When the Game Was Ours (15 page)

"It was all about race, drugs, and overpayment," Stern said. "The perception of our players was, 'They are black, they make too much money, and therefore because they are black and have too much money, they spend it on drugs.'"

Terry Furlow, an African American who led the Big Ten in scoring for Michigan State the season before Magic Johnson became a Spartan, tragically fit the profile. He befriended Magic after watching him dominate one of his high school games.

"Hey, kid," he told Johnson. "Meet me after school, and we'll play some ball."

Magic showed up, and Furlow trounced him 15–0 in the game of 1-on-1. The next day the score was the same. For weeks Furlow toyed with Magic on the court before finally Johnson slammed the ball down in disgust.

"I quit," Magic said. "I'm tired of you beating me all the time."

"Now, you listen," Furlow said. "If you quit now, you'll never be nothing. You stay right here and take this whooping until you learn how to score."

Magic stayed. Furlow forced him to his left and made him shoot with either hand. He used his body to seal Johnson off and showed him how to execute a proper drop step. The games became closer. Magic lost 15–5, then 15–7. A year later, he grew three inches, and suddenly Furlow had all he could handle.

"See you in the NBA, kid," Furlow told Magic the day the Philadelphia 76ers made him the 12th pick in the 1976 draft.

Four years later, Furlow was dead—killed after ramming into a pole with his car on a highway in Ohio. Police reported there were traces of cocaine and valium in his system. Furlow was 25 years old and employed by the Utah Jazz at the time.

Magic knew drugs were part of the sports culture, but until Furlow's death, it hadn't touched anyone he knew. That soon changed. Although Johnson witnessed no evidence of cocaine use on the Lakers, he knew some of his championship teammates were smoking marijuana on a regular basis.

"I never said anything," Magic said, "but there was always a part of me that wanted to ask them, 'Hey, aren't we trying to win this thing?' Because you weren't at your best when you were doing that stuff—I don't care what anyone says."

Bird was stunned when former player Paul Westphal was quoted in the eighties as saying more than half of the NBA players used cocaine.

"I didn't see it," Larry said. "I didn't know what guys did when they left the gym, but I couldn't imagine how they could play at such a high level if they were doing that stuff."

When he was in college, Bird and his friend went to a fraternity party on the Indiana State campus. One of the girls was acting strangely, and when Larry inquired about her, his friend told him, "Oh, she's been snorting."

"Get me the hell out of here," Bird said.

"Hey, Larry, what's wrong, it's no big deal," his friend protested. "I'm gone," said Bird.

Larry adopted the same theory in the NBA: he avoided large parties and confined his fun to more intimate, manageable settings. The Celtics were decimated by two high-profile tragedies in the eighties and nineties—the death of draft pick Len Bias from cocaine intoxication, and the shocking passing of teammate Reggie Lewis from heart trouble, which his physician, Dr. Gilbert Mudge, later alleged may have been linked to cocaine use. In both cases, Bird never saw it coming.

"I missed a lot," Bird conceded. "I missed a lot because I didn't want to know."

By 1981, Magic's and Larry's second season in the league, cash-strapped owners, trying to keep their franchises viable, decided to open their books to their athletes to reveal their tenuous future. At the time, 60 percent of the gross revenue, which was hovering at $118 million, was being paid out to the players. The formula had to change or the league was going to be out of business.

In March 1983, the NBA and Players Association president Bob Lanier hammered out an unprecedented agreement that implemented the first revenue-sharing plan in league history. Although O'Brien was still the commissioner, Stern acted behind the scenes as the architect of the deal. The pact included a salary cap that would pay the players 53 percent of the league's defined gross revenue (television and radio revenues and gate receipts) and a guaranteed $500,000 a year in licensing. The revenue-sharing concept proved to be a model for major sports franchises.

Six months after the new collective bargaining agreement was implemented, the league announced a landmark substance abuse policy that specifically targeted cocaine and heroin use: repeat offenders caught using or selling drugs were dismissed for a minimum of two years from the league.

The agreement also provided treatment and rehabilitation for players who willingly came forward to disclose their problem. Lanier and the union identified family stresses, boredom on the road, a lack of knowledge on how to manage money, and the adjustments of former college stars struggling to accept a lesser role in the pros as some of the factors that led to substance abuse.

Lanier, who is African American, was offended by the suggestion that all black NBA players were drug users. He was heartened that Magic Johnson proved to be such a dynamic African American role model who not only eschewed drugs but also didn't smoke cigarettes or drink alcohol.

"He came at the perfect time," Lanier said. "Magic had this great face that just radiated. Same with Larry Bird. He was such a competitor, anyone could appreciate what he was doing. We needed guys like that."

In 1984 Welts infused new life into All-Star weekend by starting both the slam-dunk competition and the Old-Timers' Game (which was later scrapped because of too many injuries). The NBA was able to attract Schick, American Airlines, and a tiny company based in Indiana called Gatorade as sponsors, in part because of the compelling personal stories surrounding the participants. That, Welts determined, was what his fan base wanted.

Larry and Magic fit the bill. They were East Coast versus West Coast, the Lunch Bucket Brigade versus Showtime, the gritty leader versus the flashy star.

"It was as if they came out of central casting," Welts said. "We couldn't have asked for a better fit.

"It provided us with the foundation to build on the idea of the player as the hero."

Although their exceptional court vision was a shared talent, Johnson and Bird were a study in contrast. Magic was effusive, emotional, and engaging. Bird was stoic, reserved, and enigmatic. There was also one undeniable difference between the two: the color of their skin. Neither ever gave that component of their rivalry much consideration, but whether they liked it or not, it quickly became a factor.

"There was clearly a racial element to their relationship," said former Celtics coach K. C. Jones, who is African American. "Larry was a dominating, highly intelligent individual, and he was white. Magic was a dominating, highly intelligent individual, and he was black.

"None of that mattered to the coaches or the players, but it did matter to the public. Larry created an admiration and following among whites, and Magic created an admiration and following among blacks. And with that came some animosity between the two groups when the Celtics and Lakers were playing. Larry never liked it. He didn't want to be the Great White Hope. But he didn't have a choice."

Magic noted the racial divide when the topic of Larry Bird was raised. His black friends from Michigan State constantly degraded Bird's game, while his white friends from the same college tended to overstate Bird's talents.

"The country was split over Larry and me," Magic said. "After a number of years, it was okay for people to admire both of us, but in the beginning the black guys backed Magic and the Lakers, and the white folks rooted for Larry and the Celtics."

His first week in training camp, Bird was serenaded with catcalls of "the Great White Hope" from Cedric Maxwell. He didn't pay him much mind. Bird had grown up playing against African Americans who worked at the Valley Springs Hotel in French Lick, and their heritage was irrelevant to him.

"All I cared about was finding the best game," Bird said.

The rest of America was not quite so enlightened at the time. According to Magic, white players were routinely dismissed as "overrated" by black fans who felt the white stars were built up by the biased, predominantly white media. White fans often sniffed at black players as undisciplined and lacking fundamentals. They didn't want to pay to watch the "street ball" of African Americans. The arrival of Bird and Magic helped dispel false assumptions on both ends of the racial spectrum.

Magic frequented the Morningside Barber Shop on Crenshaw Boulevard in Los Angeles and was astonished to hear the "elders"
discussing Bird one afternoon. Magic had never heard them mention a white ballplayer before, not even the legendary "Pistol Pete" Maravich.

"I got to give it to you, that white boy can play," his barber said.

"I told you that the last time I was in here," Magic said.

"You did," the barber replied. "But I wasn't buying none of that until he put on that show in the Finals against the Rockets. That boy made Moses [Malone] look silly!"

Bird, the forward who allegedly possessed no agility or athleticism, won over the barber shop patrons when he pulled up for a jumper from the foul line against the Rockets, but sensed immediately it was off target and streaked down the right side of the floor in pursuit of the rebound. He grabbed the ball as it came off the rim and then, in midflight, switched it from his right to his left hand and coaxed it back in. That acrobatic move became the signature clip of Boston's 1981 championship title over Houston.

Soon after that, minority kids began showing up at the playground wearing Bird's number 33 jersey. Magic was surprised the first time he saw it, particularly because it was on a blacktop in Los Angeles. When Lanier frequented his barber shop in Milwaukee, he too noted the old-timers extolling the virtues of Bird's moxie.

"Most of the brothers came up on the playground," Lanier explained. "They talked a lot of smack. So Bird comes into the league, and he's talking all the time. But if you talk smack and you back it up, then you are considered one bad mother. And Larry always backed it up."

Bird's habit of baiting his opponents was quickly becoming part of NBA lore. During Indiana Pacers forward Chuck Person's rookie season, his team traveled to Boston Garden a week before Christmas, and Bird was waiting with a holiday greeting.

"I've got a present for you," Bird told Person as he walked past him before the game.

Late in the second half, Bird ambled up the court and drilled a three-pointer right in front of the Pacers' bench, where Person happened to be sitting.

"Merry f——ing Christmas," said Bird.

Although Bird and Magic helped to shatter some of the old stereotypes that had become cemented in American sports culture, it was a gradual process. Magic was one of the most cerebral players to ever play the game, yet rarely was he lauded for a "high basketball IQ," a moniker that black athletes claimed was reserved exclusively for white players. Conversely, in spite of Bird's highlight reel of amazing basketball feats, there are some who still refuse to recognize his natural ability.

"Larry was a debate," Michael Jordan said. "He still is. People ask me all the time who my all-time five top players are, and when I start saying Larry, they interrupt me. They say, 'You've got to be kidding me. He can't play with LeBron James!' I tell them, 'You guys don't get it. Larry is far better than any small forward who played the game, and to be honest, I'm still not sure if he is a small forward or a power forward.'

"To appreciate Bird fully, you need to know the game. You have to be a basketball person to be able to give him his due. He's not jumping out of the gym. He doesn't dunk on anyone. He doesn't show any quickness. That's why some people can't see the value of his game. Now, is that racial? I suppose you could see it that way, since he doesn't possess the athleticism of some of the black guys in the league, but I never bought that.

"If you walked into Madison Square Garden, a mecca of basketball, and said, 'What do you think of Larry Bird's game?' the answer is going to be, 'He's a great player because he can do so much.' And that has nothing to do with the color of his skin."

For black athletes in the city of Boston, it was often difficult—sometimes impossible—to be colorblind. Former Celtic M. L. Carr said the residual effects of Judge W. Arthur Garrity's decision in June 1974 to integrate the Boston public schools by implementing forced busing were still palpable when he arrived in the city in 1979 as a free agent.

Garrity's decree polarized the city's communities and ignited spasms of violence. During the height of the tension, police arrived at Boston public schools each morning to help load and unload students, snipers were dispersed on rooftops poised to strike down potential threats, and metal detectors were installed in school hallways.

The lasting image of the racial unrest was captured by
Boston Herald
photographer Stanley Forman on April 5, 1976. Black attorney Theodore Landsmark was on his way to City Hall when he came across anti-busing protesters. A Charlestown youth speared Landsmark with the point of an American flag, and the photo, which appeared across the nation, became a shameful symbol of Boston's turbulent racial history.

Carr remembers the picture well. He signed with the Spirits of St. Louis, an ABA franchise, a few months after the incident, and the racial attack was a recurring topic of discussion in the dressing room. "The guys all said the same thing," he said. "There's no way we'd ever play in Boston."

Carr was more open-minded. He was impressed by general manager Red Auerbach's recruiting pitch and comforted by Auerbach's own résumé, which included assembling the first all-black starting five in NBA history and appointing the league's first African American coach.

When he signed with the Celtics in 1979, Carr settled into the tony suburb of Weston in a beautiful home with a spacious fireplace. Teammate Dave Cowens ordered him a cord of wood and had it delivered to Carr's house. The following day, he had a visit from the local authorities.