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Red Auerbach died tonight. I always thought the piratical old SOB would outlive me and everything else except the cockroaches.

Auerbach was one of the few people in sports or any line of work besides science who could be labeled a genius without God laughing. He was one of the five best basketball coaches to ever live. He was the top professional sports executive of all time. Here was a man whose supreme professional triumph was kicking himself upstairs. Auerbach promoted himself to GM so Bill Russell could be the first black coach in any sport. He knew his star wouldn't walk away from that assignment.

It's unusual form for an obit to dwell on the departed's flaws. But Auerbach's flaws and Auerbach's virtues were so mixed together, it's impossible to serve truth without doing so.

Auerbach flat out lied to the Herald the night Len Bias died so that his buddy Will McDonough could have an exclusive. It was worth it to Red to have yet another big favor in Will's bank. A couple of old pros, those two, something both good and bad in both.

Auerbach saw everyone as someone to be used in the pursuit of victory, profit, and fun. That's why his Celtics were the first team to put five black guys on the court and the last to put five white guys out there. What was black and white and Red all over? An Auerbach team.

The white man who did as much or more than Branch Rickey for racial justice in sports was a devout fan of sitcom character George Jefferson. No surprise. I can just imagine Auerbach thinking, "if only I were black, I could really bust the universe's balls."

Let's get personal. Auerbach taught me some valuable lessons. If you weren't a better reporter after covering him, you were hopeless.

Lesson Number One: This was after Bird retired and there was some issue I forget where the Celtics were a pre-game column. I found Red at the Garden and began asking what I foolishly thought were tough questions. One of them began with "some people say."

Auerbach interrupted, at which he excelled.

"Don't say that," Red said. "That's bullshit. You mean you. You say that. Don't hide. That means you think the question might be stupid."

I was dead. Everything Auerbach said was right. To this say, I've never used that formation again. Watch the talk shows this morning from Washington. Every time you hear a question phrased that way, and you will, there's a bullshit reporter.

Lesson Two: Game Four of the 1984 NBA Finals wasn't bad as such things go. The Celts won in OT, and in those dark days, teams didn't have their own jets. The Celtics were in a near-deserted wing of LAX, just like the weekly sportswriter.

Someone, I think Cedric Maxwell, found the open cafeteria. It was grim, and I wound up with the last dessert, a cup of lime Jello.

Behind me in the cashier's line, Auerbach reached over, took the Jello, and put it on the tray of the man behind him-Larry Bird.

"I'm gonna give this to Larry," Auerbach said, "because he was such a good boy tonight."

I didn't say squat. You try it. Bird had only had a 20-20. Only later did I realize Red WANTED me to object. He wanted a scene to amuse himself and his team, and he'd hoped I'd oblige. If he wanted Larry to have Jello, he'd have swiped it off Ordway's plate.

Auerbach was well aware I had been among the 76er fans who threw lit cigars at his head in 1967. I'd written about it, and he was one of the last sports celebs who read EVERYTHING. The Jello was a rematch. Would I object to two legends swiping a dessert I could do without? He sure would.

I didn't. Sorry I let you down Red. It's not like it's a unique event, getting beat by Auerbach.

Hero, liar, racial pioneer, cheapskate, a man I hated in youth and am weeping as I write his obit. Sports and the world are duller and poorer places this morning.

Oh, yeah, and if Mendy Rudolph thought eternity would be a peaceful place, he now realizes he was mistaken.

posted by Michael Gee @ 8:03 PM