When the Game Was Ours (13 page)

By the time he dominated Game 6 as Kareem's fill-in, no one was talking about the Rookie of the Year any longer. They were trumpeting the incredible Magic, who brought championship glory back to Los Angeles.

"I think we can win a few of these," said Magic, cradling the championship trophy in the afterglow of his superb showing.

The Celtics had other ideas. With the number-one pick in the 1980 draft, courtesy of a previous trade with Detroit, they went shopping for a front-court player to help contain Kareem. After briefly pursuing Virginia center Ralph Sampson, who maintained he would not come out of college, Auerbach turned his attention to the graduating senior prospects, among them Purdue center Joe Barry Carroll and Minnesota forward Kevin McHale.

Auerbach didn't like Carroll's game but deftly convinced everyone in the league that he was about to select him. Golden State, which also needed help in the middle, wanted Carroll badly. Auerbach ended up trading the number-one and number-thirteen picks to the Warriors for the number-three pick (which Auerbach used to take McHale, the player he wanted all along) and an underachieving center by the name of Robert Parish, who, Auerbach surmised, would be an able backup to Cowens.

The Big Three was born, although it would be five more seasons before McHale became a starter. Parish was not projected to be a starter either, but on October 1, 1980, while the team was in Terre Haute, Indiana, waiting to take the bus to Evansville for an exhibition game, Cowens walked up the top step and announced he was retiring.

"I'm sorry, guys," Cowens said. "My heart just isn't in it anymore."

Bird was stunned. Not only did he look up to Cowens, but the big redhead had become one of his closest friends on the team. Cowens had given Bird no indication he was feeling this way.

"I was a little mad," Bird said. "I thought we had a great team with Dave. But without him? Robert wasn't ready. And Kevin? Who knew, really?"

Bird turned to Parish, who was sitting three seats behind him on the bus, and said, "You better get into shape."

Although Parish was one of the favorite targets of the hard-driving Fitch, the coach whipped him into condition, and Parish's game flourished accordingly. The seven-footer ran the floor like a long-legged gazelle, dutifully filling the lanes in transition even though most of the time he never saw the ball. Bird became so appreciative of the center's commitment that he made sure he held the ball back a couple of times so Parish could come down as the trailer and be rewarded with two points.

The transition from Cowens to Parish, whose weapon of choice was a high-arching rainbow jumper, was more seamless than anyone could have hoped. Yet Bird couldn't shake the lingering feeling that Cowens had let them down.

"I just couldn't understand why he couldn't wait and leave at the end of the season," Bird said.

Boston averaged 109.9 points in 1980–81, a byproduct of a deep front line and a resourceful little point guard named Nate "Tiny" Archibald. True to his moniker, the former New York City hotshot stood about 5-foot-8 (although he was listed officially as 6-foot-1), but compensated for his lack of size with considerable guile and quickness. Tiny went around big men and small men, under screens and over screens. He could drive, shoot, and distribute the ball.

"He literally made us go," Bird said.

McHale, the new rookie, was 6-foot-10 with shoulders so broad it looked as though he'd forgotten to remove the coat hanger from his shirt. He was long and agile and every bit as easygoing as Bird was single-minded. It made for a fascinating relationship between two successful forwards who approached their craft in vastly different manners.

"Larry was relentless," M. L. Carr said. "He was there when we came in to practice, and there when we left. One day I said to Kevin, 'Why don't you be like Larry?' He said, 'Hey, man, I've got a life.'"

Throughout the early portion of the 1980–81 season, Magic was grounded by torn cartilage in his knee that left him in street clothes for 45 games. Magic had never been seriously injured before and was impatient to return. As the Celtics pounded opponent after opponent, Magic became concerned that he wouldn't recover in time for the postseason.

He returned on February 27, and Buss printed up buttons that declared T
HE
M
AGIC IS BACK
! to celebrate the occasion.

Norm Nixon rolled his eyes. He was tired of Magic stealing all the press and dominating the ball. He had taken over the point position during Magic's injury, and the team had played well. Once a mentor to Johnson, Nixon was increasingly becoming his foil.

Westhead, in his first full season as Lakers coach, scrapped McKinney's flowing motion offense and implemented a system that was predicated on pounding the ball inside to Kareem. Showtime had been reduced to Slowtime, and Magic was frustrated, especially since he often found himself playing in the front court.

"Paul ran this system where I was supposed to only run down the floor on my designated side, the left side," Magic said. "I'm saying, Are you kidding me? I can only use the left side of the floor?'"

"Coach," he said to Westhead after practice, "we need to get back to running."

"Magic," Westhead answered, "stick to the game plan."

The fractured Lakers were stunned by the Houston Rockets in the opening round of the best-of-three series. Magic shot 2 of 13 from the floor in the final game and threw up an air ball on the final play as he drove to the basket. His squabble with Nixon went public, and "the whole thing," Johnson said, "went up in smoke."

Boston had survived a grueling Eastern Conference Finals with the Sixers by overcoming a 3–1 deficit. Bird was immense in the deciding Game 7, picking off numerous Sixers passes and banking home the game-winning shot.

Just as Magic had done the previous year against the 76ers, Bird willed his team to victory.

"I never heard the term 'point forward' until I met Larry," said Tiny Archibald. "He was a professor. He dissected the game, and he dissected the players. He knew when to shoot and when to score better than anyone I've ever seen.

"He wouldn't let us lose to the Sixers. He simply would not allow it."

LA's stunning postseason fall left Bird feeling like a prizefighter who had just been told his heavyweight opponent was TKO'ed before he got to throw a punch. He wanted Magic and the Lakers in the Finals, but instead he got Moses Malone and the Houston Rockets.

Malone willingly played the role of Boston's villain, declaring the Celtics were "really not that good." Even after the Green took a 3–2 series lead, Malone dismissed them as "chumps," not champs.

Bird was effective as a rebounder and a passer against the Rockets, but until the deciding Game 6, he was shooting only 38 percent from the floor. Houston forward Robert Reid was credited with being a Bird stopper, which only served to irritate the Boston forward further.

"Try stopping this," he said to Reid, when he connected on a 15-footer in the third quarter.

"Stop that," he said again, after he drilled his only three-pointer of the series late in the fourth quarter.

The Celtics won Game 6 behind Bird's 26 points on 11-of-20 shooting. He celebrated his first championship by puffing on one of Auerbach's trademark stogies. Then he partied with his teammates through the night in the team hotel. The Celtics were young and healthy and their future was limitless.

As Magic sat at home in Lansing with his father watching Boston's victory celebration, he fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.

"That's it," said Magic, who got up and called Tucker, who lived in Lansing and owned his own basketball court. Twenty minutes later, Johnson was dressed in his practice gear, going through a full workout at his agent's house in the middle of the night.

"I was so pissed watching Larry smoke that cigar," he said, "I couldn't stand it anymore."

That summer, Buss offered Magic a 25-year, $25 million contract. It was an outlandish deal, both in dollar value and years. No one expected Johnson to play another two and a half decades, so the inference was clear: Buss had plans for him beyond his basketball days. Suddenly, Magic's teammates were revisiting his cozy relationship with Buss.

Abdul-Jabbar, who had carried the Lakers for six seasons, was particularly insulted by Magic's windfall. The morning after the contract was announced, Kareem wondered aloud in the papers, "What is he, player or management? We don't know."

Johnson's new deal was a problem—a big problem. An irate Nixon met him in the hallway and said, "Buck, what's going on? The guys are talking. They say you are hanging all the time with Buss. That's a no-no in this business."

"I didn't know that," Magic said. "Dr. Buss is my friend."

"Players and management don't hang out together," Nixon said.

"Hey, I'm hanging with Dr. Buss. That boat has already sailed," Magic replied.

"Well, I'm just telling you, we don't know how to take you," Nixon continued. "If something is said in the locker room, we don't know if you are going to take it back."

"What are you talking about, Norm?" Magic said incredulously. "I've already been in your locker room for two years. Has anything we've said gotten back to Dr. Buss?"

Nixon shrugged. For the next couple of weeks, Magic was on an island. The only player he trusted was Cooper, who was busy fighting for a niche on the team. Magic wasn't the only player who chafed at Westhead's style. Neither Wilkes nor Nixon liked it either, but only the young buck spoke his mind.

Magic's frustration spilled over on November 18, 1981, in Salt Lake City. The Lakers were in the middle of a tight game with the Utah Jazz when Westhead called time-out. As the team gathered in the huddle, Magic began talking about the miscues of the previous two plays and how the Lakers could correct their mistakes.

"Magic," Westhead said, "be quiet and pay attention."

"We're just going over what we need to do," Magic said.

"I don't want to hear anything out of your mouth," Westhead retorted. "That's your problem. You talk too much."

Johnson flinched. He turned away from the huddle and moved toward the water cooler.

"Get back here!" Westhead hissed. "You're busting the system. You're not doing your job."

Cooper ushered his friend back into the huddle. "Forget about it, Buck," Cooper said. "Just play."

Los Angeles hung on to win 113–110. As Magic walked off the court, his coach was waiting for him in the hallway. Westhead pulled him into the coach's room and warned him, "You better get with it, or we're going to have problems."

"You've stopped us from running, and you're blaming me," Magic said. "The other guys don't want to tell you, but they don't like playing this way either."

The argument escalated. Reporters lingered in the hallway, capturing the scene. Johnson emerged from the office and angrily kicked the water cooler in the hallway. Then he went back to his locker and announced he wanted to be traded.

Pat Riley witnessed all of it. He knew tensions were building between Westhead and Johnson. He could sense Magic's frustration with playing a slower pace, and he knew Westhead's patience had been running thin with the outspoken guard.

"I should have gotten involved," Riley said. "Maybe I could have stopped it. It was an awkward situation. I loved Earvin, but I was working for Paul."

When the team returned to Los Angeles the next morning, both West and Buss were waiting for Magic. They told him that his decision to go public with his complaints was inappropriate and immature. Then they told him they had fired Westhead, something West had been planning to do anyway.

Magic was relieved. The team played San Antonio at home the next night, and he wanted to get back to Showtime. In a curious arrangement, Riley, whom he liked and trusted, was named the head coach—but West would be moving down to the bench to help him as a "consultant."

On the night of November 20, Johnson arrived earlier than normal to the Forum in case Riley wanted to review any game details. He was anxious for a new start and couldn't wait for the game to begin.

"I was thinking everything was back to normal," Magic said.

The boos started the moment he joined the lay-up line. Magic glanced around to see who they were directed toward. It took him a moment to realize the Forum fans were targeting him. They booed him during introductions, and they booed him the first time he touched the ball. Magic looked at Cooper, holding back tears. "They're blaming me for this?" he asked.

Johnson played through all of it, recording a triple-double (20 points, 16 assists, and 10 rebounds) and leading the Lakers in a 136–116 blowout win. By the end of the game, the boos had subsided, but it would be a long time before Johnson forgot them—or the lack of support he received from his own bench.

"The worst part about it was my teammates," Magic said. "They hung me out to dry. None of them backed me up. Coop was the only guy. He wasn't in a position to do it publicly, but he did it privately. The rest of them couldn't be bothered, and I took it personally.

"It made me realize who I was dealing with. I thought, 'Okay, I guess this is what they mean when they say it is a business.'"

For the next month, Magic's life on the road was miserable. He was the resident NBA bad guy, the spoiled, petulant coach killer, and nothing he could do or say would alter that image. At first, the adversarial reception was upsetting, but after a while it was merely another source of motivation.

Bird was puzzled by the national furor. Magic was averaging double figures in assists. How could anyone call him selfish or spoiled? "I felt kinda bad for him," Bird said.

After Riley took over, the Lakers won 17 of their next 20 games. He rejuvenated the Lakers' transition game and spread the wealth among his major offensive weapons. Six players averaged double figures in 1981–82, including Magic. Riley took a conciliatory tack, asking his players for input and admitting freely he was learning on the job. Johnson became his confidant, and his friend.

Eventually Magic's world was realigned. He was back in the fans' good graces, the team was playing up-tempo again, and his new coach was about to embark on a meteoric career path. The team breezed to the Finals and awaited an Eastern opponent.