man (who also drafted Dennis Johnson, the foundation of the title team a few years later)

A man who came to the Pacific Northwest and never left (save for a short, disastrous stint in Sacramento, but that team has always been cursed)

And never stopped speaking truth to power.

For those who like to elevate jumpman to the GOAT—remember what Mikey said, that greatness is defined by rings—so by Mikey’s own definition, we are saying goodbye to THE GREATEST PLAYER IN THE HISTORY OF THE NBA.

But he was so much more.

The sportsocracy (columnists, talk shows, sports radio morons and the “shut up and dribble fans”) who continue to denigrate Kaepernick and LeBron for pointing out the challenges that William Felton Russell spoke about HALF A CENTURY AGO, will celebrate their ignorance and their hypocrisy by heaping their praise upon a man who was as vocal about the injustices that his people continue to face than Colin and LeBron will ever be.

But for me, since I was never blessed to see the great man play, I will remember:

How he would never NEVER give the racists who cheered for him and then call him N***** after the game the satisfaction of seeing him angry.

Reading about the fierce battles between him and Wilt (and wishing I could have seen these two warriors in the prime, because their games are the stuff of legend).

And the cackle and smile that was part of the sports fabric long after his playing days.

Goodbye Bill, I hope after saying hi to your father, you and Wilt will start rounding up folks to play shirts and skins.