When the Game Was Ours (28 page)

"It wasn't until they did that Converse commercial that people started to realize they weren't enemies, just two very tough guys who hate to lose," said Lakers forward James Worthy. "They were both great assist men who enhanced everyone around them."

The Converse ad received mixed reviews from Johnson's Lakers teammates, who were stunned to learn he had flown to Indiana—more specifically,
to Bird's house
—to tape it. When Johnson returned to Los Angeles, he called up his friend Byron Scott and told him, "You know what? I've got a different feeling about Larry Bird now. He's a real down-to-earth guy. I think we could end up being friends one day."

"I couldn't believe what I was hearing," Scott said. "I was shocked. We
hated
Larry Bird and the Celtics."

Scott mercilessly taunted Johnson about his new Converse advertising partner. When Magic showed up for practice, Scott and Michael Cooper were waiting. Cooper played the role of Bird, complete with the hardened glare and the biting words. "Okay, Magic. Show me what you got!" Cooper shouted at Scott, who played the role of Magic. At that moment, Scott ripped off his warm-ups, just as Johnson had done in the spot.

While the skit usually left Magic's teammates doubled over with laughter, it did not amuse his coach. As Johnson suspected, Riley was furious when he learned of the commercial—and its location.

"I didn't like it," Riley said. "I didn't say anything about it, but I was not happy. We all knew the Magic-Bird thing transcended the Lakers versus the Celtics. It was between them as to how they handled that.

"I wanted to ask Earvin if he thought Bird would have filmed it if he had to come to Los Angeles. He wouldn't have. We all know that."

Riley hoped there were other reasons Magic had agreed to film the commercial. He had witnessed Johnson disarm many of his would-be adversaries with his dazzling smile and knew that while Bird considered fraternizing a sign of weakness, Johnson's charms were often too irresistible to ignore.

"The more I thought about it, maybe Earvin had a plan," Riley said. "He was such a competitor himself, maybe his idea was to catch Bird off-guard, to soften him up a bit."

Back in Boston, the commercial registered barely a blip in Celtics workouts. McHale occasionally serenaded Bird with a sudden outburst of "Choose your weapon!" but he soon grew bored with it and left Boston's franchise forward alone. If any of Larry's teammates resented his decision to film the ad alongside Magic, they didn't articulate it.

"There was none of that," said former Celtic Rick Carlisle. "Honestly, I think that just epitomizes the difference between the two personalities. Magic was probably concerned about what his teammates thought of him. Larry didn't really care."

Celtics coach K. C. Jones had no concerns at all about Magic and Bird's time together and how it might alter the mental toughness of his star.

"Are you kidding?" Jones said. "Larry was the most competitive person alive—except for maybe Magic. I couldn't see how any commercial was going to change their approach.

"I never did understand what Pat Riley's problem was. It was a harmless thing. It was good for the league, good for their image, and good for both of our franchises."

Jones had an intimate knowledge of such rivalries, since he had played alongside Bill Russell during his epic battles with Wilt Chamberlain. When the Celtics played in Philadelphia, Russell often spent the day with Chamberlain—even took a nap in his bed—but when it was game time, all that hospitality was forgotten.

"We'd get on the court, and Russ would look through Wilt as if he wasn't there," Jones said. "I knew Larry would be the same way."

Following the commercial, Magic anticipated a more civil reunion when he saw Bird before their rare regular season meetings.

"I still wanted to beat the Celtics in the worst way," Magic said. "I still wanted to take away what Larry Bird had. But now, after the game, I found myself saying, 'Hey, let's go have a beer.'"

Bird's answer, however, did not change from previous years: thanks, but no thanks. Their relationship changed that afternoon in West Baden, but he still wasn't willing to socialize with the one player who stood in the way of every single basketball goal he'd set for himself and the Celtics.

"I could separate the guy who sat in my basement and told me all about his family from the guy who was wearing a Lakers jersey and trying to keep us from winning a championship," Bird said. "It was easy, to be honest."

The slogan "Choose Your Weapon" eventually became dated and politically incorrect. According to Jack Green, the name of a subsequent campaign for Phoenix Suns star Kevin Johnson, originally "Run and Gun," was scrapped and the campaign renamed "Run and Slam" after urban groups voiced their opposition. The "violent nature" of the wording ultimately killed the Weapon campaign.

Yet the success of the concept convinced Nike to invest millions in a young megastar they nicknamed Air Jordan. The spectacular young Bulls star turned the Oregon-based shoe company into a major player in the athletic industry.

Because their schedules were so busy and because they lived on different coasts, the karma between Magic and Larry on that beautiful fall afternoon was never again re-created on camera. Yet the residual effect of their time together was an unspoken, shared understanding of the blessings and burdens of carrying a franchise.

"I would have never guessed how it would turn out," Bird conceded. "If we had never done that commercial, I doubt we ever would have sat down and talked like we did. We may never have gotten to know each other."

The commercial aired throughout the 1985–86 season, which began with Bird continuing to labor through severe back pain. By the end of the exhibition season, Bird was contemplating shutting it down for the year. The pain was nauseating, and the stiffness limited every aspect of his game. Dr. Silva brought in a physical therapist named Dan Dyrek to examine him. Dyrek discussed surgery, an option Bird quickly dismissed. They talked about rest and treatment, and Bird agreed to half of that course of action.

"I'll do the treatment," he said, "but I'm not missing any games."

For the next three months, Dyrek worked on Bird's back, attempting to alleviate the pressure of the compressed nerves. After every practice, the forward would drive to Dyrek's office for an hour (or more) of treatment. He religiously did a series of exercises that helped his mobility, but shooting a basketball remained problematic for the first ten weeks of the season. By the New Year, however, the treatment finally paid dividends.

Once Bird regained his touch, the Boston Celtics were brimming with Career Best Efforts of their own. The Big Three of Bird, McHale, and Parish was in its prime, and D.J. and Ainge had established themselves as reliable fixtures in the backcourt.

Auerbach asked Maxwell to come early to rookie camp to reclaim his place in the team nucleus, but the veteran declined, citing the need to oversee construction of his new home. "Where the hell does he think he got the money for that new home?" Auerbach groused.

"The veterans never went to rookie camp," said Maxwell. "Why all of a sudden was it so important that I be there?"

Boston had previously been engaged in on-again, off-again talks with the Los Angeles Clippers about center Bill Walton, who was on the back side of his career and looking for a change of scenery. Walton contacted the Lakers first, but West was wary of his medical issues, so Walton placed a call to Red Auerbach, who ran it by Bird.

"Hey, if the guy's healthy, he'll help us," Bird said. "Let's go for it."

After Maxwell's refusal to attend rookie camp, Auerbach decided the former 1981 Finals MVP would be the bait to pry Walton away from the Clippers. When the deal was announced, Maxwell bitterly departed Boston believing Bird had angled to have him shipped out of town.

In later years, Bird would continue to laud Max as "one of the greatest teammates I've ever had," but their relationship had suffered irreparable harm. Bird thought Max quit on him, and in the end Max thought Bird did the same to him.

Walton's arrival connected Bird with a teammate who loved and respected the game as much as he did. The two became instant friends and verbal sparring partners. They played 1-on-1 for hours before and after practice, trash-talking to one another throughout. Their chemistry was electric, their camaraderie genuine. Walton, who had seriously considered quitting, was reborn.

"Larry didn't just give me my career back, he gave me my life back," said Walton.

The liberal mountain man, a disciple of the Grateful Dead and a passionate political pundit, provided his teammates with a plethora of material to use at his expense. After practice, Walton, McHale, and retired Celtic John Havlicek would adjourn to Bird's house for lunch so McHale could begin his interrogation in earnest.

"So, Bill," McHale would say, "what do mushrooms really taste like? And was that really Patty Hearst tied up in your basement?"

After McHale had worked Walton into a proper lather, he'd sit back and announce, "Richard Nixon was the best president we ever had, don't you agree, Bill?"

The big redhead, whose one regret was that he never made Nixon's infamous "enemies list," would screech in protest as his new teammates howled with laughter.

Walton was a student of basketball history who tried to emulate Bill Russell as a young player. He was so taken with Bird's game that he made a trip to his friend's Indiana home and bottled up some of the French Lick dirt as a souvenir.

Walton, Jerry Sichting, and Scott Wedman became Boston's primary weapons off the bench and dubbed themselves the Green Team. They prided themselves on pushing their more celebrated teammates to the limit. The starters, nicknamed the Stat Team, often logged 40-plus minutes a night, so it wasn't uncommon for the reserves, fresh from 10 minutes or less of playing time, to beat them in practice the day after a game. Regardless of the score, assistant coaches Jimmy Rodgers and Chris Ford rigged the results in the Stat Team's favor. One day Walton had seen enough.

"K.C.," Walton said, "how can you let this travesty of injustice unfold before your eyes?"

"Bill," Jones answered, "you know we can't let practice end until Larry's team wins."

Although injuries had taken their toll on his body, Walton was still a superb rebounder and a defensive presence. He was also a gifted passer, and there were nights when he and Bird deftly performed basketball poetry together. The former UCLA star with the West Coast roots became an instant folk hero, embraced by the normally discerning Boston fans as one of their own.

His arrival pushed Parish, the silent center nicknamed "Chief"—after the character in
One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest
—further to the back of the public's consciousness. Walton was keenly aware of Parish's value to the team as well as the public's habit of overlooking him. The afternoon he arrived in Boston and was picked up at the airport by M. L. Carr, he asked to be taken to Parish's house,
where he promised the Chief he had no aspirations other than being his backup.

With the physical therapist Dyrek a new (and permanent) member of Bird's inner circle, Larry was able to shake off his back woes and submit the most complete season of his career. He averaged 25.8 points, 9.8 rebounds, and 6.8 assists a night, picked off a career-high 166 steals, and led the league in free throw shooting with an .896 percentage.

The 1986 All-Star weekend featured a new event, the Three-Point Shootout. Bird walked into the locker room and asked, "Which one of you guys is going to finish second?" After he blew away the competition and was handed an oversized check for the victory, he cracked, "This check's had my name on it for weeks."

Bird's demeanor was emblematic of the Celtics team as a whole. They were young, loose, cocky, and together.

"It was the best time of my life," McHale said. "Of all the things we did, what stands out is how naturally we gave of ourselves to the team. No one person was bigger than the rest of us."

Although Bird was still the Celtics' headliner, his teammates garnered their share of praise. The Big Three was universally recognized as the most frightening front line in the league, and Walton's resurgence became one of the NBA's most endearing stories.

One night when Parish was sidelined with an ankle sprain, Walton arrived at the Garden three and a half hours ahead of time. He was about to make his first start ever for the Boston Celtics and wanted to be prepared. As he stretched on the parquet, Bird stood over him.

"Now, look," Bird said. "Just because you are starting instead of Chief, don't think for a minute his shots are yours. Those are my shots. You just get to the weak side and rebound the ball."

As his popularity increased, Bird was inundated with endorsement requests. Everyone wanted him to hawk their products, but he judiciously picked his spots. When Lay's potato chips made him a lucrative offer, Bird agreed to appear in a commercial with Kareem.

The ad began with Larry about to open a bag of chips.

"Betcha can't eat just one," Abdul-Jabbar deadpanned.

"Bet I can," replied the cocky forward, who popped the single chip into his mouth.

As the camera panned back around, Bird sat greedily eating the whole bag of Lay's—with a completely shaved head to match Kareem's bald pate.

Mindful that his success was tied directly to his teammates, Bird often tried to incorporate them into his good fortune. When a local eatery near the Garden asked Bird to be their spokesman, he agreed and quietly arranged to put his teammates' tab on his docket each time they joined him for a meal there.

The portfolio of three-time champion Earvin "Magic" Johnson also continued to overflow with financial opportunities. The combination of his unique athletic skills and his infectious personality led to new commercials, new business ventures outside of basketball, and lots of new friends. Johnson no longer needed to rely on Buss to score him an invitation to the hottest events in Hollywood. He was atop the A-list with actors, comedians, athletes, and entertainers.