None of the three men would relinquish their claims on Zaslofsky, and finally Podoloff lost his patience. “I’m sick and tired of all this,” he said. “There’s three of you and three players, all backcourt men, so I’m going to put the names in a hat and whoever you draw, that’s who you got.”

Podoloff wrote the names of the three players on three pieces of paper and placed the folded slips in the fedora of Danny Biasone, owner of the Syracuse Nationals. Walter Brown felt he had been euchred out of Zaslofsky, but even so, ever courteous, he offered Irish the chance to draw first, then he instantly regretted it, since he realized he had just given Irish the best odds of acquiring Zaslofsky. Irish picked out a slip, opened it, and gave a triumphant shout. He had in fact selected Zaslofsky. Andy Phillip, the second team member from the Stags, was an excellent and experienced playmaker, but when Brown, picking second, reached into the fedora, he drew the name of Bob Cousy, the untried rookie. As he read Cousy’s name, he did not feel that this was somehow meant to be, that the crowd-pleasing local boy with the dazzling moves had all along been destined to play for the Celtics. To the contrary, what he felt was that he and his last-place team had once again gotten the dirty end of the stick. 4*

Cousy, staying with his parents on Long Island, was unaware of the meeting at the Park-Sheraton in New York, unaware even that Ben Kerner had traded him into the pool of Stags players, and he expected any day to hear from Kerner summoning him to the Blackhawks training camp in Illinois. Instead, after midnight, he received a call from Walter Brown, who told him to report to the Celtics office in Boston. Cousy, who was jubilant, drove up to Massachusetts the following day to talk to Auerbach. Like Walter Brown, Auerbach was disappointed that the Celtics had been stuck with Cousy. It also irritated Auerbach that the sportswriters and fans had tried to foist Cousy on him, and he wanted it made clear to all concerned that, despite his local-hero status, Cousy was going to have to prove himself. “To me, he’s just another rookie who has to show me that he can play professionally,” he told a reporter that morning.

The article appeared in that afternoon’s newspapers. Cousy read the quote before his meeting with Auerbach, and its cold tone made him acutely aware of just how serious were the coach’s reservations about him. Buster Sheary, Cousy’s last coach at Holy Cross, had been an inspirational leader, but Red Auerbach, Cousy could tell as soon as they met, had absolutely no interest in inspiring people. He was hard and practical, with a direct, penetrating gaze—a man who assumed you probably weren’t going to like him and didn’t care. Auerbach told Cousy that his one disadvantage was his size. If he made the team, he’d be one of the six shortest men in the entire league. He was too small to play up front, Auerbach said; he would have to try for a position in the backcourt. “I hope you make this team,” Auerbach said. “If you can, I’ll be glad to have you. If you can’t, don’t blame me. A little guy always has two strikes on him in this business. It’s a big man’s game.”

 

AUERBACH HAD rented a two-room corner suite on the ninth floor of the Hotel Lenox, on Boylston Street near the Boston Public Library. The suite, which had a refrigerator and a hot plate but no stove, was a spartan place, but since he had few friends and no interests outside of basketball, it suited him perfectly. Just as he had done with the Tri-Cities Blackhawks, Auerbach set about rebuilding the Celtics. He dropped Tony Lavelli, the legendary Yale player who scored only nine points a game but who performed on his accordion for the crowds at halftime. He then cut two local favorites, the Holy Cross stars George Kaftan and Joe Mullaney. By the time training camp was over, he’d decided to keep Cousy.