Sam Amick

USA TODAY Sports

Deep down, underneath that rugged Oscar Robertson veneer that has been there since his days growing up in an all-black neighborhood in Indianapolis some seven decades ago, there’s a strong sense of pride just begging to be let out.

This is about much more than the Hall of Famer’s celebrated status as the NBA’s triple-double king.

For all the focus on the Oklahoma City Thunder’s Russell Westbrook and whether he can join Robertson as the only other player to average a triple-double for a season, the 78-year-old’s influence on the game was much more meaningful than the milestone he reached in the 1961-62 campaign with the Cincinnati Royals.

All it takes is a glance at the league’s latest headlines to be reminded of that much.

He is the godfather of NBA free agency, having fought for players’ rights in U.S. District Court from 1970 to 1976, only to smile every time someone such as LeBron James or Kevin Durant exercises his free will all these years later. Saturday, in Durant’s first return to Oklahoma City since signing with the Golden State Warriors in July, it’s a reality worth remembering when all those boos rain down.

As his fame grew throughout the Civil Rights era, from those 10 seasons in Cincinnati to his time with the Milwaukee Bucks that led to a title alongside Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (then Lew Alcindor) in 1971, he became one of the forefathers of African-American stardom in a league that was changing for the better. A half century later, when he saw James, Chris Paul, Dwyane Wade and Carmelo Anthony unite on the ESPYs stage to shed light on the Black Lives Matter movement in October or heard James speak out on his wish list for the Cleveland Cavaliers roster last week, Robertson cherishes this new sports world in which the player’s voice has long since been unleashed.

So yes, in other words, Westbrook’s exploits are a good excuse to reflect on Robertson’s greatness on the court. But the truth, one that Robertson reflected on in a recent chat with USA TODAY Sports, is that he’s a living legend for reasons far more profound than his ability to fill up a box score. Today’s NBA, a booming business in which some maximum-salary players will make upwards of $30 million next season as a direct result of the nine-year, $24 billion television rights deal signed with ESPN and Turner in October 2014, wouldn’t be the same without him.

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“This is something (the NBA) didn’t want to happen,” Robertson said of the free agency fight that began the shift toward players gaining more power. “They didn’t want players, at that particular time, to be able to go to other teams. Because before they had the Oscar Robertson rule, a player could never, ever go (to another team).

“For instance, if you played with my team and you retired, they still had rights to you. You couldn’t go anywhere to play, even though you were not playing with your team that you played with for years … When a team owner or a coach or what not could just keep you at bay because he didn’t like the car you drove or maybe the woman you married or anything like that, I thought that was wrong. And it was wrong. And we went to court, and the court agreed with us. And now look at basketball. You sell a franchise for $2 billion.”

And to think, Robertson — whose family couldn’t afford to buy him a basketball as a child and whose first contract paid him $33,000 annually — made less than $1 million in his NBA career.

The refreshing part about Robertson is that, even with the great divide between his experience and theirs, there’s not a hint of resentment in his voice. Even with the familiar struggles that remain, he’s convinced that times have changed for the better. And for that, he’s thrilled.

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“Where I played basketball at Indianapolis, you couldn’t go downtown. You couldn’t ride in the front of the bus. You couldn’t go to the restaurant. You couldn’t go to movies. You couldn’t do a lot of things when I grew up,” Robertson said.

This is a man whose all-black high school team won the Indiana state title and, as he recounted in a recent interview with New York’s Newsday, was told to celebrate at the all-black community center rather than follow tradition by being celebrated at the downtown Monument Circle because city officials “decided we were going to tear up the town.” In 1959, as he sat in his dorm room at the University of Cincinnati about to head for the Dixie Classic in Raleigh, N.C., with his college team, he received a telegram from the Ku Klux Klan warning him that he’d be shot if he played. (He played anyway.)

“I was brash,” Robertson recounted at a conference in October. “I didn’t really care.”

That part of Robertson’s sometimes-prickly personality hasn’t changed.

He talks about players’ rights as if they are his own children, bristling at the slightest hint of insult or injury — especially when fans or media members complain about the impact of free agency.

“I’ll never forget when Boston won a championship (in 2008), they got Kevin Garnett, they got (Ray Allen) ... and it’s almost like, they (the organization) put these guys together to win a championship, and no one said a word about it whatsoever,” Robertson said. “And then when LeBron went to Miami (in 2010), boy what an uproar … And I’ll say this for Kevin Durant, if he wants to go to (the Warriors), fine for him.”

He noticed the more recent hubbub, too, when James was criticized for his public request for another playmaker on the Cavs’ roster.

“He said the team needs another player, and what is wrong with that, telling people that you need another player on your team?” he said, clearly incensed. “It’s obvious to me that he feels that the way they’re set up right now, I don’t know if they could beat ... (the Warriors) in a seven-game set.”

Let their voices be heard, in other words.

“If everything had remained (the same), the ownership would not like the players to (say) anything at all,” Robertson said. “They want them to be like mute, just sit back and play. But with the social pressures today, and basketball players being so dominant in what they do and so out front because of the electronic media, it’s almost dumbfounding for them not to say anything about things.

“When (New England Patriots quarterback Tom) Brady puts on a hat (that) says, ‘Let’s Make America Great Again,’ how do you think that makes a lot of the athletes feel, especially when they don’t (support President Trump)? Should they not say anything about it, when things are happening all around? ... I think they should say more.”

Robertson’s history of speaking up, of course, is well-chronicled.

During his time as president of the National Basketball Players Association from 1965 to 1974, a tenure that made him the first black president of any national sports or entertainment labor organization, he sued the NBA as it attempted to merge with the American Basketball Association and pushed back against the “reserve clause” that tied players to one team for life. The “Oscar Robertson Rule” that was born out of that lawsuit opened the doors for unrestricted free agency in 1988.

Even before then, Robertson was part of the group of stars who threatened to boycott the 1964 All-Star Game in Boston if their demands for pensions, improved medical benefits, training staff upgrades and pay for preseason games weren’t met. Reported estimates on the game’s delay range from 10 minutes to 22, but the players — who were well aware of the public pressure that came with the game being aired live in prime time for the first time — got their way.

They wanted their fair share and an unsuppressed voice, and so it would be. That lesson, well beyond all those triple-doubles, is at the heart of Robertson’s legacy.

Follow Sam Amick on Twitter @Sam_Amick