NEW YORK — There's so much I had forgotten I never knew about Earl Monroe, I'm sorry to admit.

By this time, you would expect I had him down fairly cold . . . considering I first caught Black Jesus' supernatural act at Winston-Salem State in 1966 when I was stationed downstate at Fort Bragg, N.C., . . . above all, because we developed a friendship in 1973 (when I jumped leagues, switching from covering my beloved ABA Nets to the Knicks beat) that has remained faithfully untainted.

There has not been a single instance where I've reached out to Earl for assistance regarding a personal project or a charity that he hasn't been there for me. Not once. Not ever.

A chill of fulfillment shook me several days ago upon receiving an e-mail from Earl's wife hoping I would be in Washington for the recent retirement of Monroe's No. 10 Baltimore Bullets jersey.

"You're family," Marita Green wrote.

With that in mind, you would think I would've had an inkling why it took so long for his former franchise to pay the ultimate tribute to its most precious work of art.

I never caught on that Abe Pollin, its original co-owner and still firmly in charge of the now-Washington Wizards, carried a grudge these many years.

"The wounds had to heal," Earl replied to the first of many lame questions. "More or less, I forced them to trade me."

Yeah, sure, I guess I knew that. Why else would the Bullets assign the simonized services of their four-year-plus, 23-point scorer to the Knicks, their most combative conference rivals, in exchange for Dave Stallworth, Mike Riordan and cash?

Still, I certainly had no idea how contentious things had gotten.

Let's put it this way: When Stephon Marbury recently bolted the Knicks a reporter called Monroe for a statement.

"I thought about it for a second, but knew I couldn't comment," Earl said, emitting his signature staggered snicker. "Because one time I didn't travel with the team to a game. My agent (Larry Fleisher) told me to stay home and to stay away from the phone."

That was the season after the Bullets out-gasped the Knicks in seven spectacular games in the 1971 conference finals, only to get tsunamied by the Bucks four straight.

The situation, an attempt to force the Bullets to pay Monroe substantially more than he was on their books for, got very ugly very quickly once he went AWOL.

Pollin was gravely offended. Declarations of dishonor were issued. Everything said or insinuated was taken to heart. Fleisher demanded a trade.

"It wasn't so much I wanted to leave," Earl said. "I loved playing for the team. I loved my teammates. I loved playing for Gene Shue, who allowed me to play my game and be myself, just like Big House (coach Clarence Gaines had done at Winston-Salem). And I loved the city of Baltimore."

Still, Monroe felt he had been taken advantage of when he came out of school in 1967 as the NBA's No. 2, overall, and signed a two-year contract for $20,000 per . . . without an agent.

"I didn't even look at the numbers. That's how naive I was," he said.

To compound that exploitation, Shue took Monroe out for a drive one fine day during his second season and told him how happy everybody was with the way things were going. So happy that Pollin wanted to enter into a new three-year agreement at the completion of the old deal and raise him up to $25,000, $30,000 and $35,000.

By the time Monroe hired Fleisher, who doubled as attorney for the newly formed Players Association, he had one year left on his contract; he was fully prepared to sit it out a year unless the financial odds were significantly evened up.

Once the Bullets and Fleisher, who did all of Monroe's woofing for him, reached an impasse, the red, white and blue league, naturally, was all over Earl.

It was felt the best chance of luring him over to the dark side was to link him up with the Pacers, the ABA's poster team.

Overpaying him was the key, however.

Their offer was overly generous at $100,000 per year for three. But the decorations in the dressing room made him cringe.

"The players had guns above their small lockers," Earl said, cackling. "It was my understanding the (Ku Klux) Klan was big in towns not that far from Indianapolis. I found the nearest pay phone and told Larry I didn't think this was the place for me."

Peter Vecsey covers the NBA for the New York Post.