When the Game Was Ours (12 page)

Because Auerbach had tipped him off, Bird was careful to step forward to meet the ball, thereby cutting down on Carr's opportunities to pick off the pass. He also refused to be rattled by Carr's chatter. Bird was content to feed his new teammates with scoring opportunities while eschewing most of his own.

"I've never seen anyone who could beat you with the pass the way Larry did," Carr said. "He'd bait you and bait you like he was going to shoot, and sucker the defense in, then deliver the pass to someone else on the money."

By the time training camp started, Bird's initiation was almost complete. There was one veteran left who wanted a piece of him, and that was Cedric Maxwell, a slender forward who was as proud of his trash-talking as he was of his low-post moves. He played 2-on-2 after practice with Bird, Carr, and Rick Robey and led Bird onto the block, where he spanked him with a series of upfakes and step- backs.

"He didn't really know how to play defense yet," Maxwell said.

When it was Bird's turn on offense, Maxwell stood with his hands at his side, daring the rookie to beat him. Bird started drilling shots. He hit them from 15 feet, then moved back to 20 feet, and then, finally, to 25 feet. By then, Maxwell was frantically trying to halt the comeuppance by blanketing him with his spindly arms. It was too late. Larry Bird was torching him.

"Damn," Maxwell said to Carr. "That white boy can shoot."

Once the Celtics veterans were done challenging Bird, they went about the business of protecting him. There was resentment among some black players who couldn't understand why there was so much hype surrounding a white rookie who, as far as they could tell, couldn't run or jump. Carr recalled forward Maurice Lucas telling him before a game in Bird's first season, "I'm going to take down the great Larry Bird."

"Oh, yeah?" Carr said. "Well, you're going to have to go through me first."

Magic underwent a similar rite of passage in Lakers training camp. Coach Jack McKinney put him on the second team and left him there for days. He stressed to Johnson that his decision-making would be the most important component of his job description. McKinney advised the rookie to remain respectful and to know his place.

Johnson willingly fetched Kareem's paper, bought him hot dogs in the airport, and nicknamed him "Cap" so there was never any doubt who ranked atop the Lakers' hierarchy. And yet, Magic was a born leader on the court and couldn't suppress those tendencies.

"It was potentially a big problem," Buss said. "The way Earvin played the game, he just had to be in charge. At the same time, you had this Hall of Fame player who had already won before."

Johnson endeared himself to his teammates with his hustle and his unselfishness. Norm Nixon nicknamed him "Buck" because he was always galloping around like a young deer. Although the veterans knew Magic spent time with Buss, nobody was aware of how close the owner and the rookie had become, and therefore no one objected.

"The extra hand-holding made sense because he was so young," Wilkes said. "I don't think Earvin had any intentions of crossing the line. I'm not sure he even understood he was crossing the line."

Johnson may have been a teenager, but he played with the swagger of a veteran. In his first practice with the Lakers, he turned it over twice because Wilkes, a three-time All-Star, wasn't ready for the pass.

"Magic!" McKinney reprimanded him. "You can't make those passes. This isn't college."

Johnson fumed. He was embarrassed to be singled out and furious that Wilkes didn't make the play.

The next time down the floor, Magic waited until Wilkes cut through the key, then the moment Wilkes turned, fired the ball at him. "Jamaal," he said evenly, "I'm going to keep hitting you in the head until you look."

Wilkes became the ideal complement to Magic's exceptional court vision. He moved gracefully with or without the ball (hence his nickname "Silk") and had great hands. He also knew how to use a pick better than anyone Johnson had ever played with before. He didn't object to the rookie's admonishment because, Wilkes said, "he was right. After that, I always looked."

Not everyone responded as positively to the confident rookie. Johnson was outplaying teammate Ron Boone in practice, and when the two went up for a rebound, Boone purposely whacked Magic in the back of the head. As they ran down the floor, Magic said, "You better know I'm going to get you back."

"Keep moving, rookie, you're not going to do anything," Boone replied.

Magic delivered his payback in the form of a fist to Boone's neck. Boone crashed to the floor and came up swinging.

"Don't you ever do that shit to me again!" Johnson shouted.

"Magic, get off the floor!" McKinney barked.

"Bullshit!" Magic retorted. "He hit me first, and when I retaliate, you're going to throw me off the court?"

"Get off the floor," McKinney repeated.

"I might be a rookie, but none of you are going to punk me," Magic said. "You're dealing with the wrong guy if you do."

Johnson sat on the sideline for the remainder of the practice, then left without speaking. For the next six days, he dominated practice, knocking down shots and firing pinpoint passes, each delivered with his teeth gritted. Jerry West tried to calm him, but Magic was unmoved.

"Jerry," he said, "I can smile nice, but I can fight mean too if I have to."

On October 12, 1979, Magic Johnson and Larry Bird made their pro debuts on opposite ends of the country.

Bird, operating on East Coast time, was in the starting lineup against the Houston Rockets in Boston Garden. His performance was unremarkable from a statistical standpoint because he was in foul trouble for most of the night and watched the Celtics pull away for a 114–105 win from the bench. His coming-out party proved to be the next night in Cleveland, where he poured in 28 points.

Because California was three hours behind Boston, Bird was showered, dressed, and settled in his family room to watch Magic's first professional regular season game in San Diego. When Johnson fed Kareem for a skyhook at the buzzer to win it, Johnson was so ecstatic that he jumped into the big fella's arms.

"What the hell is he doing?" Bird said to Dinah.

Kareem wondered the same thing. When they got back to their locker room, he reminded Magic that they still had 81 more games to go.

"He'll burn out in a week if he keeps going at this pace," Norm Nixon observed.

Nixon was wrong. The young buck played at one speed every day: full speed. He never wanted a day off, never ran easy, never let up. His energy level was a constant.

"He charged ahead at everything," Wilkes said. "And what it did was put tremendous pressure on the rest of us to match that kind of commitment."

One month into his professional career, after lighting up the Denver Nuggets for 31 points, 8 assists, and 6 rebounds, Magic confessed, "There are some nights I feel like I can do anything out there."

Four weeks later, Bird pinned a triple-double (23 points, 19 rebounds, and 10 assists) on the Phoenix Suns and wryly noted, "Some nights the game just seems really easy."

The NBA couldn't believe its good fortune. It had been saddled with drug scandals, image problems, and dwindling revenues, but this budding rivalry between two remarkable rookies had revitalized two of its kingpin cities. Boston's vice president Jan Volk sensed something special was going on when the team played a Wednesday night game against Utah against the televised World Series—and sold out anyway.

"None of our fans could name a player from Utah," Volk said. "They were coming to see Larry."

They only played each other twice during the regular season. Just as he had done during the NCAA Final, Bird refused to engage in any banter with Johnson. During their December tilt, the only time the two exchanged words was when Bird leveled Magic as he drove to the basket. The two rookies stared each other down before teammates stepped in.

"I thought Larry and I had some kind of connection after the NCAA championship," said Magic. "I guess he was making it clear he didn't feel the same way. So I made up my mind, 'I'm done trying to be nice to this guy. I'm just going to beat him instead.'"

The Lakers went on to take both regular season games that season, irritating Bird even further.

Bird circled his first trip to Los Angeles for a number of reasons. It was a chance to play Magic again, but also to be on the same court as Abdul-Jabbar, who represented one of his first introductions to pro basketball. Bird grew up a block and a half from a poolroom called Reeder's. The owner was a midget who loved sports and took Bird's brothers to a Chicago Cubs game each summer. Bird was too young to go, but one night, when Abdul-Jabbar was scheduled to play against Elvin Hayes in the old Houston Astrodome, Bird convinced his parents to let him go down to the pool hall and watch the game.

"I thought Kareem was the greatest," Bird said. "Every time I came across him in the pros, I flashed back to sitting in that pool hall, staying up until eleven o'clock to watch him play. I was asleep by eleven-thirty, but I remembered every move he made."

Practicing alongside Abdul-Jabbar and his Lakers teammates only further convinced Magic that he had a lot to learn. Cooper and Nixon showed him how to break down film and decipher the tendencies of opposing guards, like Gus Williams's preference to dribble twice before he pulled up at the free throw line or "Downtown" Freddie Brown's habit of gravitating to the corner.

Nixon ran the projector and pointed out that when the San Antonio Spurs ran "4," that meant George Gervin was curling off a screen, while "2" meant he was coming off a single double screen.

Nixon was helpful in other matters as well. One morning when the Lakers were on the road, Magic was having breakfast with a woman. As he hugged and kissed her goodbye before he got on the team bus, Nixon called him over.

"Don't ever do that again," Nixon said.

"Why? She's just a friend. We're having breakfast together," Magic protested.

"I don't care who she is," Nixon said. "When you walk out to the bus with a girl like that, Coach is going to think you spent the night with her. And God help you if you play bad."

"Okay," the rookie said. "I got it."

***

By the time the Celtics started their regular season, Bird was spending most of his time with Robey and Cowens, drinking suds and watching sports. In the late seventies and early eighties, the home NBA team was required to provide the road team with a case of cold beer in the locker room after each game. Players drank as much as they wanted, then left the rest behind. The Celtics rarely had any surplus on the road because Bird and Robey grabbed pillowcases from the hotel and stuffed them full of cans of beer.

When the 1979–80 regular season ended, the Celtics had won 61 games and the Lakers had won 60. LA weathered an unexpected coaching change when McKinney fell off his bicycle on his way to play tennis with assistant coach Paul Westhead and suffered severe, life-threatening injuries. After Westhead took his place and named radio announcer (and former Lakers player) Pat Riley as his assistant, the team sailed on.

Both rookies filled the stat sheets from wire to wire. Larry's and Magic's skills, contrasting personalities, and dueling franchises couldn't have been better scripted on Madison Avenue.

"For once," said longtime NBA executive Donnie Walsh, "the hype was real."

The Lakers easily advanced past Phoenix and Seattle in the postseason, and Boston swept Houston in the first round, but the more experienced Philadelphia 76ers, led by Dr. J and Darryl Dawkins, put an abrupt end to Bird's first season and killed any hopes of a Lakers-Celtics Final.

Bird finished third in the league MVP voting and was a first-team All-NBA selection, yet none of that was of any consequence to him. His only focus was winning a championship, preferably over Magic. "And then all of a sudden, it was over, just like that," Bird said. "It was a shock, really."

Magic prepared for the Finals with mixed emotions. He was thrilled to be on the league's biggest stage, but wished he would be competing against someone other than Erving. The generous man who eleven months earlier had opened his home to a young college sophomore with a life-altering decision to ponder would now be trying to wrestle a championship away from him. When Dr. J and Johnson met on the floor before the game, Erving embraced his protégé and said quietly, "Forget everything I told you."

The Finals were a blur to the rookie. The intensity and the pressure and the attention was initially overwhelming. Magic marveled at Kareem, who approached each game with the same blank expression and the same measure of calm. The captain burned the Sixers for 33, 38, and 33 points in the first three games. He had already scored 26 points in the third quarter of Game 5 when he crashed to the court grabbing his ankle. Abdul-Jabbar was taken to the locker room, but returned late in the fourth quarter to score 14 points down the stretch and give the Lakers a 3–2 series lead.

When Abdul-Jabbar left the locker room on crutches, the Lakers recognized that they'd be going to Philadelphia without him—and, if they believed the rest of the NBA, without a chance.

The day before Game 6, Bruce Jolesch, the Lakers' public relations director, grabbed Magic after the team's workout.

"I've got some disappointing news," he said. "Larry Bird won Rookie of the Year."

"How close was it?" Magic asked.

"Not close," Jolesch answered.

Bird won the award by a 63–3 margin. The lopsided vote was demoralizing. Magic called to commiserate with Earvin Johnson Sr., who bitterly told him, "This is a complete injustice."

Magic expressed mild disappointment publicly, nothing more. But privately he seethed over the lack of respect he was given. The fact that Larry Bird dominated the vote only made it worse.

"I was jealous, and I was mad," Magic said. "I thought I had a great year. When I heard I only got three votes, I took it out on the Sixers. I wanted people to recognize my play the way they had recognized Larry's.

"It wasn't anything personal against Larry ... well, actually, it was."