When the Game Was Ours (6 page)

In the second game of the season, Bird led ISU to a 63–55 upset over Purdue, burning the Boilermakers for 22 points and 15 rebounds. Five days later, he dropped 40 points on Evansville, and then, on December 16, he punished Butler with 48 points, 19 rebounds, and 5 assists.

It was a remarkable string of basketball and Hodges, only 36 years old, drew great comfort from Bird's decision to play for ISU in his final season rather than bolt to the NBA. Hodges knew he was watching a once-in-a-lifetime player at work.

The previous spring Bird had become "junior eligible" for the NBA draft. Since Bird's career technically began in 1974 when he spent three and a half weeks at Indiana, he was considered a member of the class of 1978 in the eyes of professional basketball, even though he had never played a second for the Hoosiers and still had a year of eligibility left at Indiana State.

Under new guidelines of the NBA's collective bargaining agreement in 1976, a player could be drafted, return to college and play his final season, and then negotiate with the NBA team that had selected him. If an agreement was not reached by draft day, the team would forfeit its exclusive rights and the player would go back into the NBA draft pool.

Bird was unaware of the rules that had so direct an impact on him. In fact, he was blissfully ignorant of almost everything that had to do with the NBA.

"I just didn't care about the pros," Bird said.

The Indiana Pacers held the number-one pick in 1978, and their coach, Bob "Slick" Leonard, called Bird and invited him to Indianapolis for a visit to discuss his future.

Bird drove to meet Leonard with Ed Jukes, a local banker and trusted family friend. The meeting was held in downtown Indianapolis at the Hyatt Regency. As they walked into the hotel, Bird was struck by the long escalator that led to the second floor.

"It was the first time I had ever seen one," he said.

As they got situated in the hotel restaurant, Leonard asked Bird if he'd like a beer.

"Sure," Bird answered. "I'll have a Heineken."

Leonard gulped. He was a Terre Haute native and had grown up, as he liked to say, "walking the same dirt floors as Larry did." Yet even after becoming a professional player and NBA executive, Slick still drank Champagne Velvet beer, the locally brewed ale that was popular because it was inexpensive.

"On Friday nights it was Pabst Blue Ribbon, because we were probably going to drink a lot of 'em and that was the economical way to go," Leonard said.

"Only wealthy people drank Heineken. But I figured, 'Oh, what the hell.' I had one with him."

Leonard explained the dire situation of the Pacers franchise, which had recently merged with the NBA, along with the other teams in the American Basketball Association (ABA), and was on the verge of financial ruin. The team had offered its top free agent, Dan Roundfield, a $200,000 contract, "which was $200,000 we didn't have," Leonard said. But the Atlanta Hawks swooped in and offered Roundfield $450,000. Roundfield went for the bigger dollars and left the Pacers with a gaping hole in their lineup, as well as a difficult predicament to consider. Indiana wanted to draft Bird, but the franchise couldn't risk him going back to Indiana State for his senior season. They needed help immediately.

"Look, I can't wait a year," Slick told Bird. "Our franchise can't afford it. So if you are going back to school, you've got to tell me, because I'll trade the pick. But if you come out, I'll take you."

There was no hesitation in Bird's reply. He had promised his mother Georgia he would leave Indiana State with a degree. Although Georgia's financial situation was still tenuous, she remained steadfast in insisting that her son earn that diploma.

"My mom didn't care about the money," Bird explained. "She was hanging in there. It wasn't a life-or-death situation. If it was, maybe I would have made a different decision."

Leonard and Bird drained a couple more Heinekens before they amicably shook hands and parted ways. As he was leaving the Hyatt, Bird asked Jukes to hold on a moment. He hopped on the escalator, riding up, then down again, with childish delight.

Although he was disappointed that Bird would not be wearing a Pacers uniform, Slick was hardly devastated. At that time there were questions about Bird's body type, his quickness, and his temperament. No one was projecting him to be a first-ballot Hall of Famer.

"I liked Larry," Leonard said, "but, c'mon now. Nobody knew he was that good."

True to his word, Leonard dealt the number-one pick to the Portland Trailblazers in exchange for guard Johnny Davis, center Clement Johnson, and the number-three pick in the 1978 draft, which the Pacers used to select Kentucky big man Rick Robey.

Now it was the Trailblazers' turn to woo the reluctant ISU forward. Bird was barraged with phone calls at his French Lick home from Portland executive Stu Inman. After a while, Georgia Bird, able to distinguish Inman's voice, would politely but firmly hang up the phone.

Inman's sales pitch to Bird included the prospect of playing alongside a certain future Hall of Famer.

"Larry," Inman said, "you are missing out on an opportunity to play with Bill Walton. He is one of the greatest centers ever to play the game."

"He's hurt all the time," Bird bluntly replied.

(Although Bird, who would later play alongside Walton with the Celtics during their 1986 championship season, counts Walton among his closest friends, he was accurate in his assessment. In Walton's first two seasons in the league, he broke his nose, wrist, and leg. After leading Portland to an NBA championship in the 1977 season, Walton broke his foot in 1978, played in just 58 games, and demanded a trade during the off-season because of what he perceived to be unethical treatment from the team doctors. When the Blazers refused to deal him, the big redhead sat out the entire 1978–79 season in protest. The broken foot led to a myriad of problems that severely hampered his career and later required him to undergo fusion surgery on his ankle.)

Although Bird was as adamant with the Blazers about his intentions to return to Indiana State, Portland remained undeterred, emptying its Rolodex in attempts to reach out to numerous contacts to whisper in Larry's ear.

"I swear Portland had everyone working it," Bird said. "Total strangers would come up to me and say, 'I can't believe you're not going to the pros! You have a chance to take care of your family for life. Why do you need to go to school?'

"I kept telling them, 'No, I'm going back. I'm going back.' I wasn't changing my mind."

Inman made some inquiries about Bird and discovered he was fiercely loyal, uncommonly stubborn, and had a quick temper and a taste for beer. Inman had concerns about the forward's maturity and conditioning. On draft day, Portland selected Minnesota forward Mychal Thompson with the first overall pick. The Blazers' intent was to pluck Bird with their other first-round selection, the seventh pick, but Boston, selecting sixth, grabbed him before Portland had the chance.

Red Auerbach made the selection without ever speaking to Bird about his professional aspirations. The Celtics general manager already knew all about Indiana State's prized player. The day Larry's World Invitational Tournament teammates saw Red walking down the stairs, he was there to evaluate Bird. He had also been monitoring Bird through reports from scouts John Killilea and K. C. Jones. Killilea returned home from an extended road trip to the Midwest and gushed to Auerbach, "Red, I think I've just found the next Rick Barry. He can shoot from anywhere. And you won't believe what a great passer this kid is."

"I trusted Killilea," said Auerbach, "but I also thought he was exaggerating."

Auerbach placed a call to his friend Bob Knight, who assured him that Bird's missteps in Bloomington were nothing to be concerned about.

"In fact," Auerbach reported, "Bob told me he wished he had helped the kid along more. The way he put it was, 'The only thing Bird did wrong here was not check with me before he left campus.'"

On a balmy afternoon in June, Bird was playing golf in Santa Claus, Indiana, with his longtime friend Max Gibson when a stranger hollered to them, "Larry Bird! You just got drafted by the Boston Celtics!"

"What does that mean?" Bird asked.

"Hell, I don't know," he said.

Gibson and Bird plopped down their clubs and walked inside the lounge to have a sandwich. At around 4:00
P.M.
, they drove to the house where they were staying and turned on the television. Back then, without the benefit of 24-hour news scrawls, Internet access, and multiple ESPN channels, there was no other way to learn about the happenings of the day than to watch the six o'clock news. Bird and Gibson sat around talking about fishing, golf, and hunting until the NBA report finally aired. The forward listened, shrugged, then shut off the TV set. The magnitude of what Auerbach had done was lost on him.

"Max was a lot more excited about it than I was," Bird said.

Throughout Bird's senior season at Indiana State, members of the Celtics began appearing at the Hulman Center, often without warning. K. C. Jones, coach Tommy Heinsohn, Celtics star Dave Cowens, and even Auerbach himself intermittently appeared to check on their investment.

***

In the meantime, scouts from nearly every NBA team were also traversing the country with a Michigan State schedule in their pockets. They too had number 33 circled—Magic's college number with the Spartans. Johnson had already carefully mapped out his future basketball plans in his head. If all went well, he intended to turn pro after his sophomore season, and NBA executives knew it. In fact, Magic had nearly made the jump after his freshman year, even going so far as to meet with the Kansas City Kings, but the two parties couldn't agree on a suitable salary and Johnson went back to Michigan State, where he planned to cement his standing as a top draft pick.

In contrast to Bird, Johnson was a student of the pro game and had emulated his idols Wilt Chamberlain, Dave Bing, and Julius Erving on the playgrounds of Lansing.

Since he nearly always outlasted his friends, who grew tired of shooting or were called home to supper, Johnson often played 1-on-1 games with himself, counting his first crossover and jump shot as two points for Wilt and then his post move as two for Bill Russell.

"I wanted to play in the NBA in the worst way," Johnson said.

But first Magic wanted to win a college championship, and he was convinced that 1978–79 would be the year. Most of the nucleus of the MSU team that had advanced to the Regional Finals were back, including the reliable Terry Donnelly—whose timely shooting figured prominently in their postseason run—scorer Jay Vincent, and the rugged Ron "Bobo" Charles, who gladly handled the dirty work up front. Kelser was a senior, an explosive and gifted athlete who had meshed beautifully with Magic's game.

Heathcote was also excited about a highly touted freshman from Buchanan, Michigan, named Gerald Busby, who he felt could be a regular contributor before the year was out.

"Gerald had Jordan-like jumping ability," said Magic. "We had him marked down as a sure-fire NBA player."

Johnson was alone practicing perimeter jump shots in an empty Jenison Field House during the first week of September 1978 when Heathcote waved him over to tell him
Sports Illustrated
had chosen him to appear on the cover of its college basketball preview issue. There would be no cheerleaders alongside him promoting college's best-kept secret: the word was already out on Magic.

For the cover photo of the November 27, 1978, issue, he donned a black tuxedo and top hat with a white vest and patent leather shoes. In the photograph, Magic is leaping through the air, laying the ball in wearing both the tuxedo and his trademark smile. The heading declares, "Super Sophs," and the tagline reads, "Michigan State's classy Earvin Johnson."

Magic was so anxious to see the cover that he didn't wait to swipe it from the coaches' lounge. He called his father, Earvin Johnson Sr., and told him to scoop up ten copies at the newsstand instead. When Earvin Sr. went downtown to buy the magazine, the racks were empty. The good people of Lansing had bought them all up. When Magic went home for his annual dentist's appointment, the receptionist lamented that someone had lifted their copy too.

"That was one special day in the Johnson home," said Magic's father. "For a young black man from Lansing, Michigan, to be on the cover of
Sports Illustrated?
I told my wife, 'Now I
have
seen everything.'"

Just as it had done for Bird, Johnson's cover shot raised his already considerable profile to new heights. Opposing fans from various Big Ten cities lined up, Sharpie pen and
Sports Illustrated
cover in hand, seeking his signature. Magic almost always obliged. Nine times out of ten, whether he was in Columbus, Ohio, or Minneapolis, he'd sign the magazine, receive a heartfelt "Thank you!" then absorb a raucous "Go Buckeyes!" or "Gophers rule!" as he turned to walk away.

Back in Terre Haute, someone showed Bird the glitzy cover with Magic decked out in formal attire.

"Good," was Bird's reaction. "Let someone else deal with all the attention."

Michigan State's first true measuring stick was a preseason exhibition game against the Russian national team, which was touring the United States and playing select colleges. The Soviets were a methodical team that simply could not keep pace with Johnson and Kelser. Michigan State ran them off the floor, 76–60, barraging them with repeated fast-break baskets.

The game, televised nationally on HBO, drew some interested observers: the Indiana State Sycamores, who gathered at Bird and Bob Heaton's off-campus house to watch the game. ISU was scheduled to play the Russians the following week, and while Bird tried to focus on the Soviets, he couldn't help but be dazzled by what Earvin "Magic" Johnson had done to them.

"At that point I knew very little about Magic," Bird said. "But I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Magic ran those guys like a pro team. Any miss and they'd be off, running the break. His angles on his passes were perfect. He looked kind of awkward bringing the ball up with that big body, but he was always one step ahead of everyone."