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Suddenly the Lakers' great Elgin Baylor and Jerry West found the range, roared down the court, sinking incredible shots and controlling the backboards for the first time in the game. Boston's defense seemed to dissolve. Its lead was cut to eight points, then six, then four. In the dressing room, Cousy was fit to be tied while trainers bandaged his ballooning ankle: "I tripped over myself," he gritted. "Isn't that something? I never sprained an ankle before. I guess old age is creeping up on me—ten minutes too soon." For Cousy, it was now or never: he knew that his ankle would not hold up if the series went to seven games. Grimacing with pain, he limped back on court—and Boston came alive again.
Twice the Lakers closed to within one point; each time the inspired Celtics held them off. Now there were only 2 min. 20 sec. left. The score was Boston 104, Los Angeles 102. and the Lakers had the ball. At midcourt, Celtic Forward Tommy Heinsohn, 28, waited as West dribbled the ball up the floor. Heinsohn's weak left knee, encased in a truss, felt ready to give way. "I was so tired," he said later, "that I didn't think I could stand, let alone run. I decided to gamble. Even if I fell down and died, that was better than losing." West arched a soft pass to Pivotman Rudy LaRusso. Heinsohn darted in front of LaRusso and slapped the ball away. He stumbled, somehow regained his balance, lurched down court—and sank an easy layup that put the Celtics ahead 106-102.
"Miss It! Miss It!" That brilliant steal should have taken the heart out of Los Angeles. But no. The teams traded baskets, and then, with 43 sec. left, the Lakers' Dick Barnett flipped a spectacular reverse-spin shot into the basket and was fouled in the process. Barnett sank the free throw, and Boston's lead was only a point. The next basket would tell the story. Cousy floated a jump shot toward the basket. The ball banged the rim, caromed crazily into a tangle of flailing arms. A roar went up. Laker Rookie Gene Wiley had the rebound. Then a groan. Again, Tommy Heinsohn stole the ball, went up to shoot and was fouled by Wiley. Los Angeles fans chanted "Miss it! Miss it!" Heinsohn's hawklike face was expressionless. Swish! One point. Swish! Another. Score: Boston 110, Los Angeles 107. The clock now read 22 sec. The final score was academic: Boston 112, Los Angeles 109.
"Wow!" screamed Heinsohn when he reached the dressing room. "Let's have a party! Where's the champagne? Where's the jazz?" In a corner an exhausted Bob Cousy sprawled on a bench, holding court for reporters. In 13 seasons, the onetime Holy Cross ace had scored 18,973 points, added 7,786 assists, and proved that in a day of human skyscrapers a small (6 ft. i in.), agile and brainy player could become one of the greatest stars the game has ever known. Quitting now, to coach basketball at Boston College, he was going off still champion. "A man couldn't ask for more." he murmured. "A man couldn't ask for anything more."