Ganas, Bill Russell and the Lakers

Haven’t been around for a while and just wanted to register my thanks to Sam and the mods for keeping convivial Celtics talk alive.

Special thanks to bobheckler (“Scribo ergo sum.”) for introducing this excellent word, ganas, into the basketball lexicon. It’s one of those words that shines with a bright light. Like so many things in basketball, it carries over into life; - to accomplish what you want in this world these days, it takes ganas.

Roughly defined, ganas stands for that intangible quality that provides the winning edge.

My favorite Bill Russell quote is the one in which he says that, on the professional level, physical skills are relatively equal, so the difference between winning and losing is “mental toughness”.

My favorite example of ganas just happens to be Bill Russell in Game 7 of the 1962 NBA Finals. Grueling is not a strong enough word to describe the pace, tempo, and travel schedule of that series. Up and down the court and back and forth from the west coast to the east. As the clock ticked down in regulation time in Game 7, everyone on both teams, except a few guys on the end of the bench, had given the last full ounce of effort in one of the most exciting finals of all time.

At this stage of his career, Russ had adopted the habit of taking a breather during the last two minutes of the first quarter, then playing the rest of the game without a break. Like the thoroughbred that he was, Russ had the knack for pacing himself, saving his strength for when he needed it the most, to be able to rise to the challenge in the crucible of the game.

No moment could have been more demanding than those final seconds of Game 7, when Sam Jones smothered Jerry West and wide open Frank Selvy missed his chance for everlasting glitter (er, glory?, in LA? – I don’t know), while Bill Russell ripped the rebound away from Elgin Baylor as the buzzer sounded.

Russ was so tired at that moment he hardly made it back to the bench. Every ounce of adrenaline, every drop of testerone was drained out of his six feet nine and fifteen-sixteenths inches frame. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t move. Everyone was exhausted, but Russ, who always left more on the floor than anyone else, was looking into the abyss.

Someone gently poured a pitcher of cold water over his head and he revived, snapped right out of it. He was still bone-weary, but now reanimated, back in the game. By the start of overtime, Russ was once again his old menacing, obviously tired, self. He’d have to be because, when Loscy fouled out in the first minute, Russ was the last Celtic big man on the floor. That’s when something happened to cause Russ’s game to kick into overdrive.

To replace Loscy, Red looked down the bench at young, six-foot six inch Gene Guarilia, a likeable guy, one of the Russ’s favorites, a third-year player who always gave 100 percent in practice, who had that instinctive knack for rebounding that can’t be taught or denied.

When Gene Guarilia came into that overtime, he brought an infectious bundle of energy. Bill Russell, the quintessential team player of all time and all sports, tapped into that energy in a way that seemed almost miraculous. A man who, moments before, needed a pitcher of water poured over his head, suddenly started racing up and down the court like a young buck, keeping pace with the ebullient Guarilia.

When Guarilia ripped down an offensive rebound halfway through overtime and flipped the ball inside to Russell for a thunderous dunk, it was game, set and trophy for the Celtics. Bill Russell scored 30 points and grabbed 40 rebounds, but when reporters approached him in the locker room after the game, he pointed them toward Gene Guarilia, saying his defense on Baylor in overtime was what won the game. Bill Russell represented both ganas and class.

On that note, let me say that the current NBA Champions earned their place at the top of the heap through ganas and nothing less, and showed some class while doing it.

They gutted it out all season long, through injuries, against every other team’s best efforts, rarely if ever taking a game off or coasting. To my mind, it was the mental toughness that they developed as a team over the course of the regular season that gave them the winning edge in Game 7 (the homecourt helped, but they earned it). And they accomplished what Red said was the hardest thing to do: to win it the second time.

So, for what it’s worth, congratulations to the Lakers and their fans and utmost respect for winning it on ganas with a little luck (why do those two things so often go together?). I don’t think I’ll ever cheer for the Lakers, unless they play the Heat in the Finals, in which case I won’t feel much like cheering, but I’ll be pulling for them against everybody but the Celtics, hoping both teams can go to the dance together again. History demands another match-up between these teams. It’s time for best 2 out of 3.

spike

Spike, it's wonderful to have your much-needed perspective back on the board again. Thanks for sharing the memories and stories behind the stories that are associated with that game.

I have to say that, of all the Lakers championships, I was less bothered by this one than any other—and precisely for the reasons you stated. You have reminded me that my feelings about the Lakers are a study in contradiction. I root for them to lose virtually every single game, and yet I'm always happiest when they're the Celtics opponents in the finals. Not only because it makes for a better series, but also because that seems to be the way it's meant to be. The Celtics legend would be greatly diminished were it not for the Lakers. And I expect the reverse is also true.

One final word about Russell. He tended to be a loner and invariably chose to hang with one of the lesser known players when thrust together with teammates off the court (e.g. during plane rides). Guarilia was one. Two others I recall were Johnny Jones and Rich Johnson. I'm not sure what his rationale was, and a psychologist could potentially have a field day trying to figure it out. But he was quite consistent in that regard.

Thanks again for weighing in, and I hope you have had a rewarding summer.

Sam

Scribo ergo sum means "I write, therefore I am".

Sum quo scribo means "I am what I write".

I am, therefore, a stubbornly intransitive verb with a dangling participle.

BOB: Just don't expose your dangling participle in public, at least make sure no cop's around (LOL)-MD!