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Elbow Ethics. Implicit in many such methods are tricks of the trade not exactly prescribed by the rules—and indeed N.B.A. officials are lenient of necessity. Admits one referee: "We don't call a foul unless the contact directly involves the play—except once in a while. If we called them all, we'd be blowing those damned whistles all night."
Given this leeway, rival centers struggle for position in their own private wrestling matches under the basket. Boston's barrel-chested Jim Loscutoff is respected for his skill at disconcerting a jump shooter by jabbing him in the ribs with a massive forefinger. New Boy Robertson is already an expert at putting a hand on his man's hip and swinging himself around his rival. (Says Schayes: "Someone is going to grab that arm some day and throw Robertson into the third row.") St. Louis' hulking Clyde Lovellette daintily holds his man by the seam of his pants. Sums up Boston's Heinsohn: "You've got to know where the referee is."
No pro gets upset when he catches an accidental elbow in a scramble for a loose ball. Detroit's Walt Dukes (7 ft., 220 lbs.) has the sharpest elbows in the league, beats a painful tattoo on the heads of friend and foe alike. Used intentionally, however, the elbow can be a far more effective weapon than a punch. Says one coach on the ethics of elbowing: "It's perfectly all right for me to belt someone if he flagrantly holds me repeatedly when we're not fighting over the ball."
The one unforgivable sin in professional basketball is "bridging," or "tunneling," in which a defensive man slyly ducks under a player who is driving for a layup. In one celebrated case of bridging, the Celtics' Bob Harris broke the left wrist of Schayes in 1954. Bridging is now rare, as is the unprovoked, intentional foul calculated to injure. "If a guy belts me on a legitimate play, fine and dandy," says Twyman. "I'll belt him down at the other end. But if a guy is dirty, really dirty, he's out to lunch. He can't watch the 80 players in this league all at once."
In the scientific scramble of modern basketball, the intangible of confidence can be all important. Robertson astounded even his Royal teammates once this year by boldly driving right up and over Wilt Chamberlain for a shot. "If you're not confident," says Robertson, "you've got no business playing this game. That shot just won't go in." Says Schayes: "I can sense when we've got a team licked. There's a little drooping of the shoulders, a little glassy look in the eye. When you see that, you try to stomp on him and keep him down. Eighty percent of the guys can't come back. Twenty percent can—they're the Pettits, the Robertsons, the Baylors and the Cousys."