The greatest burden of replacing the greatest winner in the history of professional basketball fell, unfairly, on the man with relatively pedestrian skills, a sunny disposition and the easiest of smiles.  He was the karaoke singer who had somehow wandered onto Pavarotti’s stage, hopelessly out of his element, unable to establish an identity of his own, while those in the audience held him to the immensely unattainable standards of his predecessor.  These were the highest of expectations, demands borne from a decade of dominance, the product of a mind-bending stream of championship celebrations likely never to be seen again.  And who could really blame them?  Eleven titles in thirteen seasons.  Eight in a row.  Success rolling downhill, gaining momentum, seemingly unable to be stopped.  Spoiled, fans of the Boston Celtics came to view that NBA Finals as their own private domain, a place were their favorite team would inevitably land after the rigors of a grueling regular season and an equally grueling playoff run.  Drunk from their annual championship dance, they refused to see Hank Finkel for what he really was – a piece of a rebuilding puzzle, a stop-gap measure until Red Auerbach could unearth a starting center capable of bringing honor to the great Bill Russell.  Instead, Finkel became a symbol of the team’s collapse, a lightning rod for its struggles.  The fans booed him mercilessly, holding him accountable for his limitations, holding him solely responsible for the end of  the greatest dynasty in the history of professional sports.

It would be melodramatic to say that Finkel’s first season in a Celtic uniform was pure hell, but by all accounts it was damned close.  He was the center at the center of the maelstrom, and very few of the Boston Garden faithful cut him any slack.  The Celtics had qualified for the NBA Playoffs for twenty consecutive seasons dating back to 1950, and suddenly the team was sub-500.  Rookie head coach Tommy Heinsohn, himself a part of that great championship run, had never experienced fan reaction like that on the team’s home court.  He knew Finkel’s limitations, and understood that his new center could excel in a complimentary role.  He knew that a new nucleus of players would have to be brought in to somehow replace players like Russell and Sam Jones.  And he knew that the fans, accustomed to seeing their team reload, would have to back off and watch it rebuild.

“Henry Finkel is not the reason we’re losing,” Heinsohn barked at reporters during a particularly frustrating stretch during the 1969-70 regular season.  “It’s not fair for him to be singled out as the symbol for the team’s problems.  You lose a Bill Russell, and there are going to be consequences.”

For his part, the player nicknamed “High Henry” by legendary radio announcer Johnny Most kept a stiff upper lip and did his best to let the fan’s venom roll off his shoulders.  He knew that he was a role player.  He knew that he could excel off the bench if the Celtics could only find a solid pivot man to replace Russell.  That didn’t happen until a year later, when Auerbach selected Florida State’s Dave Cowens in another of his patented masterstrokes.  So Finkel played hard and tried not to become discouraged, something easier said than done.  He became depressed and considered walking away from basketball completely.  He considered a return to San Diego, where he had played for two seasons following his initial stint with the Los Angeles Lakers, prepared to make a go of it in the business world.  Auerbach and Heinsohn cajoled the despondent Finkel, convincing him that things would eventually get better.  Perhaps not during that first season, but very, very soon.  Finkel listened, and agreed to give Boston another chance.  Enter Cowens via the draft, and power forward Paul Silas via trade, and Finkel suddenly found himself feeling far more comfortable being a Boston Celtic.

“Tommy defined my role as a backup to Dave and Paul,” Finkel says, reflecting on the turning point in the city where he was scorned.  “I was able to come off the bench and play alongside All-Star talent.  I wasn’t the focal point.  I could do the little things that I did best, while the other guys could focus on rebounding and scoring.”