Let's Give Oscar Robertson His Flowers

Russell Westbrook’s season-long pursuit of, and finally setting the NBA’s career triple-double record brought Oscar Robertson’s name back into the headlines — albeit as a footnote.

Big O deserves better. This moment in time in particular presents an opportunity to truly sing his praises and detail to new fans or the unfamiliar with his place in the game’s history.

Growing up, my dad talked a lot about basketball’s stars of the ‘60 and ‘70s — players like George Gervin, David Thompson and Julius Erving, who he saw play live in the ABA as an early-days San Antonio Spurs fan.

As a child of the ‘90s following Michael Jordan’s ascent, and the Greatest Of All Time conversation started to form around him in earnest, I heard my dad say often that Oscar Robertson was the greatest he’d ever seen.

He cited Robertson’s triple-doubles, including his 30.8-point, 12.5-rebound, (league-leading) 11.4-assist season-long average, as well Big O leading the NBA in assists as many times as he averaged 30-plus points per game at six.

In a time before YouTube, dad’s recounting of Robertson’s greatness was the only exposure I had. Robertson attained a mythical quality to me as a result, like a Basketball Paul Bunyan.

Gaining access to footage in the Internet Age could have been an understandable disappointment, but actually seeing Robertson in action solidified my appreciation for him.

NBA fan and media culture today treats anyone who retired before about 2010 like a joke, dismissive of their accomplishments because they refuse to view the game beyond the lens of now.

For one thing, I think it’s silly to assume the best players of yesteryear — players like Robertson, Wilt Chamberlain, Bill Russell, Doc, Iceman — couldn’t translate today because they wouldn’t adapt their style or have access to the same resources that have changed basketball.

Second, what these GOAT conversations fail to contextualize is how these transcendent players shaped the evolution of the game in their own time.

On Saturday night, when Westbrook tied Robertson’s triple-double record, Pacers color commentator Quinn Buckner provided some fascinating context that both explained the modern triple-double boom, and makes Robertson recording 181 of them all the more impressive: Until only recently, the NBA was a game focused on the paint.

Before the advent of the 3-point shot, and even for the first couple decades after the NBA repurposed it from the ABA, shots taken from beyond about 18 feet were considered too low-percentage to take frequently. Thus, misses came off the rim with less momentum and fell off in the paint where the tallest players had an advantage among the mass of bodies.

A more perimeter-oriented game, with emphasis on 3-pointers and teams playing four and sometimes five outside, has democratized rebounding for guards. Robertson was a game-changer in his era as a point guard who crashed the boards among the trees.

And while Robertson was playing against lesser skilled players than today’s, his record standing for almost a half-century begs the question: If the greats who followed him were so much better…why did it take 47 years for someone to catch Big O?

That Westbrook finally matched the record in Indianapolis is poetic. Robertson’s basketball star began to rise there as the captain of an Indiana high school team much more worthy of a beloved film than its predecessors from Hickory: Crispus Attucks.

Robertson’s column on Hoosier Hysteria and what’s the most historical championship of Big O’s illustrious career is worth a read.

Speaking of championships, the RIIIIIIINGS narrative has existed for as long as I’ve followed basketball.

I vaguely remember Jordan’s first championship and the talk of MJ lifting a burden by finally winning the Finals. He’d been in the NBA six years at that point.

It’s only grown more pervasive in the decades since with the proliferation of empty-calorie sports media, but even as a kid I remember countering my dad on one occasion with: Well, if he’s so great, why did Oscar only win one NBA championship?

Well, long before the Maloofs demonstrated how it would go if Barstool Sports ever owned an NBA franchise, the organization known today as the Sacramento Kings were already a well-established mess.

The Rochester Royals — one of the few NBL franchises to successfully cross over into the BAA (today’s NBA) — were in such dire straits that they moved to Cincinnati just six years after winning a championship.

The ‘51 Rochester title is a rare bright spot in the organization’s history, along with the window of Chris Webber, Mike Bibby and Peja Stojakovic in Sacramento at the turn of the millennium and Robertson’s tenure in Cincinnati. The less written about the Kansas City and Omaha eras, the better.

The Cincinnati Royals of the 1960s enjoyed the longest sustained run of success in franchise history with Robertson running the show. His and the organization’s lack of championships during that time was the result of Celtics and Lakers dynasties that monopolized the landscape.

And while Boston and Los Angeles were well-run organizations dedicated to winning, Cincinnati was a mess with changing ownership and assorted poor decisions squandering a legendary player’s peak.

Robertson immediately winning a title upon his move to Milwaukee at the tail-end of his career frees him from the stigma that plagues other legends like Charles Barkley and Patrick Ewing. Around the same time, Robertson was integral in transforming the NBA off the court.

A star at the University of Cincinnati, Big O won three National Player of the Year awards and brought the Bearcats to the doorstep of the NCAA championship. Any NBA organization could have built around him, but Robertson remained in Cincinnati through the territorial pick.

College basketball was more popular than the NBA in the league’s first few decades, so the territorial pick allowed organizations to keep a local NCAA star in the fold to attract the school’s fan base.

If you think the modern draft process is restrictive, it pales in comparison to the territorial pick era, which also limited player movement during their careers.

Oscar Robertson’s antitrust lawsuit against the NBA, filed in 1970 on behalf of the Players Association, gave players unprecedented agency in their own careers. His union work was as transformative as his play.

Debating Greatest Ever is a fruitless and impossible endeavor, but it’s completely within reason to deem Oscar Robertson among the most important figures in basketball history. Using his current relevance to expose his contributions to a new generation is the least that can be done.