These days I smile benignly at the fights that I see in NBA games. There aren't any broken noses or black eyes, which happened quite often when I played.

We lived in Yorkville until 1940, at which point we moved into the St. Albans neighborhood of Queens.

Cooper was my road roommate, and also happened to be the first African American player drafted by a National Basketball Association team.

You have to remember that coaching wasn't sophisticated back then - you didn't have the camps, clinics and all the technical advances that are available today - so from that standpoint, playing with a cast on my arm was a fortunate event in my life.

We played every night. Sometimes we'd stay overnight after a game, but we'd usually drive on to our next destination.

I dribbled by the hour with my left hand when I was young. I didn't have full control, but I got so I could move the ball back and forth from one hand to the other without breaking the cadence of my dribble. I wasn't dribbling behind my back or setting up any trick stuff, but I was laying the groundwork for it.

The MVP award was very satisfying in terms of personal accomplishments, but the championship was the most important thing of all.