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.