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How fitting that Bob Cousy serves as point man in the  pantheon of Boston Celtic greatness, the first in a  royal lineage that includes such luminaries as Russell,  Havlicek and Bird.  His name conjures up all sorts of  imagery, from that of the show-stopping wizard whose  play earned him the moniker “Houdini of the Hardwood” to  the selfless humanitarian whose compassion continues to  be felt worldwide.  He is a pop icon, pure Americana, a  success story on the grandest of scales.  He is an  unyielding voice against racism in all of its vile,  malevolent forms.  Presidents have paid homage to his  genius on the court, and to his generosity away from  it.  Generations of cage fans have laced up their  sneakers and imagined themselves to be the incomparable  point guard from Holy Cross, deftly directing the  Celtics’ vaunted fast-break attack and punctuating  warp-speed drives with no-look, behind-the-back passes  that magically find their mark.  Ferraris should corner  like Cousy.  And while decades have passed since that  tear-jerker of a retirement ceremony in the old Boston  Garden, time has only served to enhance one unmitigated  truth:  Bob Cousy is equal parts showman and statesman,  undeniable in his star power and unquestioned in his  place as a national treasure.

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