When they came to Detroit two years apart, both Ben Wallace and Chauncey Billups were 25-year-olds with a vagabond’s resume. Billups had superior name recognition by virtue of being the No. 3 pick in the 1997 draft, but neither player had proven anything beyond the ability to hold down a spot in the rotation if not yet the starting lineup.

Wallace helped restore dignity to the simple act of slipping a Pistons jersey over one’s head shortly after his acquisition in the summer of 2000. That first incarnation of Joe Dumars’ recast Pistons wasn’t overly blessed with talent, but wins at Detroit’s expense suddenly came at a cost again – and Wallace came to emulate everything about what Dumars had preached would be central to his team’s value system.

By the time Billups arrived two summers later, Big Ben was the face of the franchise. First Billups and Rip Hamilton, and then Tayshaun Prince and finally Rasheed Wallace, raised the talent level, elevating the Pistons to the NBA’s elite that culminated with their 2004 NBA championship and this year delivered them to the conference finals for the fifth straight year.

Along the way, Billups – mostly for the type of play that resulted in him winning NBA Finals MVP honors, but also for his last-minute panache, his work in the community and his charisma – muscled his way alongside Wallace as the most identifiable Piston in a city that adores athletes like few others.

So when they hit free agency a year apart, it was inevitable for fans – who always hope for the best but brace for the worst – to assume that because Big Ben got away, Billups would, too.

But it never made any sense that Billups would leave. Wallace leaving only seemed mystifying on the surface. But Dumars had sensed since before the 2005-06 season that Chicago was preparing to make a run at Wallace and knew the Bulls would have more to offer. And he also knew that what made Ben Wallace tick, the pride that enabled him to go from undrafted free agent to All-Star, would find the ego stroke of a major contract offer irresistible.

So Dumars didn’t exactly have his breath taken away when Wallace took Chicago up on its $60 million offer over four years that essentially tripled his annual average salary for the six years he spent in Detroit.

But Dumars would have been sucker punched if a similar scenario involving Billups had unfolded. Some of it is that he knew the NBA landscape numbered few teams with the wherewithal to make a similarly overwhelming offer to Billups, but most of it was the knowledge that Billups and his family were committed to staying in Detroit as long as the Pistons made a fair offer.

And if the widely reported parameters of the contract that should allow Chauncey Billups to retire in Detroit are accurate, then the Pistons were eminently fair. The deal supposedly calls for Billups to make $60 million over five years with the fifth year partially guaranteed at the team’s discretion. In annual average, the roughly $12 million a year is slightly higher than both Steve Nash and Tony Parker’s contracts. That’s fair.

That the deal went down without a hitch also speaks to Billups’ sense of self. He gave agent Andy Miller marching orders to get a deal done with Detroit. Teams that might have been interested never bothered entering the fray. Shopping himself might have drawn somebody unexpected out of the woodwork and possibly would have resulted in a more lucrative deal from the Pistons, but at what cost?

The deal they consummated satisfies everyone’s needs. The Pistons locked up the point guard who’s taken them to five straight conference finals, been to the last two All-Star games and will suit up for the U.S. Olympic team. And they did it at a price that doesn’t handcuff Dumars in future roster manipulations.

For his part, Billups gets a healthy raise that pays him on par with the NBA’s elite point guards (Jason Kidd’s outsized $20 million deal aside) and – and this is a factor athletes consistently disregard to their own detriment – sinks roots in a community that will now embrace him for a lifetime.

Let’s look at that last point. Detroit might not be first choice on a consensus list of best places to play for pro athletes, many of whom are drawn to Sun Belt climates or the glamour of New York or Los Angeles. But Detroit offers a nice blend of alluring factors. It’s a major market that adores athletes without the fish-bowl implications inherent in places like Portland or Milwaukee or Charlotte.

Athletes like Dave Bing and Robert Porcher and Herman Moore – and, by the way, Joe Dumars – have made the choice to live here permanently and launch businesses that trade off their considerable name value.

Billups told me Monday, at his charity golf outing, that he has spoken with Dumars and Porcher about just such things over the last few years as he sensed the day coming when he’d have a choice to make about his future.

“I’ve had a couple of conversations with Robert over the years, his experiences of being here and how he’s become focused in the community with his business interests,” Billups said. “I see myself in that same light – Joe Dumars, Robert Porcher, guys who were local celebrities and stars here that left the playing field and become just as successful doing other things. That was something that was very important to me.”

A Chauncey Billups that finishes his career in Detroit, having spearheaded a few more honest runs at NBA titles, can virtually write his own ticket in this town. As a corporate spokesman, athletes are at the front of the line in Detroit. Put an athlete who’s not an international superstar in other major markets and they’re C-list endorsers. Put him in a small market and the opportunities would exist but the scale would be reduced.

What’s that worth? I couldn’t tell you, but a practiced economist probably could ballpark it. But Billups had something else on his mind, too. His wife and three daughters have spent the five best years of their lives here and didn’t want to leave. His youngest daughter was born here and his oldest gave him a stern warning that she was not looking forward to moving. Now they know they won’t be. What’s that worth?

Joe Dumars and Chauncey Billups, two thoroughly reasonable and agreeable men, put their heads together and arrived at a number. It only made perfect sense all along.