Leigh Montville - Tall Men, Short Shorts: The 1969 NBA Finals: Wilt, Russ, Lakers, Celtics, and a Very Young Sports Reporter

I wrote much of this book during the 2020 NBA playoffs. It was an odd process. At night I watched the Los Angeles Lakers step-by-step journey to yet another title on television in what was called a bubble. The month was October, the time for baseball and football, not basketball. All games were played in an antiseptic gymnasium next to an amusement park in Orlando, Florida. By day, I spent my time in another bubble, 1969, where it was spring and the Lakers were trying to win their very first title in Los Angeles.

All games were not played in an antiseptic gymnasium next to an amusement park in Orlando, Florida.

There were fans in my bubble.

There was actual noise.

Loud noise much of the time.

An organistJohn Kiley in Boston, Gaylord Carter in Los Angelesplayed music during the timeouts.

Hot dogs were sold.

Beer.

Yes, there were tall men.

Bill Russell.

Wilt Chamberlain.

Jerry West.

John Havlicek.

Elgin Baylor.

Yes, there were short shorts.

Canvas sneakers.

No instant replays.

No commercial breaks.

Big stories.

Little stories.

Injuries.

Details.

Interviews.

Phone calls from phone booths.

Cigarettes.

Basketball.

Basketball.

Basketball.

I spent time in buildings that no longer exist.

I worked with people who no longer are alive.

I traveled across the country, back and forth, on airplanes.

I ate in restaurants.

I drank in bars.

I talked to friends, sometimes late into the night.

I rode in cabs.

I talked to strangers, some of them famous, face-to-face.

I bought three newspapers every day, first thing in the morning, read them with a tactical and discerning eye, looked for news I had not heard. Worried. Analyzed.

I went to the games.

Yes, I did.

I pushed through crowds.

I shoved.

I stayed up late.

I woke up early. (West Coast time.)

I stood in lines, everybody close together.

I hustled.

The rush of it all, the colors, the emotions, the deadlines, the locker rooms, the quotes, the typing, the worry, worry, worry.

My heart sometimes seemed as if it was going to explode.

I was young.

I was younger than I thought I was.

I was 100 percent alive.

The games at night on television from the 2020 bubble were very good, interesting, congratulations to everyone involved, but they seemed to be played in a laboratory or on a space ship circling the moon. I looked at the big NBA logo on the Disney World hardwood floor, the most familiar figure in the production, appreciated the talents on display, acknowledged the resultscongratulations to L.A.and the next day, very early, returned to the other bubble in my notes, in my memory, in my mind.

Hello, Wilt.

Hello, Bill.

Hello, Jerry.

Nobody had to wear a mask.