When the Game Was Ours

by Larry Bird

  The Lakers were a different team in 1995–96. The roster no l onger included Abdul-Jabbar, Worthy, Cooper, or Scott. Magic's new running mates were Elden Campbell, Vlade Divac, George Lynch, Eddie Jones, Cedric Ceballos, and Nick Van Exel, who became annoyed when Johnson's presence began to overshadow his own accomplishments. Van Exel and Ceballos objected to the inordinate amount of attention their elder statesman received. Magic was 36 years old, past his prime. He was, they felt, horning in on the peak years of their careers.

  "They couldn't deal with me," Magic said. "They were worrying about publicity and their points more than winning. It was unfortunate. Even guys like Eddie Jones, who I really respected, got caught up in it. They were so busy fighting for their turf, they forgot why they were there—to win games."

  Johnson talked to them about leadership and commitment and preparation, but his sermons fell on deaf ears. He was the Lakers' past, and they were only interested in the Lakers' future. The team posted a 17–5 record in the first weeks of Magic's comeback, but Ceballos, upset over his diminished minutes, failed to show up for the team's charter flight to Seattle and was AWOL for four days. He claimed to be attending to "personal issues" but was spotted water-skiing on Lake Havasu in Arizona. Magic was incredulous when he heard about his teammate's unauthorized sabbatical, and even more disgusted when Ceballos vocalized his frustration over Johnson stealing his minutes.

  The Lakers won 53 games that season, but lost in the first round of the playoffs to the Houston Rockets. When the series ended, Magic stepped on the team plane, turned to assistant coach Larry Drew, and told him, "I'm done."

  He announced his retirement and vowed this time to stick to it.

  "I'm glad I came back," Magic said. "I wanted to end it on my terms, not on someone else's terms."

  Johnson has come to accept that his legacy will always include the fact he is HIV-positive. It has become his mission and his responsibility. When tennis star Arthur Ashe contracted AIDS following a blood transfusion after heart surgery, he called and asked Magic for his help preparing his public announcement.

  Since his 1991 diagnosis, Johnson has maintained a rigorous workout schedule and a carefully monitored diet. In 2003 doctors told him there was no detectable evidence of the virus in his system, prompting Cookie to declare in a published interview, "The Lord definitely healed Earvin." While Cookie noted that her husband's physicians credited the medicine for his robust health, she said, "We claim it in the name of Jesus."

  Her comments triggered an outcry from HIV and AIDS activists and the medical community. The message, they stressed, should not be that Magic was cured, but that his virus was dormant. They were gravely concerned that Cookie's comments would impede the message of how to treat and manage HIV.

  "People needed to look closely at what Cookie said," Magic said. "She said, 'I feel he is cured.' She feels in her heart this is so, and God played a role in that.

  "I have my own faith, but I didn't stop taking my medication. That's what the AIDS community was worried about. Their fear was people would read that and say, 'Oh, Magic says he's cured, we can stop taking our medicine now too.'

  "That wasn't our message. We went out and corrected that little thing. We said, 'Everyone is entitled to their faith. Please respect that.' People calmed down once we clarified things."

  Johnson is acutely aware that people remain skeptical about his explanation for how he contracted the disease. At the time he was diagnosed, the majority of HIV cases were among homosexuals, and there are many who still believe he was involved with another man.

  "I've been a straight shooter all along," Magic said. "I never denied I contracted the virus, and I didn't lie about the fact I had been with many women throughout my career, even though I knew it would be hurtful to Cookie, and to my reputation.

  "It was the truth, and the truth needed to be told, especially with the disease starting to run rampant in our society. If I was engaging in gay sex, don't you think somebody would have come forward by now? I'm Magic Johnson. I was only at the top of my game when I got my diagnosis. If there was someone that had been with me, don't you think we would have heard about it, just like all those politicians who keep getting themselves in trouble?

  "Believe me, the tabloids tried. The [National] Enquirer had a whole fleet of people on the story. They contacted all of my friends, my family members, and a good number of my acquaintances. But they couldn't find anything about a gay lifestyle because it wasn't there.

  "Honestly? I don't care what people think at this point. I know the truth. That's all that matters.

  "My whole mission is to educate people. That's how I felt then, and that's how I feel now. It hurts heterosexuals if they think this can't happen to them. Here's a statistic for you: 80 percent of all new cases of HIV are heterosexual. The homosexual community has worked hard to curb the problem. They practice safe sex. They use condoms.

  "It's the Latino and black population that's being hit hard now. That's why I'm still out there speaking to schools and churches and companies, because there is too much false information circulating."

  There are new advances in HIV research each day, so whenever Johnson speaks to schools, businesses, or church groups, he brings along two doctors to answer medical questions.

  He is heartened by his foundation's success at educating people on HIV and AIDS, yet every once in a while another incident crops up to remind him how far our society still has to go in understanding the disease and its ramifications.

  In October 2008, a conservative radio host of KTLK Radio in Minnesota named Langdon Perry suggested that Magic "faked AIDS."

  "You think Magic faked AIDS for sympathy?" asked his cohost, Chris Baker.

  "I'm convinced Magic faked AIDS," Perry answered.

  "Me too," Baker chimed in.

  Within hours, Magic and HIV were in the news. The misinformed claims of the hosts quickly appeared on blogs, websites, and chat rooms across the country. Outraged AIDS activists demanded that both Perry and Baker be fired.

  Magic digested the news with a measure of sadness and resignation. The talk-show host's ignorance regarding his condition was mildly surprising, but his sentiments merely picked at an old, familiar wound.

  "It hurt our cause more than it hurt me," Magic said. "So many people are doing such great work trying to educate young people, and then this idiot comes along.

  "It was irresponsible. When you say something, your audience takes it at face value. The station should have taken some action, but they didn't, so I guess that shows you where their minds are.

  "If nothing else, get your facts straight. I never had AIDS. I still don't. They couldn't even get that right."

  When Magic first announced he was HIV-positive, AZT was the only drug on the market. Now there are more than 30 options for patients. Johnson takes the antiviral medication Trizivir as well as Kaletra, a protease inhibitor made up of lopinavir and ritonavir. He hopes to dispel the misconception that because of his celebrity status and his financial means he has been provided with treatment that is not available to the masses.

  "It's just not the case," Magic said. "I take the same meds as everyone else. I do what my doctors tell me to do, even though I feel great. I haven't stopped taking my medication just because I feel good. That's a mistake, I think, some HIV-positive patients make. Don't stop doing what got you to this point.

  "I've been blessed. I've had this since 1991, and nothing has happened. Other people aren't doing so well. When the virus spreads, it's not good.

  "This is something I'll be fighting for the rest of my life. And it's not just me. My family is affected too.

  "When I'm speaking, I tell people, 'I thought the hardest thing I'd ever do is play against Larry Bird and Michael Jordan.' They start laughing. Then I say, 'But the hardest thing I've ever had to do, by far, was tell my wife I had HIV.'

  "I don't know how or why I've been blessed with Cookie, but I thank God every day she's still beside me.

 
"The reason I'm still alive is because she stayed. If she left, I wouldn't still be here. When you deal with something of this magnitude, you need your support system. You need someone to say, 'Hey, did you work out? Did you take your meds? Are you eating right?' Or, 'You've been working too hard and too long.' Or, 'Come here, give me a hug.'

  "Cookie knows me. She knows what I need. I'm a knucklehead. I need someone to take care of me. She does that. And she's an unbelievable mother too."

  As the years passed and Magic's condition remained stable, Bird all but forgot about his friend's illness. As their paths crossed at the occasional private signing or appearance for the league, the topic rarely came up. Magic immersed himself in the business world, investing in everything from coffee to movie theaters to strip malls. When he opened a new Starbucks, the first person he sent a gift card to was Larry Bird.

  Ten days later, Magic opened a handwritten envelope addressed to him from Indianapolis.

  "Thanks for the card," Bird wrote. "Get a job."

  12. SEPTEMBER 27, 2002

  Springfield, Massachusetts

  LARRY BIRD BOUNDED into the room and lowered himself into a chair a mere five feet away from the man who motivated him like no other.

  "Magic Johnson," he said, in his trademark midwestern drawl.

  "Larry Bird," his longtime rival responded. "Hell, man. We're back together again."

  It had been almost three years since the two had seen each other. The previous occasion had not been nearly as momentous—a Fox Sports special to commemorate the 20th anniversary of their Michigan State–Indiana State clash.

  On a rainy day in September 2002, the two men who shared a legacy also shared a microphone to honor the induction of Earvin "Magic" Johnson into the Basketball Hall of Fame.

  Magic's original wish was for the two superstars to go into the Hall together. Each of them retired in 1992 after their Dream Team gold rush in Barcelona, but a pair of brief comebacks derailed Johnson from following the same schedule as Bird. The Hall of Fame requires players to be retired a minimum of five years before they are eligible, so in 1998 Larry went in without his Lakers rival, whose final comeback ended with the completion of the 1995–96 season.

  There was never any doubt that Magic would be a first-ballot inductee; the only suspense revolved around who he'd choose to present him.

  According to Hall of Fame guidelines, Johnson was required to ask someone who was already enshrined, thereby eliminating the obvious choice of Pat Riley as a candidate.

  There were other members of the Lakers family Magic could have selected—Jerry West, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Elgin Baylor—but all along he had someone else in mind.

  "I wanted Larry," Johnson said. "When I think back on my career, he's the first person who pops into my head."

  He called the former Celtic and asked him to pull out his calendar.

  "Larry," Magic said, "how does September look for you?"

  "Why?" Bird said. "You taking me fishing?"

  "I was hoping you'd present me in the Hall of Fame," Magic said.

  Bird caught his breath. Magic's invitation surprised him. It was an unexpected pleasure—and an unorthodox decision to tap the very man who had tormented him for a significant portion of his professional life to present him for basketball's highest honor.

  "Really?" Bird said. "Well, I'd be honored."

  After he hung up the phone, Larry considered what Magic had told him. No matter where Johnson went or how many speeches he made, the first question from the audience was always the same: have you seen Larry lately? Bird experienced the same phenomenon in his travels. Without fail, someone was bound to ask him, "How is Magic feeling? Have you talked to him?"

  "We're connected," Magic told Larry. "We have been for a long time, for better or for worse. And we don't see enough of each other anyway. Let's have some fun in Springfield."

  Three months later, when the two convened at the Hall of Fame for a joint press conference, Bird entertained the rapt audience with the story of the day he came back from the World Invitational Tournament and breathlessly extolled Magic's basketball virtues to his brother.

  "Aw, he can't be that good," Mark Bird said at the time.

  After Johnson and his Spartans upended Bird's undefeated Indiana State in the NCAA championship, Mark Bird amended his comments.

  "You're right," Mark told Larry. "Magic is better than you."

  The audience roared as Bird recounted the story. Magic playfully grabbed Larry's arm, then told him, "You pushed me. You made me a better player. I shot 800 jump shots every day in the summer because I knew you were somewhere, shooting just as many."

  For the next half-hour, in front of more than 100 media members, the two stars traded compliments and barbs, heartbreaks and heroics. Afterward, Magic would say, it felt as if no one else was in the room.

  "Just two old friends, catching up on everything," he said.

  That evening Bird stood on a podium at the Springfield Civic Center and addressed a capacity crowd teeming with Massachusetts natives and Celtics fans.

  "I'd like to call out to all of you New Englanders," Bird said. "It's time to lay down your weapons. The battle is finally over. It's time to move on."

  Magic fought back tears as he addressed the crowd, including Cookie and their three children, Andre, E.J., and Elisa. When he had been diagnosed with HIV, he spent countless lonely nights lying awake and dreading the moment his health would begin to deteriorate. His T cell count was so low that the doctors told him he'd live three years at the most. During those dark moments, it occurred to him that he might not live long enough to attend his own Hall of Fame induction.

  "Eleven years ago," he said, wiping his eyes, "I didn't know if I'd be here to accept this honor. It's truly a blessing.

  "I can't tell you what a great moment this is for me and my family. Long after I'm gone, my picture will still be up there."

  "Right next to mine," said Bird.

  ***

  For months after Magic Johnson retired, he had recurring dreams of playing basketball, of playing against Bird. Sometimes Magic couldn't make his body move in his dream. The game was so slow, and he'd reach for the ball, but he couldn't quite get his hands around it ... and then he would wake up.

  In Bird's dream, he would be gliding up the court, floating as if he were on a cloud, but then he'd look down to shoot, and the ball was gone. Suddenly, he was in a gym he didn't recognize, with players he'd never seen. And no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't figure out how that ball was snatched from his hands.

  "Retirement" was a challenge for both men. They were presented with numerous opportunities related to basketball, but they all paled in comparison to the rush of competing against the best athletes in the world.

  In March 1994, owner Jerry Buss approached Magic to ask a favor. The Lakers had stumbled out to a 21–47 start, and Buss planned to fire coach Randy Pfund.

  "Could you take over as head coach until the end of the season?" Buss asked.

  The team played a different brand of Laker basketball. Kareem and Michael Cooper were long gone, and Byron Scott was too. James Worthy was in his final season with the Lakers and averaging a career-low 10.2 points a game.

  Magic had never coached before, yet he couldn't fathom saying no to Buss, the man who had nurtured him through his rookie season, rewarded him with the most lucrative contract in NBA history, advised him regularly on his business ventures, and tirelessly scoured the medical community to make sure Johnson was given the best possible care after his HIV diagnosis.

  Johnson's disease had not affected him adversely. He painstakingly monitored his diet, his exercise, and his medication and felt healthy enough to do almost anything—even coach the Lakers.

  "There's only 16 games left," Magic said, when discussing it with Cookie. "How bad could it be?"

  Bird learned of Magic's new vocation on ESPN's SportsCenter. In all the years he had been around Johnson, he'd never heard him discuss a desire
to sit on the bench. Although it would be three more years before Bird's own foray into coaching, he already knew it was a daunting undertaking that required careful research and preparation.

  "You can't just say, 'Oh, I think I'll coach now,'" Bird said. "It's crazy to ask someone to do that. But that's exactly what the Lakers did with Magic."

  His first day on the job, Johnson drove to practice an hour and a half early to work with the point guards. When he arrived, he was surprised to discover that no one was in the gym. Magic sat and waited. Most of the Lakers rolled in five minutes before they were due or even, in some cases, after practice was under way.

  "This isn't going to work," Magic said to longtime assistant coach Bill Bertka, who had been with Johnson through the Lakers' glory years. "We used to come an hour and a half before. We used to stay an hour afterward. Don't these guys realize they need to do that to get better?"

  "Earvin," Bertka replied, "it's a different time."

  Johnson notched the first victory of his coaching tenure on March 27 against the Milwaukee Bucks and his old Lakers coach Mike Dunleavy. The night before the game, Magic received a one hour pep talk from Pat Riley, who also offered some coaching tips. George Lynch, a swing player from North Carolina who Magic felt could become a force if he developed a perimeter game to complement his slashing style, scored 30 points in the win.

  Yet Lynch proved to be as inconsistent as the Lakers team. Two nights after looking like an All-Star, Lynch managed just 4 points against the lowly expansion Minnesota Timberwolves, and the Lakers barely eked out a 91–89 win.

  "George," Magic said to him, "you are not a good outside shooter, but in games you regularly take that shot. Why don't you come early before the next practice and we'll spend some time on shooting?"

  "Sure," Lynch shrugged.

  The next day Magic arrived an hour and a half ahead of time. Again, he was alone in the gym. When Lynch showed up with just three minutes to spare, Johnson waved him over.

  "If you take a shot tomorrow and don't hit it, I'm yanking you out of the game," he said.