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      Bill Russell’s Words Were Worth the Wait

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      In wit and wisdom, Russell left an impression with his gravelly voice. “It wasn’t like he tried to impress you with big words,” said one recipient of his advice.Rare was the working person around N.B.A. arenas these past few decades who never had an encounter with the majestic Bill Russell. On occasion, mostly a special one, he was an intimidating presence walking tall and transcendent, in the manner of a man who had invented the game.In the dynastic measure by which we often relate to basketball, from Boston to Los Angeles to Chicago to Golden State, he actually did.Russell’s death at 88 on Sunday predictably evoked relished memories of meeting the most prolific instigator of championships in the history of American team sports. It is an indisputable fact that time with Russell was not generously dispensed. When it was, only the most hardheaded among us wasn’t better for it.I was a terrified young reporter for The New York Post in the late 1970s when my editor ordered me to “get Russell” for an assigned story. I found him in the media dining area at the old Spectrum arena in Philadelphia on a Sunday afternoon before a game he was working as network analyst.Bill Russell, left, with Brent Musburger during a CBS Sports broadcast in 1980.CBS, via Getty ImagesAs I hopelessly stammered through my introduction, Russell looked up from a plate of food and said nothing. Seconds felt like hours until Billy Cunningham, the 76ers coach, leaned over and came to my rescue. “He’s from Vecsey’s paper,” Cunningham told Russell, referring to Peter Vecsey, the widely known N.B.A. columnist.This apparently was a useful reference in what was a far more insular N.B.A. environment. Russell nodded and said, “Wait outside for me.” So I parked myself in the first row of seats behind the broadcast table. Ten minutes became 20, then 30, then 60 after Russell took a seat, donned his headset for microphone checks and shuffled through voluminous game notes and stats.I was literally sweating, and figuratively steaming. Finally, Russell summoned me, shook my hand and said, “Thank you for waiting and respecting my work.”Lesson learned: Patience may be the most well-cited virtue, but in the interests of professional achievement, so is preparation.Fast forward to a September 2007 afternoon in a Westchester County suburb of New York, where Russell was speaking to assembled N.B.A. rookies at the league’s transition program. I listened with fascination as Joakim Noah, a player of French, Swedish and Cameroonian descent, asked Russell if he felt underappreciated in racially polarized Boston despite winning 11 titles in 13 seasons, from 1957 through 1969.“Quite true,” Russell responded in his gravelly voiced, meditative manner. But he elaborated by relaying advice his father had given him as a youth about people who have “these little red wagons that get pulled around and that it’s got nothing to do with me” — meaning that he should not worry about how other people felt about him.Afterward, I asked Russell how that answer squared with his outspokenness and activism on matters of race and social justice, including his participation in the so-called 1967 Cleveland summit of prominent Black athletes in support of Muhammad Ali following his refusal to be drafted into the U.S. Army.He reminded me that he had been invited to address the rookie class at large, and that some of the newcomers were not African American. Some were not even American. Russell’s message had been tailored to universal temptation.“I tell all the kids — rich, poor, Black, white — that you must be your own counsel,” he told me. “We understand that we don’t always want to do the right thing, but what they have to ask themselves is, ‘Am I willing to deal with the consequences?’”Russell, right, with Joakim Noah during an N.B.A. event for rookies in September 2007. Suzy Allman for The New York TimesSuch contextual awareness sounded familiar to Len Elmore, the former pro center whom I have known since he finished his playing career with the Nets and Knicks before attending Harvard Law School. At Harvard, Elmore happened to befriend Russell’s daughter, Karen. (In 1987, Karen Russell wrote in The New York Times about the frightening, haunting harassment her father and family were subjected to in the Boston area.)“I had met him a few times in passing and I have a couple videos of my games he was calling, where he described me as ‘well traveled,’” Elmore said with a chuckle when I called him upon hearing of Russell’s passing. “He obviously had a big impact on me, as a center, always talking about blocking the shot but keeping it inbounds, things like that. And of course, off the court, too, with his activism during the civil rights era.”But it was in law school that Elmore said he actually got to talk to Russell about athlete activism, a subject Elmore has in recent years been teaching at Columbia University.“It wasn’t like he tried to impress you with big words,” Elmore said. “But what always came across was his wisdom, his ability to conceptualize, to prioritize, to understand time and place. I remember him telling me that by going to law school, I could be part of a generation that could build off what his generation had started, and effect change in a very different way.”For all the racism Russell and his Black teammates endured in Boston, and the disparities in how white and Black Celtics were paid and in some cases treated by an organization fronted by Red Auerbach, Russell was careful never to implicate the Celtics’ patriarch. For 10 years, Russell starred under Auerbach, who then made him the league’s first Black coach upon stepping away from the bench in 1966.Which leads me to my last Russell engagement, in May 2009, in a Manhattan hotel lounge while he was promoting a book, “Red and Me: My Coach, My Lifelong Friend,” published three years after Auerbach’s death.In the book, Russell wrote that he and Auerbach had seldom socialized or delved into personal or social issues. They were instead bound by basketball, by team, which also was, in effect, family. The patriarch was stubborn, set in his ways, Russell said. Russell’s own willful ways, shaped by a place in Boston and in America which Auerbach could never fully understand, formed the basis of their mutual respect.“We were so alike that way,” said Russell, who often made the point that he played for the Celtics, not Boston. But the team’s success always came first.That day in Manhattan, Russell shared some final coaching he’d gotten during his last visit with Auerbach, just as he took his leave. “Listen, Russ, this is something important,” Auerbach told him. “When you get old, don’t fall. Because that’s the start of the end. So remember: Don’t fall!”Russell, already 75, obviously knew that frailty would eventually visit him, too. Near the end of our interview, he admitted that he’d written the book because, “I also have to be mindful of my own mortality.”Those words barely spoken, he cut loose one of his trademark boisterous cackles.Athletic greatness fades. Team dynasties fold. But Bill Russell’s presence, deep into old age, didn’t so much as flicker. While the contemporary best-ever debate is laser focused on Air Jordan versus King James, Russell’s contextualization of the argument only required flashing the ring he wore that 2007 day at the rookie transition program — a gift from the N.B.A. commissioner at the time, David Stern, commemorating all 11 of Russell’s titles.That remains the truest measure of superstar affirmation within a team sport. It’s also the one all but guaranteed never to fall. More

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      Bill Russell’s Legacy, and Laugh, Touched Millions

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      Russell showed as much love and respect to younger players as they showed to him. Some, like Charles Barkley, referred to him simply as “Mr. Russell.”It was a day to celebrate Elgin Baylor, whom the Los Angeles Lakers had just honored with a statue outside their home arena. On that warm evening in April 2018, one of Baylor’s greatest antagonists showed up and sat prominently in the crowd.Bill Russell would never blend in anywhere, and certainly not in his green polo shirt at a Lakers event.Jerry West, Baylor’s teammate all those years ago, stood behind a lectern and couldn’t help but note Russell’s attendance.“All the losses to this gentleman over here,” West said. “I forget your damn name. What is it? Bill? Last name — Bill Russell, is that it?”The crowd loved the bit, and West continued.“There’s more incredible stories in a losing locker room — and particularly when it’s the same damn team and this smiling jackass over here.”A few feet away, Russell was indeed smiling, widely. He laughed throughout West’s performance. Russell led the Boston Celtics to 11 championships, seven of them with N.B.A. finals wins over the Lakers — and all of them colored in Celtics green.West played on six of those Lakers teams that lost to Russell’s Celtics, and the two became friends later in life. He made sure the assembled guests that day didn’t confuse his playful jabs for actual animus, telling them he loved Russell.It was a bit of a role reversal for Russell, who in his later years was usually the one delivering zingers. Deeply respected for what he did on the court and off it, his jabs were always met with laughter, and in the moments when he was sincere, his earnestness was met with profound gratitude from players for whom Russell changed the N.B.A.On Sunday, Russell’s family announced that he had died peacefully with his wife by his side. He was 88. The statement mentioned Russell’s championships — two in high school, two in college, one in the Olympics and 11 in the N.B.A. — nodded to his personal accolades and highlighted his lifelong fight against racial discrimination. It also included an entreaty that people keep Russell in their prayers. “Perhaps you’ll relive one or two of the golden moments he gave us, or recall his trademark laugh as he delighted in explaining the real story behind how those moments unfolded,” the statement read.The basketball world has celebrated him by remembering all of his life, including the moments of humor.As he received a lifetime achievement award in 2017, Russell, right, joked around with the former N.B.A. greats Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, left, Alonzo Mourning, Shaquille O’Neal, David Robinson and Dikembe Mutombo.Photo by Michael Loccisano/Getty Images for TNT“Where did they find all these tall people?” Russell asked, onstage at an N.B.A. awards show in 2017. The league had gathered other great centers — Shaquille O’Neal, Alonzo Mourning, Dikembe Mutombo, David Robinson and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar — to present Russell with a lifetime achievement award.He looked at the group intently and pointed at each of them. Then he cupped his hand around his mouth and, in a stage whisper, used colorful language to say he would beat them all.A year later he sat in the audience of the same awards show.“Mr. Bill Russell,” Charles Barkley, the Hall of Fame forward, said onstage, “thank you.”The camera panned to Russell who smiled and extended his middle finger to Barkley.Later that night, Russell posted an explanation on Twitter: “Sorry everyone, I forgot it was live TV & I can’t help myself whenever I see Charles it just is pure instinct.”His jokes often dripped with well-earned bravado, and they played well because of the awe with which the basketball players of future generations viewed him.They marveled at his talent on the court, how he became the most feared defender of his era — a dominant force before blocks became an official statistic. But even more than that they respected the way he became the N.B.A.’s first Black superstar in an era of segregation, who was born in the Jim Crow South and fought racism in society and in the N.B.A. Russell once led a strike of a game in Kentucky after he and his Black teammates were denied service at a restaurant. In the 1950s, he spoke out about the N.B.A.’s unofficial quota system that prevented more Black players from being in the league.There are some Hall of Fame players who aren’t shy about sharing their opinion that the recent basketball eras were much worse than their own.As Russell aged, though, he often showed that he reciprocated the love and respect he garnered from some of the game’s younger stars.Russell often spoke fondly of the former Lakers star Kobe Bryant, right. He talked about their friendship when he was inducted into the Hall of Fame as a coach last year.Photo by: Ron Hoskins/NBAE via Getty ImagesAt the All-Star Game in 2008, a camera caught him sharing a tender moment with Lakers guard Kobe Bryant.“I watch a lot of your games,” Russell told Bryant.“Thank you,” Bryant said, with a smile spreading on his face.Russell told Bryant that when he watches games he tries to understand what certain players’ agendas are in those games, and then see how well they were able to carry out their plan.“Me too,” Bryant said, eagerly. “But I got that because I read your book.”The two shared a laugh and then Russell told Bryant he was as proud of him as if he were his own son. Bryant thanked him again and they embraced.Years later, Bryant said that Russell had become a mentor for him, that he simply picked up the phone to call and ask for Russell’s advice.On Jan. 26, 2020, Bryant died in a helicopter crash with his daughter Gianna and seven other people. The Lakers and Celtics played each other in Los Angeles a few weeks after the crash. Russell attended the game wearing a Lakers jersey — Bryant’s jersey — and a hat with Bryant’s initials stitched in purple inside a yellow heart.Their relationship transcended the bitter Lakers-Celtics rivalry just as Russell’s relationship with West did.He also shared a special bond with Kevin Garnett, who in 2008 took the Celtics to their first N.B.A. finals since 1987. Garnett started his career with the Minnesota Timberwolves, but was traded to the Celtics in 2007.“You’re my favorite player to watch; you never disappoint me,” Russell told Garnett in an arena hallway during that season. ESPN aired the footage in 2008 before an interview between Russell and Garnett.“You crack so many jokes,” Garnett said. “I don’t know if that’s real or not.”“No, it’s real,” Russell replied, as Garnett’s laughter turned serious. “And you never disappointed me. And you finally got in the right uniform.”The clip then showed an interview between Russell and Garnett. They sat in chairs across from each other, beside a backdrop of Celtics memorabilia.“I think that you’re going to win at least two or three championships here,” Russell said. “And if you don’t but I see you play the way you should play, I’ll share one of mine with you.” He added: “If you play the way you play and you dedicate yourself to doing it, they will come.”Later in the conversation, Russell gave Garnett a similar message to the one he gave Bryant.“I couldn’t be any more proud of you than I am of my own kids,” Russell said.Russell and Garnett looked at each other meaningfully. It was hard to tell exactly behind his square cut glasses, but Russell’s eyes seemed to moisten as he spoke to Garnett.He ended with a joke about how Garnett’s No. 5 was close to No. 6, his own number, and then laughed, his voice booming, raspy and bubbly all at once — a laugh few who had heard it could ever forget. More

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      Bill Russell Paved the Way for Black Coaches to Defy Doubters

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      When getting hired as a Black coach seemed “far-fetched,” as one coach said, Russell showed that it could be done — and that it could lead to championships.Bill Russell and Red Auerbach came to an agreement.Auerbach, the longtime Boston Celtics coach, had confided in Russell that he planned to retire from coaching. Russell and Auerbach had created a dynasty together, with Russell dominating at center and Auerbach cementing their championship victories with plumes of celebratory cigar smoke.They would each write down their top-five preferred coaches to succeed Auerbach and consider any name who landed on both lists.They found no matches. Auerbach had already approached Russell about taking over the job and continuing on as a player, but Russell, who had witnessed the toll coaching took on Auerbach, quickly rebuffed him.Now, after the lists crisscrossed candidates, Russell reconsidered his position and figured nobody else, beyond Auerbach, could coach Bill Russell quite like Bill Russell.“When Red and I had started to discuss my becoming coach, there were some things we didn’t have to say,” Russell wrote in his book about his friendship with Auerbach, “Red and Me: My Coach, My Lifelong Friend,” in 2009. “For example, when I was finally named publicly, I didn’t know that I had just become the first African American coach in the history of major league sports.”It was 1966, and the distinction did not cross his mind until Boston news media members informed him. “When I took the job, one reporter wrote seven articles focusing on why I shouldn’t be coaching the Celtics,” Russell wrote.Russell, who died Sunday at 88, would go on to win two championships as the head coach of the Celtics, his 10th and 11th championship rings. He would also coach the Seattle SuperSonics and the Sacramento Kings and inspire a generation of Black players to try their hand at coaching, too. The skepticism that accompanied his hiring in Boston is perhaps less of an issue now, but still a factor in whether Black people are hired to coach in the N.B.A. today. Bernie Bickerstaff, who is Black, watched Russell take over as head coach of the Celtics just as he was about to enter into a life of coaching. He began as an assistant at the University of San Diego under Phil Woolpert, who had coached Russell at the University of San Francisco.Bernie Bickerstaff, who has been the head coach of five N.B.A. teams, said he was inspired by Bill Russell.Photo by Jeff Gross/Getty Images“At that time, you didn’t think about anything like that,” said Bickerstaff, who became the coach of the SuperSonics in 1985. “In fact, if you’re sitting back and you’re a young Black at that time, it seemed far-fetched.”Russell, the coach, mimicked Russell the player. He was a longtime civil rights activist who coached the Celtics during the assassinations of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy. “It rubbed a lot of Bostonians the wrong way,” Russell wrote in his 2009 book. “At the time, Boston was a totally segregated city — and I vehemently opposed segregation.”He demanded respect and competed fiercely during an era when he had no assistant coaches. He played and coached the Celtics for three seasons before closing out the N.B.A.’s most successful and long-lasting championship reign.“That speaks volumes in itself for who he was as a person and a humanitarian, if you understand the culture of this country, especially in certain places,” said Jim Cleamons, who is Black and became the coach of the Dallas Mavericks in 1996.Al Attles and Lenny Wilkens followed Russell as the next Black N.B.A. head coaches. They, like Russell, led teams to championships. It took a while for the rest of the professional sports world to catch up. Frank Robinson, Russell’s former high school basketball teammate, became Major League Baseball’s first Black manager, in Cleveland, in 1975. Art Shell became the N.F.L.’s first Black head coach in the modern era for the Oakland Raiders in 1989.“Bill Russell was an inspiration, period, with coaching,” Bickerstaff said. “But as a human being, during times when it wasn’t popular to be someone of our complexion, he stood up and he represented. He had no fear. He was genuine. He was a success. He was a leader on and off the court.”Russell became the fifth person inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame as a player and a coach when he earned enshrinement as a coach last year.Jim Cleamons was the head coach of the Dallas Mavericks across two seasons in the 1990s. Tim Clayton for The New York TimesBy then, something that seemed far-fetched when Bickerstaff broke into coaching seemed common. Half of the N.B.A.’s 30 coaches will be Black heading into the 2022-23 season, including J.B. Bickerstaff, Bernie’s son and the coach of the Cleveland Cavaliers.But as recently as 2020, only four Black coaches roamed N.B.A. sidelines. “There is a certain natural ebb and flow to the hiring and firing, frankly, of coaches, but the number is too low right now,” N.B.A. Commissioner Adam Silver said before the 2020 finals.Other sports leagues continued to lag. Nearly two decades after Russell won his first championship as a coach, Al Campanis, a Los Angeles Dodgers executive, expressed doubt about the ability of Black people to hold managerial level positions.“I don’t believe it’s prejudice,” Campanis said in an interview on ABC’s “Nightline” in 1987. “I truly believe that they may not have some of the necessities to be, let’s say, a field manager, or perhaps a general manager.”M.L.B. recently commemorated the 75th anniversary of Jackie Robinson’s major league debut, yet only two of its current managers — Houston’s Dusty Baker and the Dodgers’ Dave Roberts — are Black.In the N.F.L., Brian Flores, the former coach of the Miami Dolphins, recently sued the league over discriminatory hiring practices. Flores is the son of Honduran immigrants. The N.F.L. created a diversity advisory committee and mandated that every team hire a minority offensive coach after Flores’s suit.Russell did not talk often about being the first Black coach in a major sports league. But after his hiring, he felt the stress that awaited him as the “the first Negro coach,” as he wrote in his book.The hope of his relationship with Auerbach evolving from a superficial coach-player bond into a deeper friendship comforted him.“So I started looking forward to that,” he wrote.Russell left the Celtics in 1969 but took over the SuperSonics from 1973 until 1977. He guided Seattle to the franchise’s first-ever playoffs, but the success he found in Boston eluded him.Russell coached a final season with the Sacramento Kings in 1987-88 before he was fired and moved into the front office after a 17-41 start.J.B. Bickerstaff, Bernie Bickerstaff’s son, has coached the Cleveland Cavaliers since 2020. He’s one of 15 Black coaches in the N.B.A.Photo by John Fisher/Getty Images“With a lot of truly great players, it was tough for him to understand why regular players did not have the same drive, focus and commitment to winning that he did,” Jerry Reynolds, an assistant for Russell on the Kings, said in an interview Sunday. “There’s just not very many people wired like that. That’s why they’re great. In some ways, it was hard for him to understand that. Most of the guys, they wanted to win. They didn’t have the need to win every game like him.”All along, Russell remained true to who he was while coaching.Bickerstaff recalled Russell offering a set of golf clubs to one of Woolpert’s sons instead of signing an autograph for him — an act that Russell was known to steadfastly refuse throughout his career.Cleamons said that a booster introduced his high school team to Russell shortly after it had won the Ohio state championship. Russell hardly looked up from his soup. He hated to be interrupted from a meal.Cleamons understood the mind-set after reading Russell’s autobiography.Before being thought of as a basketball player, before being looked upon as a coach, Russell wanted to be viewed as a human being.“He was a little bit like Muhammad Ali,” Reynolds said. “He was always who he was. Society and people changed. Things changed to fit more like it should have been all along.” More

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      Among Pro Athletes, Bill Russell Was a Pioneering Activist

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      Russell marched with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., spoke out against segregation in Boston public schools and backed Muhammad Ali in his opposition to the Vietnam War.It’s easy to remember the shots that Bill Russell blocked or the N.B.A. championships he won. After all, there were so many of each that he is considered one of the greatest basketball players in history, and in some corners, the greatest, period.But after his nearly nine decades of life, his most consequential legacy has less to do with the sport he dominated than his work off the court. From the time he was a young man to his death at age 88 on Sunday, Russell was a civil rights activist who consistently used his platform as a celebrity athlete to confront racism, no matter whom it alienated or what it did to his public popularity. And he was one of the first to do so.Now, it is common for athletes across many sports to be outspoken, no doubt inspired by Russell. The N.B.A. players’ union encourages its members to be passionate about their politics, especially around social justice. Without Russell’s risking his own livelihood and enduring the cruelties he did as a Black player in the segregated Boston of the 1950s and 1960s, athlete activism would look much different today, if it existed at all.“The blueprint was written by Russell,” the Rev. Al Sharpton said in an interview on Sunday. He continued: “It is now trendy on social media to take a stand. He did it when it was not trendy. He set the trend.”Spike Lee, the director and longtime N.B.A. fan, said in a text message, “We are losing so many greats my head is spinning.”Lee said Russell “is right up there with Jackie Robinson as changing the game in sports and activism in the United States of America, and we are all better because of these champions.”Russell, a native of West Monroe, La., was a trailblazer from the moment he set foot on an N.B.A. court.“My rookie year, in the championship series, I was the only Black player for both teams,” Russell once quipped to an audience while accepting an award in Boston. “And see what we did, we showed them diversity works.”Russell marched with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963 in the prime of his playing career (he played for the Celtics from 1956 to 1969). He was invited to sit onstage behind King, but he declined. That same year, Russell offered his public support for demonstrations against segregation in Boston public schools, and addressed Black students taking part in a sit-in.When the civil rights leader Medgar Evers was assassinated, also in 1963, Russell contacted Evers’s older brother, Charles, in Jackson, Miss., and offered his assistance. The elder Evers suggested that Russell run an integrated basketball camp in the Deep South, something that would have been a significant safety risk for Russell. He said yes, and despite the death threats, went through with the camp.Russell, with Kenneth Guscott, left, and Marvin Gilmore, right, spoke at NAACP headquarters in 1964. Hal Sweeney/The Boston Globe via Getty ImagesFour years later, when the boxer Muhammad Ali was faced with a torrent of criticism for refusing to fight in the Vietnam War, Russell, the N.F.L. star Jim Brown and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (then known as Lew Alcindor and still playing at U.C.L.A.) gathered in Cleveland and decided to support Ali. This was not a popular stance, not that Russell cared.Russell wrote immediately afterward that he was envious of Ali.“He has absolute and sincere faith,” Russell wrote for Sports Illustrated. “I’m not worried about Muhammad Ali. He is better equipped than anyone I know to withstand the trials in store for him. What I’m worried about is the rest of us.”Russell’s activism made an impact on generations of athletes. That included Spencer Haywood, who played for Russell as a member of the Seattle SuperSonics, whom Russell coached for four seasons. (In 1966, Russell became the first Black coach in the N.B.A.)Haywood said in an interview on Sunday that he and Russell would often dine at a Seattle restaurant called 13 Coins after road trips, and Russell would regale him with stories about the civil rights movement. During these dinners, Russell lauded the young player’s willingness to sue the N.B.A. in 1971 for not allowing players to enter the league until four years after their high school graduation — a case that went to the U.S. Supreme Court and was eventually decided in Haywood’s favor.“He was teaching me because he knew what I had stood up for with my Supreme Court ruling,” Haywood said. “And he admired that in me. And I was so overwhelmed by him knowing.”Haywood said his teammates would jokingly refer to Russell as Haywood’s “daddy” because of how close they were. Sometimes, Haywood’s late-night talks with Russell came with surprising advice about activism.“He always used to tell me about not getting too carried away because we were in the ’70s,” Haywood recalled. “He was kind of guiding me, saying: ‘Don’t go out too far right now because you are a player and you need to play the game. But you’ve made one stand and you did great in that, but don’t go too far.’ He was, like, giving me a guardrail.”Russell never feared going too far as a player activist himself. He wasn’t deterred by the racist taunts he absorbed at games, or when vandals broke into his home, spray-painted epithets on the wall and left feces on the bed after he moved his family to Reading, Mass. When he tried to move his family to a different house nearby, some residents of the mostly white neighborhood started a petition to keep him out.“I said then that I wasn’t scared of the kind of men who come in the dark of night,” Russell wrote for Slam magazine in 2020. “The fact is, I’ve never found fear to be useful.”He didn’t always have the support of his teammates. In 1961, for example, the Celtics traveled to Lexington, Ky., for an exhibition game against the St. Louis Hawks. When the restaurant at the hotel would not serve the team’s Black players, Russell led a strike of the game. His white teammates played the game. Bob Cousy, one of Russell’s white teammates, told the writer Gary M. Pomerantz decades later for the 2018 book “The Last Pass: Cousy, the Celtics and What Matters in the End” that he was “ashamed” at having taken part in the game. President Barack Obama cited the 1961 story in giving Russell the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2011.“For decades, Bill endured insults and vandalism, but never let it stop him from speaking up for what’s right,” Obama said in a statement Sunday. “I learned so much from the way he played, the way he coached, and the way he lived his life.”Russell addressed a fundraiser for the Democratic National Committee in Boston in 2011.Mandel Ngan/Agence France-Presse — Getty ImagesThe activism didn’t stop as Russell got older. In recent years, Russell has been a public supporter of the Black Lives Matter movement and Colin Kaepernick, the former N.F.L. quarterback who began kneeling during the national anthem to protest police brutality in 2016.“Bill Russell was a pioneer,” Etan Thomas, a former N.B.A. player and political activist, said in a text message Sunday. Thomas said Russell was “an athlete who used his position and platform to stand up for a bigger cause.” He added that “he was the type of athlete I wanted to be like when I grew up.”Russell’s influence in leading the 1961 strike could be felt in 2020, when the Milwaukee Bucks refused to play a playoff game as a protest of police brutality. On Twitter, Russell wrote that he was “moved by all the N.B.A. players for standing up for what is right.” In a piece for The Players’ Tribune weeks later, Russell wrote, “Black and Brown people are still fighting for justice, racists still hold the highest offices in the land.”Sharpton pointed to those actions as Russell’s legacy.“He did it before some of these guys were born,” Sharpton said. “And I think that what they need to understand is every time a basketball player or athlete puts a T-shirt on saying something about Trayvon or ‘I Am Trayvon’ or ‘Black Lives Matter’ or whatever they want to do — ‘Get your knee off my neck!’ — they may not know it, but they are doing the Bill Russell.” More

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      A Paean to the Gods (and Shammgods) of New York City Hoops

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      Some of the most memorable characters in New York basketball history gathered in Manhattan for a screening of the documentary film “NYC Point Gods,” a tribute to — well, to them.There is little left that defines New York City basketball, save for the Knicks’ eternal search for an impactful lead guard. It’s a search that has always been inflamed, exacerbated and magnified by the abundance of point guards bred by the city.There was the incandescent Pearl Washington, who rode a motorcycle and sometimes wore a fur to playground games, and whose tremendous dribbling for Syracuse destroyed Georgetown’s dominant full-court press in the Big East tournament.And God Shammgod, the worshiped Harlem guard who played a game within the game by offering the ball up to defenders with his right hand and then ripping it back with his left. The move, still replicated in N.B.A. games by Russell Westbrook and others, is known as the Shammgod.From them and others, New York point guards learned that moxie, flair and unimpeachable handles were just as important as the ability to initiate an offense. But the era that established the archetype of the New York point guard — pillared in the 1970s and 80s by Catholic schools that have since closed for lack of funding and playground courts that saw their rims removed during the Covid-19 pandemic — is gone.For a rare moment on Wednesday night, it was reanimated at a screening of “NYC Point Gods,” a feature-length Showtime documentary that pays homage to the guards who gave the city its rep. The film was produced by Kevin Durant and his business partner and agent, Rich Kleiman. Durant, a New York transplant, wore Dior as he doled out hugs to the documentary’s subjects. Kleiman, a native, gleamed in gold aviator glasses as he introduced the film to shouts from the audience that referred to him as Ace, as in Rothstein, the protagonist of the movie “Casino.”Durant and God Shammgod greet each other at the premiere.Theo Wargo/Getty ImagesThe venue was Manhattan West Plaza, a cathedral to the power of real estate development ordained into usefulness by a New York tradition: hoopers paying homage to hoopers.That term is an honorific that disregards professional status and statistics and can be conferred only by another hooper. It doesn’t matter if you had a 20-year N.B.A. career or if your best performances are now remembered only by basketball griots. There’s a reverence among hoopers. Did you make those who watched you play love the game as you did? Did you give the crowd an “I was there when” story?Outside the Midnight Theatre, camera flashes greeted Rafer Alston and Kenny Anderson, who walked the red carpet with his mom. Sabrina Ionescu, of the W.N.B.A.’s Liberty, sidled up for hugs with Nancy Lieberman and Niesha Butler. Jayson Tatum, of the Boston Celtics, deferentially cupped hands with Anderson as Paul Pierce spelled his name for a puzzled list-holding publicist.Once the film rolled, though, the guards’ trademark toughness washed away as they listened to each other’s stories. “It was very emotional, not just for myself, but, you know, I lived and witnessed those stories of the other guys and girls also,” said Mark Jackson, a former Knicks point guard who starred at St. John’s. Seated alongside his four children, he dabbed at his eyes as he heard Kenny Smith, a Queens-born retired N.B.A. champion, describe how Jackson’s smarts led him to a nearly 17-year pro career.Mark Jackson with his children.Amanda Westcott/ShowtimeAt its heart, “Point Gods” is the hoopers’ oral history of how the city created a lineage at the position. Shammgod developed his dribble because his gym teacher, Tiny Archibald, told him it would make him perpetually valuable to any team. Only by watching a V.H.S. mixtape compilation of point guard highlights called “Below the Rim” did he learn of Archibald’s previous work.That revelation drew a crack of laughter inside the screening, where, earlier, attendees jostled over seats and settled in with the shoulder-to-shoulder intimacy of the city’s bandbox parks. Dao-Yi Chow, a lauded fashion designer, sat near a far wall wearing Jackson’s Knicks jersey. Clark Kent, whose real name is Rodolfo Franklin and who goes by the Rucker Park-ian nickname “God’s Favorite DJ,” held down a back-row seat. Kent produced a chunk of Jay-Z’s debut “Reasonable Doubt,” which dropped in 1996, the year Jeff Van Gundy took over the Knicks.For his part, Jay-Z had welcomed Shammgod on a nearby rooftop patio before the screening. The rapper and mogul was a mainstay of Rucker Park’s Entertainer’s Basketball Classic in the early aughts, and his attempt to woo Kareem Reid from a rival’s team with a bag of cash is told by that rival, the rapper Fat Joe. The exact sum, rumored to be in the thousands, is bleeped out in the retelling as Joe recounts the Mafioso-style meeting he had with Reid to convince him not to jump ship. Reid, who had a cup of coffee with the N.B.A.’s Hornets in 2003, stayed.When the film showed LeBron James, Beyoncé and N.B.A. Commissioner David Stern (wearing Joe’s platinum and diamond chain) making summer pilgrimages to the park, a woman seated four rows from the screen yelped, “I was there,” “I was there,” “There too,” both tallying her attendance and bringing Harlem into the room.In another scene, the rapper Cam’ron — a Harlem native who played on several high school travel teams alongside some of the documentary’s subjects — explained that oohs and ahhs from the crowd were worth “five or six points” to a New York point guard.Cut to Anderson in a 1991 A.C.C. game. He’d been a high school legend at Archbishop Molloy in Queens, and New Yorkers who followed his career to Georgia Tech couldn’t wait to see him mix up Duke’s Bobby Hurley, who was notorious for his lax defense. The point guard cast hypes up what’s about to come, and Smith urges the director to pull the game footage up so he can narrate a grainy ESPN clip of the one-on-one clash.Kenny Anderson on the red carpet.Amanda Westcott/ShowtimeAnderson meets Hurley at the elbow, then takes his dribble behind his back and between his legs before gliding past a dazed Hurley for a floating layup. Unnoted was the fact that Duke won the game.Small matter. When it happened, only Dickie V’s hyperventilation on ESPN marked the moment as something special. “NYC Point Gods,” though, layered in the soundtrack of the hoopers who have told and retold the story as one of many chapters in their aggrandizing mythology.On film, though, Shammgod is awed. Stephon Marbury, who sported Anderson’s center-parted haircut in high school and followed him to Georgia Tech, leans into the retelling. The unscripted, ephemeral whoops from inside the screening, from N.B.A. stars and high school coaches and their playground peers, fell anew upon Anderson in the theater’s dark. More

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      NBA Campaign to Free Brittney Griner Is Mostly Low Key

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      Griner, the W.N.B.A. star, has been detained in Russia since February. The N.B.A., which founded the women’s league in 1996, has said it is working behind the scenes to help Griner.The N.B.A. is a $10 billion corporation that has the power and reach to promote not just its teams and players but to provoke discussion and debate around social issues. It has used that influence most prominently to fight racism in the United States.Yet when it has come to Brittney Griner, the W.N.B.A. star who has been detained in Russia since February, the N.B.A.’s teams have been mostly absent from the public campaign for her release. The N.B.A. founded the W.N.B.A. and still owns about half of it, but the N.B.A. has been relatively muted outside of news conferences as Griner’s family, her agent and the women’s league and its players have led the public push for her freedom. N.B.A. players have also shown support.Officials in both leagues said they had stayed quiet at first at the urging of U.S. government officials who worried that publicizing the case would backfire and jeopardize Griner even further. But even after the U.S. State Department said that it had determined she had been “wrongfully detained” and government officials began regularly speaking about Griner, the N.B.A. and team owners remained mostly quiet, fueling sentiments that the case has not gotten the kind of spotlight Griner’s supporters have demanded.N.B.A. Commissioner Adam Silver has said publicly that the league and its teams are using their influence and connections to help Griner in ways the public doesn’t see. It is difficult to say whether they are doing enough when even experts in diplomacy disagree on what “enough” would be or if public or private advocacy would be more effective.“There are no easy answers,” said Ian Bremmer, a political scientist who runs a political risk research and consulting firm. He added: “Could the N.B.A. have done more? Yes, they could have.”On the other hand, Bremmer said, pressure from the N.B.A. could prompt Russia to ask for more in a deal to release Griner. Experts have suggested that a prisoner swap could free Griner.“How you value all of those things depends on your perspective,” Bremmer said.Brittney Griner, right, the star center of the W.N.B.A.’s Phoenix Mercury, has been detained in Russia on drug charges since February. Her next court hearing is scheduled for Tuesday.Evgenia Novozhenina/ReutersThe N.B.A. players’ union said its members had been deeply concerned about Griner, and it pointed to players’ public shows of support at playoff games and award shows and on social media. Silver and W.N.B.A. Commissioner Cathy Engelbert have said that N.B.A. owners also care but have kept their advocacy out of the public eye. The New York Times contacted owners of all 30 N.B.A. teams — directly or through representatives — and none agreed to be interviewed about Griner.Through a spokesman, Silver declined to be interviewed for this article, but in a statement he reiterated his public comments that the league had been “actively engaged” with government officials and experts.“The N.B.A. and its teams are also using their influence to draw attention to Brittney’s situation, but ultimately this is a matter to be resolved by the United States government due to the serious and complex geopolitical issues at play,” Silver said in the statement.The nuance of the league’s position isn’t lost even on those who are most intimately aware of what it means to be wrongfully detained abroad. Consider Jason Rezaian, the Washington Post opinion writer who was detained in Iran for a year and a half on spurious charges and freed in a prisoner swap in 2016.He prepared to question Silver in June before the N.B.A. finals at a news conference, one of the few the commissioner gives in the season.“I wanted to put him on the spot,” Rezaian said of Silver. “‘As a corporation, what are you doing for this employee of yours?’”But before he got a chance, Silver beat him to it, saying that the N.B.A. and the W.N.B.A. were working with the U.S. government and outside experts to try to expedite Griner’s release. Rezaian said he thought that Silver’s remarks were forceful and that speaking about Griner before being asked had been smart.“I thought it was wonderful that the commissioner used that moment of arguably his biggest platform of the year, or one of them, to call attention to the case,” Rezaian said. “If he can do that then, three and a half months into her detention, he could have done it earlier.“But I know they were being advised against doing it earlier. I don’t blame anybody for that. There is not an official handbook to deal with what to do when your loved one or employee gets taken hostage by a hostile state.”Griner, 31, has been detained since Feb. 17 after Russian customs officials said they found hashish oil in a vape cartridge in her luggage at an airport near Moscow. Her trial began July 1, and she pleaded guilty on July 7. She said she did not intend to break the law as she traveled to play for a Russian women’s basketball team during the off-season from her W.N.B.A. team, the Phoenix Mercury.Her next hearing is scheduled for Tuesday. If she is formally convicted, which experts said had been likely even before she pleaded guilty, Griner could face up to 10 years in a penal colony. The U.S. State Department said it would work to negotiate her release regardless of the outcome of the trial.Her public support has remained strong, despite her guilty plea.“I get asked this question all the time — ‘Has the N.B.A. been helpful?’” Engelbert said. “Extremely helpful. We share a brand. We have N.B.A. after our name. N.B.A. team owners have reached out to me personally: ‘What can we do to help with Brittney?’”Engelbert said that an N.B.A. owner had connected her with the Special Presidential Envoy for Hostage Affairs, a unit of the State Department that handles the cases of Americans deemed wrongfully detained, even before Griner had been given that designation.Negotiations to secure the release of prisoners abroad are often conducted quietly. It is unclear what the N.B.A.’s role has been in applying pressure to government officials or assisting Griner’s family, but Engelbert said Silver had been personally involved in making phone calls to government officials on Griner’s behalf.By the time the State Department announced it had determined that Griner had been wrongfully detained, the W.N.B.A. season was about to begin, but just eight N.B.A. teams were still competing in the playoffs.“It takes a while to get to the realization that the person that you’re trying to influence is the president of the United States,” Rezaian said. “Because they’re the only one who’s in the position to make the kinds of concessions and decisions to make concessions that will free somebody.”He added later, “People come home when it becomes politically costly for a president for them not to come home.”The W.N.B.A.’s teams have honored Griner in many ways, including fund-raisers, court decals and T-shirts, and her family will still receive her full Mercury salary this season. Some N.B.A. players have spoken about her or worn clothing that drew attention to her detainment. The N.B.A.’s Phoenix Suns, who own the Mercury, added a decal to their court and have posted about Griner on their social media accounts, but few N.B.A. teams have made many vocal or public shows of support.Experts are divided on the impact of public pressure. Some believe it worsens Griner’s situation by giving the Russian government more leverage in negotiations. One Russian official said the publicity around her case was creating “interference” in making a deal.The Phoenix Suns included a decal with Griner’s No. 42 and her initials on their court during the playoffs. The Suns own the Mercury, which Griner has played for since 2013.Christian Petersen/Getty ImagesN.B.A. team owners have not been part of the public campaign. At a news conference during the summer league in Las Vegas this month, Silver said that Griner’s situation was not on the agenda during the league’s board of governors meeting but that individual owners had spoken to him about her.The Times then contacted at least one owner from each team. Eleven representatives declined on behalf of owners, including one who would not even pass on the request. One spokesman said the team’s owner was on vacation, and 16 teams did not respond. Two owners responded directly.“I can say that I have complete confidence that the N.B.A. and W.N.B.A. league offices are doing everything in their power,” Jeanie Buss, the controlling owner of the Los Angeles Lakers, said in a text message.The Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban declined to be interviewed but said by email, “I do hope she gets out soon.”Five N.B.A. teams — in Phoenix, Brooklyn, Indiana, Minnesota, and Washington, D.C. — own W.N.B.A. teams. Owners for those teams declined to comment, but each of those W.N.B.A. teams has publicly supported Griner.Engelbert said the N.B.A. had not asked team owners to avoid talking about Griner. She is part of the N.B.A.’s senior leadership team and reports to Silver.“The suggestion has been to support the administration and the State Department in the work that they’re doing in this complex situation to get Brittney home,” Engelbert said.Players have shown their support. During an N.B.A. players’ union meeting in May, Carmelo Anthony, a 10-time N.B.A. All-Star who spent last season with the Lakers, said the players should use the finals to highlight Griner.On June 2, the day of Silver’s N.B.A. finals news conference, Anthony posted a video on Twitter of himself discussing Griner. He has 9.2 million followers.“I wanted to use my voice to rally the basketball community,” Anthony said in a statement to The Times.At an N.B.A. finals practice two days after Anthony posted his video, nearly every member of the Boston Celtics wore a black T-shirt with orange lettering that said “We are BG.” Grant Williams, a Celtics forward and vice president of the players’ union, had the shirts shipped overnight for his teammates.Stephen Curry, second from right, a guard for the Golden State Warriors, honored Griner during the ESPY awards show on Wednesday alongside the W.N.B.A. stars Nneka Ogwumike, left, and Skylar Diggins-Smith, right.Mark Terrill/Invision, via Mark Terrill/Invision/ApStephen Curry and LeBron James, two of the N.B.A.’s biggest stars, have also spoken publicly about Griner.Tamika Tremaglio, the executive director of the N.B.A. players’ union, said she had been in contact with Terri Jackson, the executive director of the W.N.B.A.’s players’ union, since just after news broke of Griner’s detention about how N.B.A. players could help.When the N.B.A.’s union leaders met in Las Vegas this month, they asked for an update. Jackson, who was at the W.N.B.A. All-Star Game in Chicago, recorded a video that was shown to the N.B.A. players.“You could hear a pin drop,” Tremaglio said. “They were so pensive in terms of listening and hearing and understanding what was happening. It is something that we as a union also support the women. This is something we were critically concerned about, too.”Rezaian said public displays of support are important.During his 544-day detention in Iran, some of his most hopeful moments had come when he had heard that people were speaking about him, whether it was someone from The Washington Post or President Barack Obama.“That sort of thing just floods you with a sense of being alive and also of power,” Rezaian said. “The walls might be up around you, and you can’t break them down, but you’re still there. You still count. And people are doing what they can for you.” More

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      What it Takes to Be an NBA Head Coach

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      A weeklong camp helps professional basketball players learn what it takes to become a head coach. “I just know that I can’t play forever,” one attendee said.ORLANDO, Fla. — Justin Anderson was about to start his presentation at a white board in a mostly empty basketball gym when John Lucas III interrupted him.“Can I make a suggestion?” said Lucas, who spent the past year as an assistant coach with the Los Angeles Lakers. “You going to respect a coach with a backwards hat on?”“I mean, yeah. That’s me, right?” Anderson said, drawing a murmur of chuckles from the eight people gathered in folding chairs. Anderson, wearing a dark blue baseball cap, said he wasn’t trying to be funny.“Have you ever seen your coach wear a hat in practice?” Lucas said.“Nah, you right,” said Anderson, 28, a six-season N.B.A. veteran. He took off the hat.He turned back to the white board and started his presentation: a mock breakdown of the Phoenix Suns.At first, he seemed nervous.“We’ve got Phoenix tonight, fellas,” Anderson began, alternating between shuffling his hands and pointing at the white board, which had notes organized into sections like “Keys To Win.” “We don’t know what the status is of Chris Paul. He’s been out. If he’s out tonight, they’re going to probably insert Cam Payne. He’s been averaging, I believe, 16 over the last five.”Within the next couple of hours, Anderson and a group of current and former N.B.A. and W.N.B.A. players would be coaching the country’s best boys’ high school players at an annual camp run by the N.B.A. players’ union. For decades, this weeklong camp has served a dual purpose: to put a spotlight on top teenage prospects for scouts and to provide a training program for players eyeing coaching as a future career.John Lucas III, right, has run the coaching camp for several years. He said a core tenet of professional coaching is “being able to deal with egos.”Jacob Langston for The New York TimesBoston Celtics Coach Ime Udoka, New Orleans Pelicans Coach Willie Green and Jerry Stackhouse, who coaches the Vanderbilt University men’s basketball team, have attended the camp.This year’s coaching group included one player from the W.N.B.A.:Marie Ferdinand-Harris, a retired three-time All-Star. The N.B.A. players ranged from those who had brief careers, like Peyton Siva, who appeared in 24 games for the Orlando Magic in 2013-14, to the more established, such as Rodney Hood, who has been in the N.B.A. since 2014.“I just know that I can’t play forever. I dealt with a serious injury when I tore my Achilles’,” Hood, 29, said, referring to a 2019 tendon injury. “Just understanding that, I did a lot of thinking about what I’m going to do after basketball, and I want to stay involved with the game.”For Ferdinand-Harris, 43, the camp was a test drive to see if she enjoyed coaching.“Right now, the move is more women involvement, and not just in the women’s side of basketball but also in the men’s side,” she said. “They’re looking for qualified women to step into roles.”The camp began the night before Anderson’s whiteboard presentation. Lucas, who played for six N.B.A. teams, has run the coaching program for the last three years after participating as a player for eight. His father, John Lucas Jr., has held coaching roles in the N.B.A. since the early 1990s and helps scout players for this camp. The younger Lucas, 39, assigned each coaching attendee a team to scout and discuss. There also was a video conference call with David Fizdale, who has experience as an assistant and head coach in the N.B.A.A core tenet of professional coaching, Lucas said, is “being able to deal with egos.” How to handle a superstar player who demands that you use a challenge. The importance of making eye contact when addressing your team. When to use profanity. When not to.Marie Ferdinand-Harris, center, was a three-time All-Star in the W.N.B.A. With the push to have more women in coaching roles, she said she wanted to try it out.Jacob Langston for The New York Times“You have to be able to deal with everybody on that team that has been the man on their team before — their whole lives,” he said. “How can you get these 15 guys to buy into a system and to work as a unit?”Anderson took note of the lessons about superstars.“I’ve been around the humblest of superstars like Dirk Nowitzki,” he said. “I’ve been around a lot of guys who are maybe a little bit more needy. But I think the biggest thing that stuck out to me was once you’re done being a player, it starts all over again. It goes back to level one and you have to almost build your résumé up again.”The N.B.A. has long been criticized for how few Black coaches it often has, despite having mostly Black players. The tally fluctuates, but currently 15 of the 30 head coaches are Black — the most ever — and Miami’s Erik Spoelstra is of Filipino descent. Two years ago, the number of nonwhite coaches was only seven. The coaching camp can help Black players in particular get noticed for jobs, but it’s no guarantee.Often, former players are hired as player development coaches — if they’re hired at all — and don’t get to have significant input on tactics.“I started as a player development coach,” Lucas said. “And I was put in those positions: ‘Go talk to this person. Go talk to that person. What’s going on? Why is he acting like this? Oh, can you still play? Jump on the court. Now we need you five on five. Three on three. Four on four.’ So they still see you as a player, but it’s on you to take yourself out of that.”Lucas talked to the camp group about ascending the coaching ranks.“Would you take a $25,000 job?” Lucas said. “Because that’s what video guys get.”“So, why do they come at us with that?” said Jawad Williams, who played abroad and in 90 N.B.A. games with Cleveland from 2008 to 2011.“Because it’s their way of being like, ‘Do you really want it?’” Lucas said. “You see what I’m saying? Like, you just got done probably making $500,000.”“I’ve gotten multiple calls like that,” Williams, 39, said. “I’m not doing that. I can do it.”Williams said he had been a scout for several N.B.A. teams. “But they still come at you: ‘We’ve got this entry level video coordinator or internship,’” he said.The coaching camp helps pros learn how to think like coaches — which means being able to criticize other players.Jacob Langston for The New York Times“That’s their way of hazing you,” Lucas said, as several players nodded. “You start all over.”Lucas said players should consider money and team culture when deciding whether to take a job. Then some of the players offered their insight. Siva, who played under Rick Pitino at the University of Louisville, said that Pitino would be the last coach he would call for a job.“I know his system. I can tell anybody who plays for him. I can tell you everything he’s going to say,” Siva said. “But as a culture, I know me as a person. I wouldn’t handle it now as an employee of his. I know what hours he wants his coaches in. I know the work he expects.”Lucas also talked about the importance of being honest with players. He asked Hood if a point guard he had played with had an ego. Hood said the guard was a good teammate.“I know that’s your boy,” Lucas said. “You’re a coach now. I caught you. You don’t want to throw anybody under the bus. You’re still a player. See how I got you?”Hood acknowledged that this teammate occasionally did “dumb stuff,” using a different word than “stuff.”At the end of the camp, Lucas leads mock interviews, acting as a head coach hiring assistants. The transition to coach from player can be challenging in many ways, but Lucas offered a simple piece of advice.“Just be you,” Lucas said. “The worst thing I see in coaches is they try to mimic somebody else.” He added, “Where’s your voice at?”Just don’t wear a baseball cap. More

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      Glimpses of Brittney Griner Show a Complicated Path to Release

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      The W.N.B.A. star’s appearances this week during her trial on drug charges in Russia highlighted the unclear path to her release and heightened her supporters’ concerns for her safety.One hundred forty-one days.That is how long Brittney Griner has been behind bars in Russia. That is how long she has been stuck in the middle of a high-stakes staredown between the United States and Russia at exactly the wrong time, as President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia continues his horrendous invasion of Ukraine and echoes the return of the Cold War.One hundred forty-one days. That is how long Griner has been in limbo.What terrible uncertainty and fear she must feel, facing a decade in a Russian prison if she is convicted. Griner captured that emotion in her recent letter to President Biden. “I’m terrified I might be here forever,” she wrote. She added, “Please don’t forget about me.”The seven-time All-Star center for the W.N.B.A.’s Phoenix Mercury pleaded guilty on Thursday, admitting wrong doing. In so many words, Griner and her lawyer said her troubles began with a mistake: She was readying quickly for her flight to Russia in February and inadvertently packed the smoking cartridges with the small amounts of hashish oil — less than a single gram, according to prosecutors. She said she had no intention of breaking Russian law.Experts say a guilty verdict was a foregone conclusion in a Russian legal system entirely stacked against defendants. Griner may have chosen not to fight a battle she could not win, helping speed her case to a conclusion.We don’t know right now. The Mercury center’s teammates, supporters and wife, Cherelle Griner, have not been able to speak with her directly. With the war in Ukraine, all we in America have seen or heard from Griner has been from appearances at a Moscow-area courtroom that she has attended in handcuffs.Uncertainty and complication hover over this awful affair. Russian media outlets have claimed that talks of a possible prisoner exchange are already underway, though U.S. officials have not confirmed this. One floated swap would include Russian national Viktor Bout, who has been imprisoned in the United States since 2012 on a 25-year sentence for conspiring to sell weapons to people who said they planned to kill Americans. During his sentencing, prosecutors called Bout “among the world’s most successful and sophisticated arms traffickers.” He is known as the Merchant of Death.That lopsided prospective deal shows the difficulty of negotiating Griner’s release. Would it be a balanced exchange to swap a basketball star who carried hashish oil into Russia for a man found guilty of participating in an international plot against Americans?Paul Whelan, another American being held in Russia, has served two years of a 16-year sentence on espionage charges that he has denied. Is it fair to push for Griner’s release before Whelan’s? Should the United States negotiate for him to be included in a deal, even if doing so delays both their releases?Paul Whelan, a former U.S. Marine accused of spying and arrested in Russia, inside a defendants’ cage during a court hearing in Moscow in 2019.Kirill Kudryavtsev/Agence France-Presse — Getty ImagesComplicating matters further are issues of race, gender and sexuality.Griner is tattooed, dreadlocked, Black and three inches shy of seven feet tall. She does not conform to broadly accepted gender stereotypes. She is married to a woman and is an outspoken L.G.B.T.Q. activist. Putin has a well-documented disdain for L.G.B.T.Q. people, which only heightens her supporters’ fears for her well-being.Her appearance, sexuality and outspokenness mean that the contempt for Griner is just as thick in some quarters of the United States. That makes it fair to wonder if the outrage from American citizens would be louder and more pervasive if Griner were a male star athlete who fit neatly into a traditionally accepted role.“If it was LeBron, he’d be home, right?” said Vanessa Nygaard, Griner’s coach with the Mercury. “It’s a statement about the value of women. It’s a statement about the value of a Black person. It’s a statement about the value of a gay person.”Nygaard may be right. Male athletes are the beneficiaries of a sports ecosystem in which their leagues garner more TV time, their endorsements generate more money and their accomplishments are more loudly lauded. If this were James in custody — or Stephen Curry or Tom Brady — it stands to reason that their fame would push a more fervent mainstream call for release than has been the case for Griner.On the other hand, imagine what Russia would be asking in return for LeBron James: The ransom would probably far exceed a single arms dealer languishing in an American prison, especially given the tension between Biden and Putin.If this were James in custody, well, a whole lot more than a few hundred people would have shown up to rally for his release. On Wednesday, an estimated 300 people gathered at the Mercury’s arena, Phoenix’s Footprint Center, to show their support for Griner. The building seats 17,000.Supporters held up signs reading “Bring Brittney Home” during a rally to support Griner.Christian Petersen/Getty ImagesI visited the arena in April for a Mercury preseason game and was surprised by the muted acknowledgment of Griner in a city where she has given so much. Known as B.G., she helped lead the Mercury to a W.N.B.A. title in 2014 but is as admired there for helping the homeless and championing L.G.B.T.Q. rights. Local sports-radio announcers hardly mentioned her, instead going on and on about the Phoenix Suns’ competing in the N.B.A. playoffs.At the time, Griner’s Mercury teammates were following the lead of her advisers, who had decided to stay low-key and not raise a ruckus that might draw Putin’s ire. It was clear the players wanted to be more forthright. As they spoke of how much they loved their teammate and followed the advised path, the fierceness and pain in their eyes showed me that they wanted to say more.The approach flipped a few weeks later when the U.S. State Department declared that Griner had been “wrongfully detained.” The league and its players began to roar — the same as they often do on pressing social issues. Teams paid tribute to Griner by pasting her initials on home courts leaguewide. Over social media, in news conferences and interviews, players demanded that Biden and the White House do whatever was needed to bring her home.“Free B.G.,” said DeWanna Bonner, of the W.N.B.A.’s Connecticut Sun, speaking to the press. “We are B.G. We love B.G. Free her.”The N.B.A. joined the chorus. Players wore “We are B.G.” T-shirts to practices held during the N.B.A. finals. James, Curry and many other stars spoke out, demanding her release. Athletes from other sports joined in. After Griner’s guilty plea on Thursday, Megan Rapinoe, the outspoken star of the U.S. women’s soccer team, wore a white jacket with Griner’s initials stitched into her lapel as she received the Presidential Medal of Freedom.What a roller coaster of strategy and emotion. Thursday’s hearing brought another searing twist, seeing Griner there in court, begging for mercy.“This situation with B.G., it’s hard for everybody on our team,” Nygaard said before Thursday night’s home game against the Liberty.The court hearing and admission of guilt. The images of Griner, hands bound, eyes wide, surrounded by Russian police.“When your friend is in danger,” Nygaard added, and that friend is saying “that they’re scared, those things are hard to get away from.”One hundred forty-one days, and counting.Brittney Griner is far from home, and we do not know when she will be set free. More