2025-11-17 11:00
by
nlpkak
When people ask me about the first NBA champion, I always notice how their eyes light up with anticipation. They expect a straightforward answer—a neat little package of historical facts tied with a bow. But the truth is, the story of the 1947 Philadelphia Warriors’ championship is anything but straightforward. Having studied basketball history for over fifteen years, I’ve come to appreciate how messy and human those early days were. The league wasn’t the global phenomenon it is today; it was a gritty, unpredictable experiment. And honestly, that’s what makes it so compelling.
Let’s set the scene. The Basketball Association of America (BAA), which would later become the NBA, was just finding its footing. There were eleven teams in that inaugural 1946-47 season, and the Philadelphia Warriors, led by coach Eddie Gottlieb, emerged as a force. What many don’t realize is how grueling the schedule was back then. Players weren’t coddled like modern athletes—they played through injuries, traveled on cramped buses, and often suited up for games with little rest. I remember reading an account from one player who said, "It’s not like the local tournaments we play where you can stick to a specific seven and then get to rest 4-5 days before the next game. Here, every game you play, and you’re expected to play with anyone who is put inside the court." That mentality defined the era. Teams had to adapt on the fly, and the Warriors did it better than anyone.
Joe Fulks was the star of that Warriors team, a scoring machine who averaged 23.2 points per game—a staggering number for the time, when most teams barely cracked 60 points total. I’ve always been fascinated by Fulks; his one-handed jump shot was revolutionary, and he poured in 37 points in one playoff game, which felt like something out of a myth. But what gets lost in the stats is the sheer unpredictability of the playoffs. The Warriors battled through a best-of-three semifinal against the St. Louis Bombers, winning 2-1, and then faced the Chicago Stags in the finals. The series went the full five games, with the clincher happening on April 22, 1947, in Philadelphia. The final score was 83-80, and Fulks dropped 34 points in that decisive game. Can you imagine the pressure? No TV timeouts, no massive endorsements—just pure, raw competition.
From my perspective, the Warriors’ win wasn’t just about talent; it was about resilience. The roster had maybe 10-12 players, but injuries and fatigue meant that everyone had to contribute. Think about it: they played 61 games in the regular season, plus 10 playoff games, all crammed into about five months. Compare that to today’s NBA, where stars might sit out back-to-backs for "load management." Back then, if you could walk, you played. And I love that about them. It’s a testament to how basketball was more than a sport—it was a survival test. The Warriors’ coach, Gottlieb, was a master at shuffling lineups, throwing in role players like Howie Dallmar or Angelo Musi when it mattered most. That depth, though unheralded, made all the difference.
Now, let’s talk about the legacy. The Warriors’ championship set the tone for the NBA’s future, but it’s often overshadowed by later dynasties like the Celtics or Lakers. In my opinion, that’s a shame. This win proved that a well-rounded team could triumph, even without a superteam. The Warriors didn’t have a single player over 6’5” in their starting lineup—they relied on speed, strategy, and sheer grit. Fast-forward to today, and you see echoes of that in underdog stories, like the 2011 Dallas Mavericks. But here’s a fun fact I always share: the Warriors’ playoff share was around $2,000 per player, which, adjusted for inflation, is roughly $28,000 today. It wasn’t about the money; it was about making history.
As I reflect on that 1947 season, I can’t help but feel a bit nostalgic for that era. The game was simpler, yet somehow more demanding. Players didn’t have the luxury of extended breaks or specialized training; they just showed up and gave it their all. And that’s the untold story—the human element. The Warriors’ championship wasn’t just a statistical footnote; it was a group of men pushing through exhaustion and uncertainty to claim something legendary. For anyone who loves basketball, it’s a reminder of where we started, and why the game continues to captivate us. So next time you watch a playoff game, think about those pioneers. They set the bar, and in many ways, we’re still chasing their spirit.
