Discover Who Was the First NBA Champion and the Untold Story Behind the Historic Win

I still remember the first time I truly understood what it meant to be an NBA champion. It wasn't while watching modern superstars celebrate with champagne showers, but rather when I stumbled upon grainy footage from 1947 and realized how dramatically different that inaugural championship was from anything we see today. The Philadelphia Warriors' victory over the Chicago Stags in that first NBA Finals—though it was called the BAA Finals back then—represents not just the beginning of a legacy but a completely different basketball philosophy that modern fans would scarcely recognize.

When I dug into the archives, what struck me most was the sheer physical toll of that 1947 championship run. The Warriors played a total of 63 games that season if you count both regular season and playoffs—a number that seems almost quaint compared to today's 82-game marathons followed by extended playoff battles. But here's what modern analytics can't capture: they did it with essentially a six-man rotation, with Joe Fulks averaging nearly 40 minutes per game while putting up what would be record-breaking scoring numbers for that era. The championship series itself was a best-of-five affair, with the Warriors closing it out in five grueling games. I've always been fascinated by how players like Fulks and Howie Dallmar managed their energy across that series, especially considering they were also traveling by train between Philadelphia and Chicago—a journey that took over 15 hours each way.

The reference material about tournament play versus extended seasons really resonates with me when I consider that first championship. Modern players might look at that 1947 schedule and think it was easy, but I'd argue it presented unique challenges. They weren't playing back-to-backs in the same way we see today, but the recovery methods were primitive at best. No cryotherapy chambers, no personalized nutrition plans—just basic training room treatments and whatever food they could find on the road. What's often overlooked in the statistics is that the Warriors actually finished second in their division that year with a 35-25 record, which means they entered the playoffs as underdogs against the Stags who'd posted a 39-22 record. That underdog narrative makes their championship even more compelling to me.

I've always been particularly drawn to the coaching philosophy of Warriors' coach Eddie Gottlieb, who essentially had to invent playoff strategy on the fly. There were no historical precedents to draw from, no decades of championship experience to reference. His decision to stick with a tight rotation—what we'd now call a "short bench"—was born out of necessity rather than choice. The quote about not being able to stick to a specific seven players resonates deeply here because Gottlieb essentially had about six reliable players he could count on in high-pressure situations. When I compare this to modern coaches who sometimes play 10-12 men in playoff rotations, it makes me wonder if we've lost something in our quest for specialization.

The financial aspect of that first championship often gets overlooked in mainstream narratives, but it's crucial to understanding the stakes. The winning share for each Warriors player was approximately $2,000—which sounds insignificant until you realize that was more than many of them made in salary for the entire season. When adjusted for inflation, that's about $28,000 today—a far cry from the millions in playoff shares modern champions receive. This financial reality created a different kind of pressure—these men weren't playing for legacy or endorsements, but for literal sustenance and job security. Having researched the personal correspondence of several players from that team, I can tell you that many of them saw basketball as a temporary career before returning to their factory jobs or family businesses.

What continues to fascinate me about that 1947 championship is how it established patterns that would define the NBA for decades to come. The Warriors' reliance on Joe Fulks' scoring—he averaged 23.2 points per game in an era where teams rarely broke 70 points total—foreshadowed the superstar-centric model that would dominate the league. Yet simultaneously, their team chemistry and ability to execute in clutch moments established the blueprint for championship basketball. I've always believed that teams who win championships, regardless of era, share certain intangible qualities that statistics can't capture. The 1947 Warriors had that magical combination of talent, timing, and sheer force of will that seems to define every champion since.

Looking back at that first championship through modern eyes, I can't help but feel a certain nostalgia for the raw, unpolined nature of the competition. The players weren't global icons—they were regular men competing for a paycheck and local bragging rights. The game itself was slower, less athletic by today's standards, but no less competitive. As someone who's studied NBA history for over two decades, I've come to appreciate how that first championship established DNA that still exists in today's game—the importance of having a go-to scorer, the value of coaching adaptability, and the undeniable role of luck in any championship run. The Warriors of 1947 may have played in a different era, but their pursuit of excellence created a template that every subsequent champion has followed in one way or another.