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That familiar Bill Russell sampler, "He improves every man on the court," has been restitched on Bird, who positions himself so nimbly and is such an innovative passer it scarcely registers that at nearly 6 ft. 10 in., he may be slightly taller than Russell. Neither fame nor finances have compromised Bird's relationship with teammates, because the others not only profit from but are infatuated with his game, especially its essential principle that the most deserving party gets the pass. A 14-ft. jump shooter stationed 17 ft. from the hoop might as well be standing in Oshkosh. Other players on the frantic run may glimpse jersey colors, but Bird always sees people in profile, frailties included. "From a certain spot Kevin will score every time, but from another point right around there he's sure to walk or foul. If I'm pressured into giving him the ball in the wrong place, I'm thinking to myself, 'Don't shoot, Kevin, pass it out.' " As McHale scored a Celtic-record 56 points last week, Bird personally arranged the final nine, with deft assists that included a court-long pass for the lay-up that broke the old regular season mark of 53--Bird's.
He plays a forward position but is closer than either the Lakers' Magic Johnson or Detroit's Isiah Thomas to the ancient point guards, who were considerably less gifted than the moderns but infinitely more mindful of quirks and clocks and subtler vagaries. In the simplest expression for his game, Bird always seems to do the right thing. "I've had good coaching everywhere," he says gratefully--two coaches at each high school, college and professional stop. The first in each case was a stiff fundamentalist, the second "always like K.C. Jones, who tells me, 'You know how to do this, you know how to do that. Go do it.' " Bird values both types, but his special affection for Celtics Coach Jones is evident. "He's a competitor, that's the thing. K.C. takes it personal."
If an impression exists that Bird wins every game on a final-buzzer shot, it traces to two consecutive episodes in January, primarily one basket against Portland to complete a 48-point performance. Range is of no concern to Bird --from beyond the three-point distance of 23 ft. 9 in., he makes nearly half of his shots--so his system for clearing air space at any time is just to step back one yard, ample compensation for even the springiest defenders. His right hand--the one he shoots with, not the one he writes with--is gnarled from a 1979 softball accident that required him to alter his release. Crooking his elbow, he launches the basketball suddenly yet daintily on a lofty arc from off his shoulder. Against Portland, the ball rose out of an odd corner angle and fell after time was exhausted in what seemed to be frozen frames. + "Everyone was quiet in the arena," Jones recalls the hush. "You could see the ball spinning in the air." So far, that seems the only really distinct point in the interminable season.