by Larry Bird
"K.C., I'm not sure I can go tonight," Bird said.
"Larry, you ran in another one of those races, didn't you?" Jones admonished him.
Bird went to the arena a half-hour earlier than normal to do some laps. As he started jogging, his lower legs loosened up, but his hamstrings were still tight and painful.
"I was hurting real bad when the game started, but for some reason I was making shots," Bird said. "There wasn't a whole lot of defense being played. My legs were killing me, but I figured, 'I gotta tough it out.'"
When he accepted handshakes in the locker room after his scoring barrage, he walked over to McHale's locker and said, "See, Kevin? I told you to go for 60."
McHale merely shrugged.
"Honest to God, Birdie, I really don't care," he replied.
"You will someday," Bird shot back.
Magic Johnson followed McHale and Bird's dueling scoring outbursts with amusement. He identified with Bird's competitive streak since he too turned everything into a contest, whether it was betting on which song would come on the radio next or counting who could bank in more free throws.
The Lakers usually ended their workouts playing 5-on-5 with Cooper and Magic guarding each other. One day, after Cooper hit the winning jumper, Riley said, "Okay, let's bring it in."
"No," Magic said. "One more."
His teammates groaned. They'd been practicing for more than two hours, but they knew Johnson wouldn't quit until he got the last word. When Magic drilled the game winner in the next game, they sprinted for the exits as Cooper hollered after them, "Wait! We're not done yet!"
During a long road trip, Scott and Magic played Tonk, a popular card game among NBA players, on the airplane. Scott took most of Johnson's money, and when the Lakers landed, Magic said, "Let's keep playing."
Scott fleeced his friend for a few more dollars on the bus ride to the hotel. When they checked in and hopped on the elevator, Magic said, "Meet me in my room. We've got to finish this."
"Finish this?" Scott said incredulously. "Buck, we've been playing for four hours!"
Defeat was not a palatable option for Magic, regardless of the nature of the competition—or the opponent. Longtime Lakers trainer Gary Vitti used to tease Johnson that if he played tiddlywinks with Vitti's two young daughters, Rachel and Amelia, whom Johnson adored, he would still need to win.
"He'd find a way to outwit them, outwork them, out-luck them, or out and out cheat them," said Vitti. "He's the worst loser I've ever seen."
Despite his impressive start to the 1984–85 season, Magic could not completely erase the disappointment of the 1984 Finals. The defeat lingered in his psyche, and as winter approached and the annual All-Star Game loomed, he brooded about seeing Bird again. He anticipated that the All-Star buzz would center on a possible rematch between the Lakers and Celtics—and by extension a rematch between Bird and himself—but the story line veered elsewhere.
Rookie Michael Jordan was making his All-Star debut and stole the spotlight when he irritated some of his peers by wearing Nike gear instead of the league-mandated apparel.
Jordan was a phenomenal talent with unparalleled athleticism. His jump shot as a North Carolina sophomore clinched the NCAA championship for the Tar Heels, and he went pro shortly after that. His court sense and his ability to control play above the rim was the talk of the league. The kid had talent, charisma, charm—and a staggering endorsement portfolio for an NBA rookie.
Everyone anticipated a big offensive night from number 23, yet Jordan took only 9 shots in 22 minutes of All-Star play, leading to whispers that he was "frozen out" by East point guard Isiah Thomas. Magic, because of his close association with Isiah, was also suspected of being involved in snubbing the league's newest sensation. After the game, media reports citing sources close to Thomas and Johnson claimed the two conspired to keep the ball away from Jordan because they were jealous of his endorsements and his rapidly expanding, worldwide appeal.
The story gathered steam when Jordan did not publicly refute the conspiracy theory.
Magic maintained he did not learn of the controversy until two days after the game when television personality Ahmad Rashad, a mutual friend of both Johnson and Jordan, called and asked him, "Earvin, what's going on with this?"
"Are you kidding me, Ahmad?" Johnson said. "Do you really believe I'm going to an All-Star Game thinking I don't want to let Michael Jordan have the ball? First of all, why should I care? What does that do for me? I don't have anything against him. I barely know him.
"That's just stupid. If I was going to come up with a conspiracy to freeze someone out, I would have done it a long time ago—to Larry Bird."
As a teenager growing up in North Carolina, Jordan was a Magic Johnson disciple. He even drove a 1975 Grand Prix with the license plate Magic Mike on the front. Yet the young Bulls player was wounded by the events of All-Star weekend, and whether it was real or imagined, Jordan felt snubbed by both Thomas and his childhood idol Magic.
Nearly 25 years after the fact, Jordan confirmed that the incident strained his relationship with Magic for years.
"It kind of split us," Jordan said. "I felt Magic didn't like me. He and Isiah were freezing me out. I had some endorsements and a good agent [David Falk]. I was taking advantage of some situations that Magic could have had too, with the right representation.
"I felt there was some envy between the two of us. But I took it with a grain of salt.
"I just didn't spend time with him. I respected his game and left it at that."
Although both paid each other the proper homage publicly, there was little interaction between Johnson and Jordan outside of the game. Their differences were exaggerated by the silence between them. Although Michael and Magic evolved into two of the game's biggest icons, their "relationship" lacked any genuine substance.
"We never got a chance to talk about it," Magic said. "It was Magic against Michael. That's why we never became friends. It's too bad we never spent any time together. People ask me all the time why I didn't do more projects with Michael. I don't even know what to tell them. It [the freeze-out] was a misunderstanding, and neither one of us ever reached out and tried to smooth things over. So the next thing you know, the years go by and there's this distance between us, and it all could have been avoided if either one of us just made the first move. But we didn't.
"That was a big reason why, even today, Michael and I don't know each other as well as we should."
Although Jordan captivated a new generation of NBA fans, his Chicago team was not yet ready for prime time in 1985. The Bulls were eliminated by the Milwaukee Bucks in the opening round of the playoffs, and Boston and Los Angeles appeared headed for another collision in the Finals.
Boston rolled over Cleveland, Detroit, and Philadelphia (whose window of opportunity finally closed as Julius Erving approached retirement), while Los Angeles blew past Phoenix, Portland, and Denver.
Kareem remained LA's primary offensive weapon, but Magic, driven by echoes of "Tragic" (which the Boston fans delighted in chanting during his lone visit to the Garden during the regular season) and "Fakers," tried to post his own Career Best Effort every night. When he was tired or worn down by the travel, all Magic had to do was close his eyes and visualize the celebration in the streets after the Celtics clinched the title.
The Lakers liked their odds. They were quicker and deeper than Boston, which often shortened its rotation to seven players. Kup-chak and veteran Bob McAdoo supplied the muscle that had been missing the previous year, and Riley painstakingly prepared each of them for their chance at redemption.
When it became clear the Lakers would be playing the Celtics in the Finals, Riley called ahead to the Boston hotel that would be hosting them and made it clear that he did not expect to see Celtics banners hanging in the lobby or employees wearing shamrock shirts checking them in. He made sure his players checked in under assumed names and told them to take the phone off the hook when they went to bed to prevent any crank
calls in the middle of the night.
All year long Riley harped on treating each possession like it was a rare jewel, even during 25-point blowouts. Magic adopted that philosophy, and the byproduct was a more patient and diligent point guard. As Johnson warmed up before Game 1 in Boston Garden, the site of his lowest moment as a pro, he turned to Cooper and quietly announced, "It's Showtime."
The debacle that followed was equally stunning and inexplicable. Boston mugged LA 148–114 on a night when everything went right for the Celtics, including Scott Wedman's perfect 11-of-11 shooting from the floor. Kareem appeared weary and sluggish and was repeatedly beaten down the court by Parish. Within hours, the obituaries for the Lakers captain and his team were distributed. The beating was forever dubbed the Memorial Day Massacre.
Riley was flabbergasted by his team's meltdown. For 11 months he had harped on the pride of the Lakers franchise and the indignities they had suffered at the hands of the Celtics. He cursed the arrogance of Auerbach, the irreverence of Maxwell, and the swagger of Bird on a daily basis, systematically constructing a hatred for the Boston franchise that he fervently believed would withstand any challenge.
He had pushed his Lakers team to the brink, from the no-lay-up rule to the Career Best Effort campaign to hours and hours of film on the Celtics and their tendencies.
And the best his center could do in response was 12 points and 3 rebounds? Magic had scored 19 points with 12 assists, but he had come away with only 1 rebound, thereby limiting the Lakers' transition chances.
"You call yourself a fucking Hall of Famer?" Riley challenged Ka-reem afterward. "That guy kicked your ass. Parish embarrassed the hell out of you. Look at this pathetic stat line. Three rebounds? Three rebounds for a Hall of Famer?"
"And you," he said, turning to Magic. "You're supposed to be one of the best players in this league. You got dominated today. Fucking dominated. One rebound? You think that's going to get it done against this team, against your boy Larry?
"Where's the fucking leadership? This is supposed to be your team!"
Riley then turned his wrath toward Worthy, who had missed 11 of his 19 shots, but by then Magic had stopped listening. He was still smarting from his coach's assault on his game.
"He got me with the leadership thing," Johnson said. "That hurt. But I didn't say anything. When Pat got into his little zone, if you knew what was good for you, then you just sat there and took it."
As his coach railed on about their lack of concentration and professionalism and heart, Magic started recalling their final practice before Game 1. The Lakers had been loose, confident. They played H-O-R-S-E, took wild shots from half-court, had a few laughs. In retrospect, they had lacked the proper focus and purpose.
"We paid the price for that," Magic said.
The next morning, humiliated by his poor showing and portrayed in the Boston papers as an old man whose time had passed, the 38-year-old Abdul-Jabbar vacated his customary seat in the back row of Riley's film sessions and sat in the front.
Riley treated his players to a three-hour horror film. The Lakers relived their Game 1 mistakes in slow motion with profane prose accompanying each error. As they watched Wedman sink shot after shot, their coach became enraged all over again. "Who the fuck is Scott Wedman?" Riley screamed. "This guy can only shoot when he's open. And we left him open all damn night!"
Kareem apologized for his play and promised a different outcome in Game 2. As the Lakers walked out to the practice floor, Ri-ley announced, "Today there will be no fouls. I don't want to hear shit in this gym. I better not hear any complaining. You got me?"
Silence.
The practice was a free-for-all. The forwards knocked each other to the floor. Cooper manhandled Magic, holding him and bumping him and chopping his arms. "That's a foul," Magic moaned. "Get off me."
"Quit crying," Cooper snapped. "I'm doing exactly what D.J. is going to do to you tomorrow night."
When Riley finally ended the workout, the players dropped the balls, walked to the bus without speaking, then scattered to their hotel rooms. It was the first time Magic could remember not making plans for supper with Cooper and Byron Scott. The trio had become inseparable, dubbing themselves "the Three Musketeers," yet on this night the swashbucklers had gone solo.
Magic padded around his hotel room. One hour passed, then another. Finally, he placed two phone calls. "Coop, Byron," he said. "We can't do this. Let's grab something to eat."
They spent a solemn evening analyzing Riley's criticisms. The coach didn't care if they united against him as long as they were united, yet his biting words had troubled Magic. Riley was no longer a hesitant assistant thrust into the driver's seat. He was in charge, demanding accountability, and Magic knew he needed to deliver.
In a quiet moment before Game 2, Riley pulled Johnson aside. "You need to control the tempo of this game," he said. "It's paramount that we establish early that we've come to play. That's up to you."
Magic nodded. The Lakers had made some mild adjustments defensively; he now had the assignment of guarding Danny Ainge to start the game, with the expectation he would drop down and double-team Boston's front line when needed.
On the other end, his job description was the same: find the big fella in the post and create fast-break opportunities.
The first few minutes of Game 2, Magic knew, were critical. So, on the opening possession, Magic dropped the ball into Kareem in the post. He set his team in motion after a Boston miss, driving through the paint, waiting for the inevitable crowd of defenders to gravitate toward him, then dishing off to a wide-open Kurt Rambis underneath for a lay-up. The next time, on a textbook 3-on-2 fast break, he found Worthy on the wing and set him up for a transition jam.
After his team crafted an early 13–6 lead, Magic was on the move again, ambling up the floor on another 3-on-2 fast break. His instinct was always to pass, but as he penetrated the key, he saw number 33 in a white jersey coming over to help. Johnson couldn't resist. Instead of dishing off, he went right at Larry Bird, knocking in the lay-up over his rival's outstretched arms.
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" exulted Magic when the Celtics called time-out.
Once safely ensconced in his huddle, Magic clapped his hands and encouraged his guys, "Let's go now! Let's go for the kill!"
The Lakers' primary weapon of choice was Abdul-Jabbar, who was reborn in Game 2, scoring 30 points, grabbing 17 rebounds, dishing off 8 assists, and blocking 3 shots so the Lakers could wrestle the home-court advantage away from the Celtics.
Bird, who had been battling a balky elbow, scored 30 points but shot 9 of 21 from the floor. As LA walked off with the victory, Larry told D.J., "We're screwed if we don't start shooting better."
When Bird's aim (8 of 21) did not improve in Game 3 and LA thrashed Boston 136–111 at the Forum, speculation centered on whether it was Michael Cooper's redoubtable defense or Bird's sore elbow that hampered the forward.
"Mostly Cooper," Bird said. "But truthfully, a little of both."
Bird's elbow had been nagging him since the end of March. He had it drained, even looked into having surgery at one point, but when the doctors explained it was a sensitive area and there was risk of permanent nerve damage if they operated, Bird decided to play through it. He spent the tail end of the regular season coming off the bench in a few games to economize his minutes, but the elbow often locked up without warning. He missed a playoff game against Cleveland that spring when he woke up and was unable to bend his arm. After some physical therapy, it would eventually loosen up, but that was a temporary fix that could fail him at any time.
"Most days I couldn't extend my elbow its full length," Bird explained. "Once the game started, I didn't think that much about it, but it was hard to get the proper rotation and height on my shot. No question, I was struggling."
Cooper added to his woes by bodying up to him whenever he received the ball and taking away his lanes to the basket. Bird was able to drive past most other defenders, but
Cooper's quickness and his deceptive strength prevented Bird from enjoying his usual spacing. "I knew when he was on me to make every open shot count, because there weren't going to be many," Bird said.
Bird wasn't the only Celtic out of sync. Parish's play was up and down. The bench wasn't deep, and the Boston starters had logged too many minutes. When Boston called a team meeting, half the guys mistakenly went to the Forum and the other half met at the team hotel.
A Dennis Johnson jumper at the buzzer knotted the series 2–2 in Game 4, but Abdul-Jabbar answered again in Game 5 with 36 points and another Lakers victory. As the action shifted back to Boston with LA ahead 3–2, the Lakers were poised to win a title in the same city where their dreams had been annihilated a year before.
The aura of Auerbach's cigars, the booby-trapped parquet, and the plethora of championship banners was not quite so daunting the second time around. Riley ordered high-powered fans to cool off the locker room in case another heat wave settled into the visitors' area.
"The Celtics mystique definitely bothered us in 1984," said Worthy, "but by 1985 it was old news."
In Game 6, the Celtics shortened their rotation further. Riley instructed Magic, "Run them off the floor." Johnson pushed tempo and fed Kareem for 29 points, but also sprinkled in some key baskets of his own. He managed the game so thoroughly that it appeared as though he could score at any time but chose to only when absolutely necessary. Magic checked out with a triple-double—14 points, 14 assists, and 10 rebounds—and the Lakers posted a Career Best Effort against the team that had tormented their franchise for decades. They had done something no other team in history had accomplished: clinched an NBA championship on the Garden floor.