Finals Performance Still Magical Thirty Years Later

And then he drove to the hoop again. "That time I wanted to dunk it, like Kareem," he said. "But I saw Dawkins coming and I thought, well, I better change to something a little more..."-he bobbed his head, stroked his fuzzy little goatee, flashed his elfin smile-"...magical." So he did. He hung in the air, double-pumped, made the layup and drew the foul. Magical.

- Magic Johnson, Sports Illustrated 1980

I was in Anaheim Saturday night to watch the A's and Angels with a group of So-Cal A's fans.  Afterwards we hit the local sports bar, and in between beers and lamenting the hole in Jack Cust's glove, one of the guys says to me, "As much as you love the A's and Raiders, I assume you're a Warriors fan, too."

"No", I told him.  "Lakers."

"Lakers?"  He was equally shocked and disappointed.  "How does that happen?"

Yes, how does a guy born in the Oakland area, raised in the Oakland area, and has never left the Oakland area root for a team from Los Angeles?  I mean, it's one thing to jump on a bandwagon, but my fandom precedes the Kareem years (sort of).

Well, my Uncle Dan and Uncle Rick were Laker fans in the early 1970's. Because of them, my second-oldest brother John and my cousin Paul were Laker fans. Because of John and Paul, my third-oldest brother Abel and I- the youngest of four brothers- became Laker fans.

That's the short version.  But if you know me- and chances are you don't- you would know that I am not a short-version kind of guy.  So here's my story, the story within the story.  To know where I am going, you must first know where I have been. 

Having been born the same year as the A's farewell season in Kansas City and the Raiders' first AFL Championship, it was practically by default that I was destined to support those two teams forever.  (And I have).  It didn't hurt that I came from a large family of sports fanatics.

Following a professional basketball team was a trickier development.  See, once Oakland had teams to call their own, my Dad sort of swore off the San Francisco ball clubs. (Now he just swears at them.  Thanks, I'll be here all week.)

When the Warriors first moved to the Bay Area in 1962, they played the majority of their games at the Cow Palace in San Francisco, and naturally adopted the city's name.  But even after they settled into the Oakland Coliseum Arena in '66, they remained the San Francisco Warriors.  After the  1970-71 season they finally changed their name...to the Golden State Warriors, a moniker that remains to this day.

Now it might seem silly, petty even, to keep from supporting the local team just because its refusal to call itself "Oakland".  Truth is my dad has only been a casual follower of the NBA, preferring the college game (at least back then), so it's not something he took the time to pass down to us, as he did with baseball and football.

My brother John was more adamant about not rooting for the Warriors, instead taking a liking to the Oakland Oaks of the American Basketball Association.  Ironically, venue had little to do with my uncles' interest in the Lakers.  Instead it was a certain player they had their eyes on, Wilt Chamberlain.  "The Stilt", of course, had started his NBA career with the Warriors, when the team was stationed in Philadelphia.  My uncles were able to gain a closer appreciation of Wilt's skills when the Warriors relocated to the Bay Area.

After Chamberlain was traded back to Philadelphia (76ers) in 1965, my uncles continued to follow him, and  the same held true when the star center was sent packing to Los Angeles following the 1967-68 season.  Somehow they got their nephews John and Paul to join their club.

When the Lakers, led by Wilt and Jerry West, ran off a record 33 straight wins during the 1971-72 season, a season that culminated in the city's first professional basketball championship, they had- in John and Paul- fans for life.

My brother now felt he had the proper amount of ammunition to convert his younger brothers.  Abel was easy, but I resisted at first.  In fact, at the young age of six, I took delight in the Lakers' loss to the Knicks in the 1973 NBA Finals.  To my uncles' dismay, Chamberlain called it quits after the five-game defeat.  Their interest in the Lakers waned.

But not John and Paul.  And neither did John's determination to convince his youngest brother.  There were two issues.  One, my dad.  Though hardly a hard-core fan of the NBA, he was all about the "home" team, and I was going to side with my father.  After all, he took me to my very first NBA game, which happened to be against the Lakers. Secondly, the Warriors were winners in 1974-75, while the Lakers faltered, failing to make the playoffs for the first time since moving from Minneapolis in 1960.

My brother Abel felt that I had abandoned the Lakers (dude, I was 8) by "celebrating" the Warriors' title with Dad.  John just looked at it as a challenge, a challenge made easier by the acquisition of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in 1975.  If Wilt had won over my uncles, surely Kareem would do the same to me.  John's pitch worked, and never would I again root for any other team, much to our father's dismay.

John used Kareem's arrival to convert me to the Lakers.

(Photo courtesy of SI Vault)

But still the Lakers struggled, even with Kareem racking up Most Valuable Player awards.  After missing out on the post-season party in the Big Fella's first year in LA, the Lakers were stunned by Portland in a four-game sweep of the following season's Western Conference Finals.

It was a weird time.  I had only known the A's and Raiders as winners, and I expected the same from the Lakers.  But by 1977 the A's were mere shadows of their championship selves, and the Raiders, despite coming off their first Super Bowl victory, suddenly looked long-in-tooth.

I remember watching the Lakers lose in the semi-finals in 1979 to the eventual champion Seattle Supersonics, and it was the first time where I really felt hurt and disappointed at a Laker defeat.

I didn't like that feeling.

All my teams were in need of a spark.  In 1980- one of my favorite sports years ever- they got one. All of them.  The A's got a boost from Billy Martin who turned a rag-tag outfit into an aggressive and respectable operation.  The Raiders' fortunes turned when Jim Plunkett took over for injured quarterback Dan Pastorini.  The Lakers' transformation was simply magical.

I was not really into college basketball (it's still that way).  I was well aware of the dominant UCLA teams of Alcindor and Walton, and I casually observed the NCAA tournament each season, but it didn't really go beyond that.

Thankfully my brother John had been keeping his eye on a sophomore from Michigan State and on the night of March 26 1979, he called me into his room where he was watching the championship game.  "Watch this guy", he said, pointing to Earvin "Magic" Johnson.  "He's going to be with the Lakers next year."

I watched, alright, and that night fell head over heels in love with Magic Johnson.  From the very first time he suited up for the Lakers to the day he so unexpectedly- and shockingly- said goodbye, many of my sports' ups and downs- hell, my life's ups and downs- centered around Number 32.

Understand that the Lakers made the NBA Finals all four years I was in high school.  It was an exhilarating time, intensified by the fact that I was the only live-and-die Laker fan at the school. For every victory I proudly celebrated (1982, 1985), I was also forced to swallow the bitter taste of defeat (1983, 1984), and there was no one there to console me.  Quite the contrary. 

Laker games during that stretch gave me the best and worst kind of stomach aches I have ever endured.

ESPN was barely a blip on the nation's TV screen when Magic Johnson played his first NBA game, a contest that our small group of Laker fans watched on tape delay.  Magic celebrated Kareem's buzzer-beating sky hook as if we had won the NBA Championship, and well, maybe the kid was onto something.

The National Basketball Association was about to go through a revival of astronomical proportions, and they owed it all to Magic and fellow first-year player Larry Bird.  Both teams became instant title contenders, but while Bird was honored as the league's top rookie, Magic's Lakers were still standing when the NBA Finals began.  Their opponent: the Philadelphia 76ers, led by Dr. J, and easily the favorite at my junior high school.

I took to wearing my Laker hat with pride to school, ignoring the catcalls from my classmates.  I even went so far as making a few (and rather modest) wagers with my friends.  If the Lakers were to pull it off, I'd be able to buy a new hat.

The Finals commenced on a Sunday, which was awesome because it meant that we wouldn't have to wait until 11:30 to watch the game.  The teams split the first four contests, with each team winning a game on the other's court.  The pivotal Game 5 was on a Wednesday night, and was not telecast live.  So we waited until the late local newscast to sneak a peak at the score.  The Lakers, led by Kareem, won 108-103 to take a 3-2 series advantage.

My cousin Paul was having some other cousins over his house- Sixer fans- to watch the game on tape delay.  No one was to know the outcome prior to, but Paul, ever-impatient, called me from his bedroom to get the result.  He then cheered and screamed extra loud throughout the game, knowing in advance that the Lakers had triumphed.

On Friday May 16, we gathered on the second floor of Paul's two-story apartment: John, Paul, Paul's wife Jodie, Abel, a few other converts, and myself, who at 13, was the youngest one in attendance. The game would be aired live- and I imagine there are a few readers who are asking, "Why wouldn't it be?"  Spoiled brats.

No one could blame any of us to be looking to Game 7, once it became apparent that Kareem- who had twisted his ankle in Game 5- was not going to suddenly appear to lead his team to the Promised Land.

But on this night it would be 20-year old Magic Johnson who would save the Lakers- and the NBA for that matter- with a performance that is still nearly impossible to fathom exactly 30 years later.

The fact that the game was tied at halftime was encouraging in itself, and a couple of guys left to buy champagne for a possible celebration.  That is a tradition that has stood through eight subsequent Laker titles; we always pick up the champagne at halftime of a clinching game, regardless of score.

Too young to drink, Magic took to pouring.

(Photo courtesy of ESPN.com)

Magic, who had started the game at center (!), kept pushing the tempo, and had the Sixers reeling after the half.  The Lakers ran off 14 straight points as we shouted our approval in that tiny apartment.  Magic was everywhere, playing all five positions, but he wasn't alone.  Jamaal Wilkes scored 37 points that night, a career high.  Jim Chones and Mark Landsberger corralled 10 rebounds each.  Michael Cooper added 16 points.  It was a total team effort, but Magic's totals trumped them all, numbers that I know by heart: 42 points, 15 rebounds, and 7 assists.

Magic even left a certain superstar shaking his head:

"It was amazing, just amazing," said Erving, with 27 points the only 76er to play anything approaching a decent game. "We went over everything they do when Kareem's not there, and still we couldn't do anything about it. They wanted to show us they were not a one-man team and got maximum effort. Magic was outstanding. Unreal."

My brother John, in what has become typical fashion, smelled victory first.  Paul was (and still is) ever-so-cautious even after the Lakers had extended their lead to 16 points with a minute remaining.  When the clock struck zero, there was Magic embracing little-used Butch Lee, while we sprayed beer and champagne in Paul and Jodie's kitchen.  They let me give a speech, and I paid tribute to the two guys- John and Paul- who converted me for good some five seasons prior.

(And I am still paying tribute).

I immediately turned my attention to the guys on the court- and to the center who stayed behind- and saluted the new champions of the NBA. 

Finally I toasted the giggling 20-year old named Earvin, who single-handedly stole the show and turned the NBA world on its ear, whose performance that night was- and always will be- magical.