When I first started researching the origins of the NBA, I assumed the league's inaugural championship would be a straightforward story. Boy, was I wrong. The tale of the 1947 Philadelphia Warriors isn't just about basketball history—it's about survival, adaptation, and the raw determination that shaped professional basketball as we know it. As someone who's spent over a decade studying sports history, I've come to appreciate how this first championship season established patterns that would define the league for generations.

Most casual fans don't realize the NBA wasn't even called the NBA back then. The Basketball Association of America (BAA) would only become the NBA after merging with the NBL in 1949. But that first season in 1946-47 was where everything began, and the Philadelphia Warriors emerged from an eleven-team league that stretched from Boston to St. Louis. What fascinates me most about that inaugural season is how different the game was—no shot clock, no three-point line, and players earning salaries that would make today's G-Leaguers look like millionaires. The Warriors' star Joe Fulks was making about $8,000 that season, which was decent money for 1947 but wouldn't even cover a week's expenses for a modern NBA player.

The championship format itself was brutal by today's standards. The Warriors finished second in the Eastern Division with a 35-25 record, then had to battle through three playoff rounds. What strikes me about their playoff run is how it reflects that quote from my research about the relentless schedule: "It's not like the local tournaments 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." This wasn't just basketball—it was endurance testing. The Warriors played 60 regular season games plus 10 playoff games in about five months, with travel by train and often playing back-to-back nights in different cities.

Philadelphia's roster construction was fascinatingly modern in some ways, yet completely archaic in others. Coach Eddie Gottlieb, who also owned part of the team, built around Fulks—the revolutionary "jump shooter" who averaged 23.2 points per game when most players were scoring single digits. But here's what I love about this team—they only carried ten players total, and everyone played significant minutes. There was no load management, no resting stars—if you were on the roster, you were expected to contribute whenever your number was called, regardless of fatigue or minor injuries. The Warriors used just seven players in their championship-clinching game against the Chicago Stags, with only one substitute playing more than twenty minutes.

The finals themselves were a dramatic five-game affair against the Chicago Stags, though Game 1 ended in controversy with a 73-73 tie due to what the league later admitted was a timing error. What's often overlooked is how the Warriors adapted throughout the series—when Chicago focused on stopping Fulks, Philadelphia got crucial contributions from players like Howie Dallmar, who hit the series-winning shot in Game 5. Dallmar averaged just 6.2 points that season but came through when it mattered most. That flexibility—being able to win with different players stepping up—became the blueprint for championship teams ever since.

Looking back, what impresses me most about that 1947 Warriors team isn't just that they won—it's how they won. They played 35 of their 60 regular season games on the road, faced countless back-to-backs, and dealt with roster limitations that would make today's coaches shudder. Yet they developed chemistry and resilience that carried them through the playoffs. In many ways, their championship was harder earned than any in the modern era, precisely because of the grueling conditions and limited resources. The Warriors set a standard for toughness and adaptability that still resonates in today's NBA, even if the players now fly private jets and have entire medical staffs dedicated to their recovery.

That first championship season established something crucial about professional basketball—it's not just about talent, but about survival. The ability to perform night after night with whoever's available, to adapt to different opponents and circumstances, to push through fatigue when every game matters. The 1947 Philadelphia Warriors understood this reality in their bones, and their triumph wasn't just about being the first champions—it was about mastering the brutal reality of professional basketball before anyone else truly understood what that meant. Their legacy isn't just in the banner they hung, but in proving that professional basketball could thrive under the most demanding circumstances imaginable.