On a crisp September afternoon in 1917, as the country waged war and the national pastime faced questions about its purpose, baseball paused to reconsider what it stood for. At Fenway Park, the game’s greatest stars-many of them rivals, some near the end of their careers, others just emerging-took the field together in an exhibition played not for standings or championships, but for a colleague who had died, and for a cause larger than the game itself.
Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, “Shoeless” Joe Jackson, Tris Speaker, Walter Johnson, Connie Mack, and more. One newspaper called it “the greatest baseball show on earth.”
What unfolded that day was more than a benefit or a curiosity. It was a moment of recognition among players, fans, and the sport’s leaders that baseball could be something more than competition. It could be a shared stage. A public trust. A civic ritual capable of carrying the weight of a nation. Listen to our interview about One Day in September: Baseball, Brotherhood, and the Birth of the All-Star Game (Compass Rose, 2026)
There’s more to sports than what occurs during games. Check your social media, listen to sports talk radio, or watch ESPN–there are daily stories of social issues in sports regarding concussions, playing hurt, gambling, Olympics and politics, athletes as social activists, paying college athletes, recruiting violations, academics, youth sports, diversity and gender issues, hazing, athletes’ mental health, disabled athletes’ rights, sportsmanship, and media coverage.
How do these issues affect athletes, fans, and society?
Written equally for casual and hardcore fans, Foul or Fair? Ethical and Social Issues in Sports (McFarland, 2024) analyzes social and ethical issues in sports in a lively, journalistic manner, combining quotes from writers, broadcasters, athletes, coaches and others with the author’s observations. It shows pros and cons of how sports affect our daily lives and society. While sports inspire and excite us and lead to social change like the civil rights movement, Title IX, and rights of disabled people, controversies surrounding sports can be divisive even as sports work as a uniting factor in society.
Gar Heard hit “the shot heard round the world” to send Game 5 of the 1976 Finals into triple overtime.
June 4, 2026, marks the 50th anniversary of Game 5 of the 1976 NBA Finals between the Boston Celtics and Phoenix Suns, considered by many to be the greatest basketball game ever. It contained all the components of a classic battle: High stakes. Improbable comebacks. Controversial calls. Unlikely heroes. Miraculous shots. All played out on the hallowed parquet floor of Boston Garden. It was a game of multiple climaxes that refused to end, which is why it lives on in the annals of NBA history.
It also left behind one of the most unusual legacies in sports: a player immortalized not for winning, but for a single moment that didn’t decide the game. Gar Heard’s turnaround jumper, known as “the Shot Heard ’Round the World,” didn’t win the game. It merely extended the chaos.
Heard received the inbounds pass at the top of the key, about 20 feet from the basket, with his team trailing 112-110 and one second on the clock in double overtime. He turned and fired a high-arching jump shot that seemed to climb all the way to the rafters before beginning its descent. Celtics forward Don Nelson contested the shot, though it didn’t matter. The ball sailed through the net. Tie game.
“I don’t believe it!” exclaimed Brent Musburger on the telecast. “I don’t believe what I just saw!” There would be triple overtime. The game appeared to be over moments earlier, but the Suns wouldn’t set.
Phoenix wasn’t supposed to be in a pivotal Game 5 against the Celtics. The Suns were 18-27 and in last place in late January. On February 1, they acquired Heard from the Buffalo Braves. Soon after, rookie Ricky Sobers replaced injured Dick Van Arsdale in the starting lineup. The team took off, winning 24 of its last 37 games to earn a playoff spot. Phoenix disposed of the Seattle SuperSonics in the first round.
Its opponent in the next round was the defending-champion Golden State Warriors. Led by Rick Barry, the Warriors won a league-high 59 games and were heavily favored. Phoenix upset the Warriors on their home court in Game 7, earning a trip to the NBA Finals. They were massive underdogs once again against a Celtics team led by future Hall of Famers John Havlicek, Dave Cowens, and Jo Jo White. The series began according to script with Boston taking the first two games at home. Phoenix responded, evening the series at home.
Boston’s vaunted fastbreak propelled it to a torrid start in Game 5. Cowens and Paul Silas controlled the glass, and Havlicek contributed 13 points in the first quarter. Boston led 13-3. Then 22-5. Then 28-10. The score was 36-18 at the end of the first quarter, and the Suns trailed by as many as 22 points early in the second. It appeared to be an insurmountable lead in the days before the three-point shot.
“There was no panic. There was no hanging your head. We stuck together,” says forward Curtis Perry. The Suns’ roster was composed of a mix of wily veterans and precocious rookies. Alvan Adams, their first-round pick in 1975, was quick for a center, had excellent touch from the outside and was an exceptional passer. The other rookie, Sobers, brought tenacity to the club. Paul Westphal, who was traded from the Celtics to the Suns before the season, was a brilliant shot-maker. Perry and Heard, two hard-nosed defensive forwards rounded out the starting five. Van Arsdale came off the bench, along with veterans Keith Erickson, Pat Riley, Nate Hawthorne, and Dennis Awtrey. John MacLeod was the coach with Al Bianchi as his assistant.
Adams remembers that squad as the closest team he played on over his 13-year career. Most of the guys were married and several of them were new to the team so the players and their wives often socialized together as couples. Throughout the season, the team stuck together through hard times. Game 5 was no different.
The score was 61-45 at halftime. Phoenix picked up its defensive pressure and opened the third quarter on a 23-7 run to tie the game at 68. The Celtics appeared to be in control again up 92-83 with 3:49 left in the game. Then Westphal erupted with nine of the next 11 points to tie it at 94 with 39 seconds remaining. Each team made a free throw to make it 95-95. Havlicek missed a shot with 8 seconds left. Phoenix grabbed the rebound and called timeout with three seconds remaining. Boston knocked away the inbounds pass and recovered the ball.
Silas signaled for a timeout in front of referee Richie Powers with one second on the clock, but Powers pretended not to see it. Boston didn’t have any timeouts remaining. If Powers had granted the timeout, it would have resulted in a technical foul, and most likely sealed the game for Phoenix. The referee later admitted that he didn’t want the game to end that way. Time expired. (Bianchi was furious that Powers didn’t make the call, which he believed cost the Suns a championship. He had a jeweler make him a 1976 Suns championship ring with the words “F- – – You, Richie Powers” inscribed in it.)
The game was tied at 101 after the first overtime. Jo Jo White converted a driving layup to give the Celtics a 109-106 lead with 19 seconds remaining in double overtime. Van Arsdale responded with a corner jumper with 16 seconds on the clock. Westphal knocked away the ensuing inbounds pass. Van Arsdale passed the ball to Perry, who missed a jumper. He grabbed his own rebound and fired again. That one connected to give the Suns a 110-109 lead with 5 seconds remaining. Boston called timeout. It inbounced the ball at halfcourt to Havlicek, who took three dribbles down the left sideline, then fired what Bob Ryan, who was covering the game for the Boston Globe, described as a “Nolan Ryan fastball” off the glass and in.
The clock ticked down to zero. Fans stormed the court. The game started at 9:00 and many of those in attendance were inebriated by the end of double overtime. Some fans turned over the scorer’s table. One attacked referee Powers. The Celtics returned to their locker room, believing they had won the game. Rick Barry accurately noted on the telecast that the game wasn’t over. There was time on the clock when Havlicek’s shot went in. The referees put one second on the clock. The Celtics returned to the court, and the game resumed.
The Suns were out of timeouts so they couldn’t advance the ball to halfcourt. They’d have to go 94 feet in one second. Then Westphal came up with a brilliant idea. He asked Powers what would happen if the Suns called timeout. Powers said they didn’t have any timeouts. Westphal asked what would happen if he called one anyway. Powers said the Celtics would shoot a technical foul shot, then the Suns would receive the ball at halfcourt. Westphal called timeout. White knocked down the foul shot to make it 112-110.
MacLeod drew up a play for Westphal, though the Suns believed Boston wasn’t going to allow him to catch the ball. Heard was the second option. He was ready for the moment. “Growing up you always take a shot that you think this is to win the game. This is that,” says Heard. Gar cut towards the top of the key and received the pass about 20 feet from the basket. He turned and fired over Nelson’s outstretched arm. “Gar’s aurora borealis shot,” Perry calls it.
Al McCoy was on the radio call:“Here’s Perry. To Gar Heard. Here’s the jump shot . . . GOOD! IT’S GOOD! IT COUNTS! GAR HEARD TIES IT! We’ll go to the third overtime!” Stunned silence in Boston Garden.
Adams, Awtrey, Cowens, and Charlie Scott had all fouled out. When Silas joined them with 3:23 remaining in triple overtime, Celtics coach Tom Heinsohn called on seldom-used reserve Glenn McDonald. McDonald had fresh legs, and Heinsohn told him to “run em.” McDonald scored six quick points. Jim Ard hit two free throws with 31 seconds left to put the Celtics up 128-122. One final frantic comeback attempt by the Suns fell short. Boston won 128-126.
Musburger signed off of the telecast: “From the Boston Garden. Where you have just witnessed the most incredible game in the history of the NBA.” Newspapers across the country proclaimed it “The Fabulous Fifth.”
The game ended after midnight and Game 6 tipped off less than 48 hours later, a Sunday afternoon in Phoenix. It was a dud. Both teams were exhausted. Scott, who had some juice in his legs after fouling out in regulation of Game 5, led the Celtics with 25 points. Boston won 87-80 and hoisted its 13th championship banner.
Heard’s shot emerged as the most memorable moment from Game 5. “I never felt like it would last that long,” says Heard of the attention. “I really didn’t. I thought that once we lost the game, that was it.” It’s unusual for a play from a losing team to become the defining moment of a game. When it does, it’s typically a mistake, such as Chris Webber’s timeout in the 1993 NCAA Championship Game. Gar’s shot is celebrated. It just wasn’t enough.
Heard is reminded of the shot “quite a bit,” particularly this time of year when it’s replayed on television and at Suns games. “I think most of the people remember me for that shot,” says Heard. “But I have disappointment in a way,” he says, noting that he played with many great players over an 11-year career. Heard was no one-shot wonder. The Georgia native averaged a double-double for several seasons and was an excellent shot-blocker. He’s quick to point out that his block on Jamaal Wilkes at the buzzer sealed Game 6 of the 1976 conference finals. He followed that up with 21 points, 12 rebounds, four blocks, and four steals in Game 7.
If you watch the game now it feels like a relic. Time and score aren’t displayed on the screen. The absence of a three-point line is glaring. Players are wearing short shorts. No tattoos. No choreographed celebrations. Coaches diagram plays on yellow league pads. In overtime, MacLeod ditches the pad and scribbles the play in chalk on the Garden floor. CBS’s camera zooms in, and Barry describes the plays as they’re being drawn up.
It’s a different sport, visually and structurally. Players congregate in the paint and the game is played from the inside-out. There’s more ball movement. Less designed plays or pick-and-rolls, and no three-point shots.
Games like this didn’t explode across the country via ESPN or social media. They filtered outward through newspaper columns and word of mouth. (The game aired on tape delay, after the local news.) Today, every angle would be clipped, posted, debated within seconds. In 1976, the legend had room to grow.
Fifty years later, people still talk about that magical night at Boston Garden. For good reason. The game holds up. It’s packed with suspenseful moments and phenomenal shots. Every time you think it’s over, a stunning turn of events prolongs it further. Bob Ryan was in attendance that night and has been following NBA basketball for over 60 years. When asked if it’s the greatest game he’s ever seen, he responds, “It’s the leader in the clubhouse.”
The Celtics look back on that game fondly, though it’s one of many dramatic victories for a franchise with 18 championships. It’s more meaningful for Phoenix. That game galvanized a Phoenix community that was relatively new to professional basketball and remains a defining moment for a franchise that has advanced to the Finals just twice since and has yet to win a championship.
There’s a richness in losing a game like that, which creates a unique bond between teammates. Heard, Perry, and Adams still live in Phoenix. They talk regularly and see each other at Suns games. Sobers is in touch with the guys as well. They reminisce about the ‘76 playoffs and that epic Game 5. “Every once in a while you catch lightning in a bottle like we did in 1976, where you have the camaraderie and chemistry and the talent,” says Perry.
Game 5 was the game that wouldn’t end. It still hasn’t.
I was born in Harbin, Manchuria, (later China), in 1938. At the outbreak of the Second World War my mother, sister and I, along with other non-combatants of the Allied countries, were taken by the Japanese to an internment camp in Tokyo where we would remain four year–to the end of the war. My mother’s recollection is that I was a sickly child. By the time I arrived in Japan, according to her, I had survived diphtheria, whooping cough, yellow fever, smallpox and tuberculosis. Such afflictions, to my mother’s astonishment, did not keep me from growing to my adult height of 6’6″ and muscular weight of 220 pounds. Nor did they keep me from being strong enough and skillful enough to become a professional basketball player and play 10 years for the National Basketball Association, as the first ethnic Russian and immigrant to do so, and the first to be named to an All-Star team.
When twenty-three-year-old Ron LeFlore played his first organized baseball game, it was in a yard at the State Prison of Southern Michigan where he was serving five to fifteen years for armed robbery. An extraordinary athlete, the Detroit native had luck on his side: his coach, a convicted felon, had connections to the Detroit Tigers. Within three-and-a-half years, Ron went from a prison inmate to a Tiger centerfielder.
In Baseball’s Outcast: The Story of Ron LeFlore(Bloomsbury, 2026), Adam Henig tells for the first time in full the unbelievable life and career of Ron LeFlore. Blessed with blinding speed and a powerful swing, Ron shed his jailbird past to become one of the game’s premiere hitters and its most dangerous base stealer during the latter half of the 1970s. His rags-to-riches life story became a bestselling book and a made-for-television movie starring actor LeVar Burton, fresh from his performance in Roots. But the good times did not last. Less than a decade after making his Major League debut, Ron was finished with baseball.
Baseball’s Outcast is not just another book about the rise and fall of a troubled athlete. Henig goes deeper, tracing the star player’s family roots, exploring the segregated world that Ron was raised in, examining the criminal justice system he was subjected to, and revealing how childhood trauma shaped his success and downfall. Filled with insight from Ron himself, as well as from former teammates, coaches, front-office personnel, inmates, childhood friends, and relatives, Baseball’s Outcast provides unprecedented access into Ron’s life story and the obstacles he faced every step of the way.
In anticipation of the new Amazon documentary Jerry West: The Logo, I did a podcast with Jonathan Coleman about his exceptional book with Jerry. Jonathan went into great detail about Jerry’s life and character and what it was like to work with the legend. https://newbooksnetwork.com/west-by-west
He is one of basketball’s towering figures: “Mr. Clutch,” who mesmerized his opponents and fans. The coach who began the Lakers’ resurgence in the 1970s. The general manager who helped bring “Showtime” to Los Angeles, creating a championship-winning force that continues to this day.
Now, for the first time, the legendary Jerry West tells his story — from his tough childhood in West Virginia, to his unbelievable college success at West Virginia University, his 40-year career with the Los Angeles Lakers, and his relationships with NBA legends like Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Magic Johnson, Shaquille O’Neal, and Kobe Bryant. Unsparing in its self-assessment and honesty, West by West is far more than a sports memoir: it is a profound confession and a magnificent inspiration.
In three short years, the Milwaukee Bucks went from merely an idea to NBA champions. What started as a quest by Marvin Fishman and eventually Wesley Pavalon to get Milwaukee back in the big leagues became something bigger than they could have imagined. They attracted a hard-working coach in Larry Costello, a pioneer in Wayne Embry and some of the biggest talents in the game of basketball with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Oscar Robertson. The pieces fell into place for a franchise that asserted themselves as a force to be reckoned with in the NBA. Building the Milwaukee Bucks: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Oscar Robertson, and the Rapid Rise of an NBA Franchise, 1968-1975 (McFarland, 2025) covers the unique formation of the NBA franchise that helped restore the image of the city of Milwaukee amid civil unrest and the departure of Major League Baseball as well as why Abdul-Jabbar never found comfort being the face of the Bucks while living in Milwaukee.
A memoir of basketball, dedication, and longevity from Boston Celtics legend Robert Parish
Growing up in the heart of Louisiana, Robert Parish and his three younger siblings played baseball, football, and tennis―but never basketball. Still, by seventh grade, Parish stood 6’6″ and couldn’t escape the attention of Coleman Kidd, the junior high basketball coach who saw potential before Parish could see it in himself. And though he was the worst player on the team that first season―handed the last jersey left, No. 00―it would become the number that now hangs in the Boston Garden rafters.
In The Chief: The Story of the Boston Celtics’ Most Enigmatic Icon (Triumph, 2026), the famously reserved Parish opens up for the first time about the full scope of his life―from attending a predominantly white high school during the uneasy years of integration to becoming the anchor of one of the greatest teams in NBA history. With honesty, humility, and plenty of dry humor, Parish reflects on his start with the Golden State Warriors and his trade to Boston, the years alongside Larry Bird and Kevin McHale, the Celtics’ epic rivalries of the 1980s, and the later years with the Charlotte Hornets and Chicago Bulls, finally walking away from the game on his own terms.
Insightful, introspective, and powerful, The Chief is a rare look into the life of an NBA giant who always let his game do the talking―until now.
Celebrated as a democratic space for all Americans, the major league ballpark in fact privileged the middle- and upper-class white male fan while tacitly marginalizing poor urban residents and people of color. Seth S. Tannenbaum examines how the game’s economically and socially stratified system reflected changing understandings of urban space, inclusion, and the body politic.
Major League Baseball owners and executives masked exclusion and division by touting the game’s accessibility and instituting few overtly discriminatory policies. Affluent white males enjoyed a comfortable, safe space that reinforced their status as the prototypical American citizen. At the same time, ballparks relocated in response to how these favored fans felt about cities. Tannenbaum traces this journey from the urban locales of the Polo Grounds and Yankee Stadium through the suburban-oriented Dodger Stadium and Houston Astrodome to the cloistered fantasy of city life offered by Camden Yards. As he shows, owners’ pursuit of greater profits incorporated existing barriers that helped shape the structure of modern parks.
A revealing social history, Bleacher Seats and Luxury Suites revises the persistent myth of the ballpark as an egalitarian melting pot.
Paul Knepper 