Word: robertson
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...ethyl chloride to relieve the pain of a sprain-and keep the man in the game. An estimated 85% of the pros play with nagging injuries-charley horses, jammed thumbs, pulled muscles-and St. Louis' Pettit and Syracuse's Dolph Schayes have kept going with broken wrists. Robertson himself is just getting over a torn muscle above his right hip, which benched him for five games. After a game, win or lose, the exhausted players slump silently on stools in front of their lockers. Pro basketball is now so much tougher than big-league baseball that Cousy scoffs...
...placed at the ends of their Hollywood-style hotel beds. After a game, supper may be a piece of pumpkin pie served on a cardboard plate on the way to the airport. The players gulp it down, then plunge into sleep, mouths slack, heads banging against frosty windows. Says Robertson: "Whenever you get a chance to sleep, you just got to close your eyes...
...Oscar Robertson, the game is worth the hardship. "I didn't get a kick out of college basketball," Robertson now admits. "It didn't excite me. But this game-the pro game-is plenty exciting." Playing guard for the Royals (he is too small for forward), Robertson has taken charge of the Royals, with the tacit backing of Coach Charley Wolf, just as he automatically has run every one of his teams from the seventh grade on. Robertson has learned to work in close tandem with Jack Twyman (6 ft. 6 in., 210 lbs.), the team...
...Robertson on the prowl is grace itself. He flows down the court, head bobbing, shoulders feinting, every part of his body blended into one rhythmical pattern of deception. At his side, controlled by a sensitive hand, bounces a basketball that seems to accompany him like an old and trusted friend. For the flicker of a second, a Royal breaks loose, and in that instant Robertson hits him with a pass. Says Robertson of the art of passing: "Throw it as close to your man's head as you can. It'll get by-he'll have...
...teammate gets away for a pass, Robertson can often do the job by himself. The instant his opponent lets his weight fall on the wrong foot, Robertson takes a giant step and starts to move like a sports car slamming into gear. Crouched over the ball, his left arm thrust out as a shield, Robertson maneuvers through the melee under the hoop until, in one blurred motion, he rises from the floor to hang alone in mid-air like a puppet on a string. At last he shoots-a precise, gentle release of the ball that is cocked behind...