When the Game Was Ours

by Larry Bird

  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.

  Jackie and Jermaine Jackson from the Jackson Five became regulars at the Lakers games and invited Magic to Hayvenhurst, their gated mansion, where they tried to coerce him into dating their sister La Toya.

  One night Johnson was hanging with Jackie when the singer said, "You should come on tour with us."

  "What would I do?" Magic asked.

  "Hang with the brothers!" Jackie answered.

  Johnson joined the Jackson entourage for the "Triumph Tour" in 1980 and the "Victory Tour" in 1984. He ate with them, traveled on their tour bus, even sat onstage while they performed. He was overwhelmed by the number of fans, lined three deep, who clamored for a view of the musical idols.

  The Jacksons had it all worked out. They sent out a pair of stretch white limousines with dark-tinted windows an hour or so before the show, and the fans went berserk in pursuit. Hundreds of girls sprinted after the vehicles, shrieking their undying devotion.

  Ten minutes later, after most of the crowd had dispersed, a nondescript white van pulled out of the hotel with the legendary band of brothers and a future Hall of Fame basketball star inside.

  Had Riley been aware that Magic was touring with Motown stars, he most certainly would have objected. Jerry Buss, meanwhile, thought Johnson's travels with the Jackson Five was a terrific opportunity.

  "Nobody balanced loving the game and loving life better than Earvin," said Jerry Buss.

  It was a juggling act his coach could not understand. Riley was not capable of doing anything in season except immersing himself in the Lakers. He often lectured Magic that there were two states of mind in competition: winning and misery.

  Misery, it seemed, was always lurking. Even though the Lakers broke out of the 1985–86 season with a 27–3 mark, there were subtle warning signs that their team structure needed tweaking. Abdul-Jabbar was still the focal point of the Lakers, yet Magic could see evidence of fatigue, particularly after long road trips or back-to-back games. Kareem—finally—was showing his age.

  The addition of Walton enabled the Celtics to tag-team Abdul-Jabbar with both Parish and the big redhead. It also afforded them the opportunity to play both big men side by side, a lineup that coach K. C. Jones implemented on occasion.

  Boston breezed to the Finals, but not before the emerging Jordan provided them with a glimpse of the NBA's future in the first round. "His Airness" was spectacular in defeat, dropping 63 points on the Celtics in Game 2 of a three-game sweep. His otherworldly performance prompted Bird to remark, "That was God disguised as Michael Jordan."

  Knowing he had witnessed the next marquee star, Bird felt even more urgency to seize another title while the Celtics were young and healthy. Jordan didn't yet have the complementary pieces he needed to contend for a championship, but it was clear to Bird that it was only a matter of time before he would.

  "Early on, people were saying Michael didn't have a team mentality," Bird said. "That was because he didn't have a team."

  Magic and Bird weren't the only ones checking each other's box scores in the eighties. Young Jordan took note every time Johnson recorded another triple-double or Bird submitted another 16-rebound effort. The two superstars became his standard of measurement.

  "They had what I wanted—the respect of the entire league," Jordan explained.

  The anticipated LA-Boston Final in the spring of 1986 did not materialize. LA was derailed by a Houston Rockets team that featured twin towers Akeem (later Hakeem) Olajuwon and Ralph Sampson, the object of Auerbach's desire five years earlier. It was Sampson who drove the final stake through LA when he nailed a 12-foot, blind, turnaround corkscrew jumper at the buzzer to eliminate Los Angeles in six games in the Western Conference Finals.

  Again, Bird felt cheated. His 1986 team was one for the ages, and he was certain they could have beaten LA.

  "I would have rather played the Lakers," Bird said. "I would have rather played the best."

  The Rockets proved to be a suitable consolation prize. The series held extra meaning for Bird because he would be playing against his former coach and mentor, Bill Fitch, whom he still revered. It was paramount for him to perform admirably in front of his first NBA coach.

  Very quickly, Ralph Sampson became the lightning rod of the series. The 7-foot-4 forward shot 1 of 13 from the floor in Game 1 and appeared to be genuinely spooked by Boston's formidable front line. No wonder. Bird, Parish, and McHale combined for 65 points in the Celtics win.

  Coming into the Finals, national pundits were trumpeting Houston forward Rodney McCray as a potential Bird stopper, similar to how Robert Reid was portrayed three years earlier. Bird, who never felt anyone except Cooper had successfully stymied him, took offense and torched McCray by scorching him for 31 points on 12197 of-19 shooting in Game 2. It wasn't until Game 3 that Sampson discovered his comfort zone and submitted a monstrous game, with 24 points and 22 rebounds in a Rockets win.

  Game 4 provided the backdrop for Walton's signature moment. With the score tied 101–101 late in the game, Walton wrestled away an offensive rebound and relayed it to Bird,
who calmly swished a three-pointer. On the next possession, Walton converted a tip-in to put his team in front for good. He finished 5 of 5 from the floor.

  In Game 5, with the Rockets trailing 3–1 in the series, Sampson demonstrated the collective frustration of his team when he tried to establish position in the post on a mismatch. Jerry Sichting, Boston's balding Charlie Brown look-alike who was 11 inches shorter than Houston's big man, grabbed on to Sampson on the block and wrestled with him until help arrived.

  Sampson didn't appreciate the guard's hands-on tactics and reared back and punched Sichting. Dennis Johnson charged in to defend his teammate, and Walton administered an impressive open-field tackle to send Sampson sprawling to the ground. Predictably, both benches emptied.

  Sampson was ejected and later fined $5,000. Houston rallied to win 111–96, but their big man was heading back to Boston as Public Enemy Number One.

  Celtics fans were among the most knowledgeable in the NBA. They knew the names of the opposing coaches and trainers and were on a first-name basis with nearly every referee. They knew the strengths (and weaknesses) of the opponent and exploited them accordingly. Sampson became the sole target of their ire, and the slender giant was barraged with insults and crude references to his family.

  "It was brutal," Bird said. "Some of the worst I've ever heard."

  The catcalls were incessant. Sampson was a crybaby, a bully, a coward. A petite woman sat on the floor with a sign that announced Sampson is a sissy! on the front, and HEY, RALPH, I'M 5-FOOT-l, 90 POUNDS. DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT ME TOO?! on the back.

  Sampson checked out at the half, having shot a dismal 1 for 8 from the floor. Houston was reeling from a 55–38 deficit, and Bird already had rung up 16 points, 8 rebounds, and 8 assists.

  "I was so pumped up, I thought my heart was going to jump right out of my chest," Bird said.

  At halftime, sensing victory was looming, Bird departed from his usual custom and changed his jersey. He wanted to have two souvenirs to commemorate what he knew was a historic team. After he capped off his evening with 29 points, 12 assists, 11 rebounds, and the Finals MVP trophy, Bird gave both jerseys to the team equipment manager and told him to tuck them away safely somewhere. The next day, when Larry went to retrieve his mementos, both jerseys were gone.

  The Celtics convened to celebrate their championship at the downtown restaurant owned by K. C. Jones. Bird, while elated, was also exhausted. The days of bumming rides from fans on Storrow Drive and partying until the wee hours of the morning were behind him. He was home and in bed by 10:30 P.M. His phone rang throughout the evening, but he ignored it. All he wanted to do was sleep.

  "Bill Walton is on the phone," Dinah said.

  "No," Bird answered. "I'm done."

  Just after midnight, the doorbell rang at Bird's Brookline home. Walton stood sheepishly on his doorstep.

  "I know you're tired," said his friend, "and I know you're in bed. But I'm going to sit out here and listen to the Grateful Dead, and I'll be here when you wake up."

  Bird shrugged, patted his friend on the shoulder, then headed back to his bedroom. Walton sat in his friend's kitchen all night, nursing a glass of Wild Turkey and reveling in the moment.

  "I sat there and enjoyed how wonderful it was to be on a team with Larry Bird," Walton said. "I was an old broken-down player who could appreciate what had just happened. Larry, Kevin, and Robert were still young enough to think it would last forever.

  "I knew that wasn't so."

  When Bird awoke the next morning and got up to take a shower, he wasn't sure if he dreamed Bill Walton's visit. He poked his head into his kitchen and saw the big redhead sitting there, just as he had left him.

  "Hey," Bird said. "Did you fall asleep?"

  "Larry," Walton answered, "we are world champions. How do you expect me to sleep?"

  Just as they had done the previous fall, Bird and Magic filmed another Converse ad in September, this time in conjunction with Isiah Thomas, McHale, Mark Aguirre, and Bernard King. The commercial, in which each player rapped a few lines that were both horribly corny and terrifically funny, opened with Magic holding his yellow-and-purple Converse shoe and rapping, "The Converse weapon, that's the shoe. Lets Magic do what he was born to do." From there Isiah, then McHale, then Aguirre, then Bernard King described what the shoe did for them. King's rap of "What can the Weapon do for the King? Why, I can do just about anything," was followed by a bubbly Bird who declared, "You already know what they did for me."

  The collection of NBA players asked in unison, "What?"

  "I walked away with the MVP!" said Bird, cradling his trophy and beaming like a Hollywood star.

  No wonder Bird was so happy. At the time, he was a reigning NBA champion who was recognized as the best player in the league and had the hardware to prove it.

  Within a year, the smile, the trophy, and the championship would be gone. His endorsement partner Magic Johnson would pilfer all three of them.

  8. JUNE 9, 1987

  Boston, Massachusetts

  LARRY BIRD WAS OPEN, and there was nothing Magic Johnson could do about it.

  The ball had swung around from one Celtics threat to the next, from Dennis Johnson to Danny Ainge and then, in the deep left corner, to Bird, the basketball player Magic feared most.

  How could Bird be left alone like that, even for a second? Later, watching film, Magic would see that, a moment before, James Worthy had yanked Bird's number 33 jersey to prevent him from wriggling free. Had the referee spotted him it would have been a foul, but Worthy surmised correctly that the officials were concentrating on the top of the key, where D.J. was holding the ball. When D.J. passed it to Ainge on the left elbow, Worthy did what he was supposed to do: he rotated to put a hand in the face of Boston's young shooter. Ainge saw him coming and dumped the ball to Bird in the corner.

  Lakers big man Mychal Thompson, a newcomer to this rivalry, was a sliver late in reacting. He knew instantly that his hesitation had cost him, so he charged to the baseline, his arms outstretched, in an urgent attempt to disrupt the sniper from hitting his mark. As Thompson lunged toward Bird, he looked for some indication that the forward was off-balance, or rushed, or distracted.

  "There was none of that," Thompson said. "He was cold, lifeless. Like a shark."

  Bird's shot was perfect—a dead-on three-pointer that instantaneously deflated the city of Los Angeles, as well as the proud franchise that bears its name. The Celtics, down 2–1 in the 1987 NBA Finals to the Lakers, had just gone ahead by two points with 12 seconds left, and it was all too familiar. As Magic jogged to the sidelines, trying to ignore the uproarious reaction of the Boston Garden fans, his temper flared.

  "How could you leave him alone?" Magic berated his teammates in the huddle. "Everyone in the building knew he was taking that shot. Did any of you actually doubt he could hit it?"

  No one responded. Magic surveyed their expressions and understood he needed to move on—quickly. "If we dwelled on the sting of Bird making that shot," he said, "we were going to lose."

  Johnson thumped his hands together and changed his tone. "C'mon, fellas," he said, "plenty of time."

  Coach Pat Riley drew them close in the huddle. The Lakers championship in 1985 had exorcised the doubt from 1984, and the coach detected a resolve in Magic that hadn't been present three seasons earlier. There was no hint of panic from him in the huddle. The young buck had grown up.

  "Run 'fist,'" Riley told Magic as the Lakers returned to the parquet.

  LA's patented "fist" play called for three Laker players to clear out while Johnson brought the ball up the left side of the floor with Ka-reem Abdul-Jabbar establishing position in the post. Once Magic made the entry pass into Kareem, the big man had the entire left side of the court to maneuver. Abdul-Jabbar gathered in the pass, wheeled to the middle, and was fouled.

  Kareem had already missed three free throws in the game. Magic was relieved when his first throw dropped through, but the second one rolled off, and Kevin
McHale and Robert Parish converged at the exact same moment in pursuit of the rebound. If they held on, Boston would have the ball, the lead, and very likely a tie series.

  McHale appeared to have possession, but he collided with Parish and then received a bump from behind from Thompson, his friend and former college teammate. The incidental contact from the Laker forward was just enough to jar the ball free and send it bouncing harmlessly out of bounds.

  So now the Lakers had the ball, down by one with seven ticks on the clock. For a decade, the only logical choice in the waning seconds of a game was Abdul-Jabbar. Riley could go to his big man again, as he had done one possession earlier, or he could diagram some screens for his own sniper, Byron Scott. There was Worthy, who was quick and elusive and could draw a foul. And then there was Magic, who had been waiting his entire career for a scenario like this: a chance to strike down Bird and Boston by finishing the job himself instead of dishing it off to someone else down the stretch.

  Michael Cooper inbounded the ball under the basket. Magic, situated on the left side of the floor, came to meet the pass and McHale flashed out to meet him. The snapshot was framed: Magic, the 6-foot-9 point guard and 1987 MVP, against McHale, a first-ballot Hall of Famer and defensive force who had been hobbling through the series with a broken foot. Although McHale was a power forward, he made a living guarding smaller players, relying on his innate timing, his long, long arms, and his deceptive quickness for a man in a 6-foot-10-inch frame.

  As McHale assumed his defensive stance, Magic instinctively thought "pass." He glanced over at Kareem, at Worthy, at Scott. They were all covered.

  Magic leaned in, leaned out, and stutter-stepped past McHale, dribbling toward the middle. Parish moved over to help, but Magic was a step ahead of both.