When the Game Was Ours (36 page)

"Even as I sit here, I don't have a problem with A.C.," Magic said. "He has a right to his opinions and his beliefs. He has lived his life a certain way, and I couldn't be mad at him when he said, 'See? This is what I'm talking about. You can't run around with all these women. Look what happened to Magic.'

"At least I knew where I stood with A.C. He never went behind my back. The so-called friends that did that to me were the ones that hurt me the most."

In the first months after his diagnosis, Earvin wondered what his teammates were thinking. James Worthy, who won three championships with Magic, was always a quiet man. He became even more withdrawn after Johnson's diagnosis. Initially Magic was devastated by his teammate's silence, but over time he came to understand that many people, Worthy among them, didn't know what to say—so they said nothing.

"James is a caring guy," Magic said. "But he kept his emotions in check. I'm sure he was sitting there thinking, 'What does this all mean?' It was tough for him to see me. I scared him."

Although most of Johnson's public appearances elicited tremendous support, it didn't fool him into believing the world was ready to embrace an HIV-positive icon. Each time a stranger—or a friend—backed away, it was another reminder of the stigma he carried. When he went to a comedy show, entertainer Damon Wayans performed a five-minute skit ridiculing Magic, HIV, and his lifestyle without knowing Johnson was in the audience.

The slights strengthened Johnson's resolve to shatter some of the stereotypes regarding infected people. Although most of his friends were queasy about discussing his illness and the AIDS epidemic in detail, Magic kept talking about it.

"When I was diagnosed with HIV, there was no such thing as an open conversation about AIDS," Magic said. "People didn't want to discuss things like that. So my mission was, 'Okay, let me see if I can change a few perceptions,' because I could see the look on people's faces when they met me. They're wondering, 'Can I shake his hand? I know I don't want to hug him.' Those people made me feel like I had a disease, and I was trying to get past that."

A week after his appearance on Arsenio Hall's show, Magic received an invitation from President George H. W. Bush to join his National Commission on AIDS. Johnson was genuinely flattered and eager to get involved, but first he needed to do his homework. Glaser and another activist, Derek Hodl, pointed out the serious flaws in the Bush administration's approach to AIDS. They armed Magic with statistics to back up the assertion that the president wasn't doing enough. Johnson presented those facts and figures to Bush when he met with him at the White House. The president accepted the data, then presented Magic with a pair of cuff links and gave him a tour of the White House horseshoe pit. Johnson left hopeful that Bush and the commission would become a major player in the fight against AIDS and HIV.

The support did not materialize. While Magic forged ahead with an educational television program on HIV aimed at teenagers and young adults and wrote a book for the same target group, the president failed to adequately fund research or treatment for the disease. It soon became evident to Johnson that the commission was an impotent organization hamstrung by a president who simply had not made AIDS or HIV a priority.

"It was the worst thing I've ever been a part of," Magic said. "They were so hung up on their 'regulations,' we couldn't get anything accomplished."

The final indignity came in the fall of 1992 when Johnson toured a new hospice in Boston. The gleaming facility featured state-of-the-art equipment and twenty new beds for AIDS patients, but only two of those beds were filled.

"There were hundreds of people trying to get in there," Magic explained, "but the only way they could was to have the proper 'certification.' And they couldn't get the certification because of all this political red tape that Bush had created. I said to one of the committee members, 'Are you joking? These people are dying and they need these beds, and they're sitting here empty because you guys say they need some piece of paper?'

"I quit the next day."

On September 25, Johnson drafted a letter to President Bush and formally resigned from the commission, citing the president's lack of support in the fight against AIDS.

"I cannot in good conscience continue to serve on a commission whose important work is so utterly ignored by your administration," Magic wrote.

Johnson's resignation triggered headlines across the country. Bird smiled when he read Magic's comments in the morning paper.

"I was glad he quit," Bird said. "Sometimes people just want to use your name. It happens all the time with people like Magic and me. I knew how seriously he took his fight against AIDS. I figured he'd get a whole lot more done doing it his way."

The Magic Johnson Foundation was created in 1991 with the aim of raising awareness of AIDS and HIV by providing education, treatment, and research. One of the first donations he received was a sizable check from actor and devout Lakers fan Jack Nicholson. He was also genuinely touched to receive a personal check for $50,000 from Charlotte Hornets and Washington Bullets guard
Rex Chapman, who was not particularly close to Magic but who explained in his brief note that he felt "compelled to help with a wonderful cause."

The foundation would aid more than 350,000 people through community grants, education on HIV, scholarships, the opening of HIV/AIDS clinics, the provision of mobile testing units to under-served communities in Los Angeles, and a partnership program with the Abbot Pharmaceutical Company, called "I STAND With Magic," aimed at decreasing the alarming number of new HIV/ AIDS infections in minority communities.

The inroads the foundation made would be both rewarding and gratifying, but the foundation did not fill the void created by Magic's retirement.

Even though he would not play for the Lakers during the 1991–92 season, Johnson's name still appeared on the All-Star ballot, which had been printed months before his announcement that he was HIV-positive. As the votes began to be tallied, it was clear that the fans had every intention of voting Magic in as a starter for the Western Conference.

First, Johnson was touched. Then he was tempted. Then he was determined to play.

"I'll call Stern," Rosen said.

The commissioner had done his homework since Magic's diagnosis. He consulted specialists. He read every piece of literature he could find on the subject of HIV, including an English publication that purported to have found an incident of an English soccer player having become HIV-positive through skin-to-skin contact.

"We were being told that couldn't happen," Stern said. "It had to be an open sore to open sore, and even then it was unlikely. But that was the kind of information that was circulating at the time."

Stern supported Magic's return for the All-Star Game, although he initially balked at the notion that Johnson, who had not played a minute of the 1991–92 regular season, should be a starter.

"If he doesn't start, he's not coming," Rosen said.

The commissioner had been prepared to name Golden State
guard Tim Hardaway instead, but Hardaway graciously stepped aside to allow Magic to have center stage.

As news spread of Stern's decision to allow an HIV-positive athlete to compete among some of the world's most gifted athletes, his phone began ringing in earnest. Some of the calls were supportive, but an overwhelming number of them were skeptical, even outraged. Some NBA owners, concerned about their investment, weighed in with their protests.

"Aren't you getting a little too ahead of the curve on this?" asked one owner. "Why don't we do some polling?"

"No," Stern answered. "That doesn't work for me. I think we can affect the polls."

"Do you know what you are doing?" asked another powerful NBA owner. "Because this is some helluva risk you are taking."

Stern and Magic shared a common goal: they wanted to change the way the world looked at HIV. Yet Stern did not welcome Magic back to the fold without some trepidation. He knew that if his decision backfired, it could lead to serious consequences—for him, his league, and Magic Johnson. Although the backlash over Johnson's inclusion in the All-Star Game was heated and, at times, contentious, Stern successfully concealed most of that dissension from his discerning fan base.

"We were not aggressive in public," Stern said. "We didn't say anything. We were under fire from many of our own people, but the public didn't need to know that."

Magic was the first player to arrive at the 1992 All-Star Game in Orlando, Florida, and he brought along Glaser to speak to players and their wives about HIV. She debunked many of the myths about how the disease is transmitted and explained in detail the battle she and others were waging to stem the tide of AIDS. By the time she was done, many members of the audience were crying.

One particularly distraught woman approached Glaser after the program and confessed that her son was scheduled to present the MVP of the All-Star Game with a trophy.

"I'm so ashamed," she said in between sobs. "I told my son that
he was, under no circumstances, to touch Magic Johnson if he won that award."

The wife of a prominent NBA star also walked up to Glaser after her moving presentation and told her, "I'm praying for you and your family. But I'm sorry, I still don't want my husband out there playing basketball with Magic Johnson."

On the surface, Magic's All-Star return was a heartwarming story with a fairy-tale ending. He scored 25 points and dished out 9 assists in a 153–113 win for the West and walked off with the MVP trophy. Yet there were underlying issues throughout the weekend that suggested a more complicated story line.

Philadelphia forward Charles Barkley, whom Magic counted among his NBA friends and who had petitioned to have his number changed to 32 in Johnson's honor once he was diagnosed, had no issue with Johnson's HIV status, but declared that it was unfair for a retired superstar to take away a spot from a younger player who might have been making his All-Star debut. The intimation: Johnson was being selfish.

Magic attempted to address that issue in a press conference two days before the game. "I have to be out there for myself," he conceded, "but for others too. Whether they have a disease or they are handicapped, they have to keep on living. That's what I'm doing—I'm living."

When he walked into the West locker room on All-Star Sunday, it was loaded with familiar faces: Clyde Drexler, Chris Mullin, Karl Malone, David Robinson, Hakeem Olajuwon, Otis Thorpe, Jeff Hornacek, Dikembe Mutombo, Dan Majerle, Hardaway, and Worthy. Yet something had changed. He was a visitor, not a regular. And, he feared, he was also a bit of a curiosity. After a decade of playing the role of the most dynamic personality in the room, suddenly Magic was the hesitant one.

The salutations when he entered the room were cordial, but awkward. Nobody jumped up to embrace him, and only a couple of players offered a handshake. He was a guest at his own party.

"Everybody was a little hands-off," Magic conceded. "You could sense it."

"The tension was unmistakable," David Robinson recalled. "It was a scary time. Players had gone behind Magic's back to get him out of the All-Star Game. They were afraid. They didn't know."

Robinson, sensing Magic's discomfort, made a point to walk up to him and offer his hand.

"I'm glad you're here," said the Admiral.

"I'm glad I'm here too," Johnson answered.

Before the game started, the two teams lined up opposite one another at center court. Isiah Thomas broke ranks with the East and crossed over to give Magic a hug. Soon most of the East squad followed suit, yet the player who truly eased the tension was Pistons forward Dennis Rodman, who vowed before the game to be aggressive with Johnson on the court.

Since Magic hadn't played all season, the expectation was that he would be treated delicately. Yet Johnson wanted no part of being a charity case. He worked out religiously in the weeks leading up to the game, telling Lon Rosen, "If they think I'm showing up just to make a couple of passes, they're wrong."

Rodman eliminated the awkwardness on his very first trip down the floor, when he elbowed Magic in the back, then bodied up on him and bumped him in the post.

"C'mon now," Rodman said to Magic. "Show me what you got."

Magic wheeled and rolled in a hook shot.

"How did that look?" Johnson said, after the shot dropped through.

"Let's go," Rodman said. "Is that all you have?"

Johnson ran and passed and sweated and tumbled into people just like everyone else. After a few minutes, the players seemed to relax.

"I made a nice pass, and guys were saying, 'Oh, I remember him. He's still Magic,'" Johnson said. "It calmed everyone down. After that, it was just about basketball.

"That game helped change the perception of HIV all over the world. People watching it said, 'It's okay. He can do this.'"

As the game clock ran down, Isiah pushed the ball up the floor
with Magic guarding him. Thomas urged Magic to come closer. He dribbled the ball in and out of his legs, behind his back, stutter-stepping back and forth in a staccato rhythm, challenging his old friend. Magic, in turn, motioned with his hand.

"C'mon, bring it," Magic said.

Thomas whipped the ball through his legs one more time. As the shot clock dwindled down to its final seconds, Thomas hoisted a long jumper over Magic's outstretched arms. It never reached the rim.

The capacity crowd hooted appreciatively, anticipating a theatrical finish. So now it was Michael Jordan with the ball and Magic matching up opposite him. Jordan faked left, burst right to the basket, then pulled up for a shot over Magic. It too was short.

Finally, it was Magic's turn for Showtime. He made a V cut, then a backdoor cut, and popped out to the three-point circle, all with Isiah in pursuit. Teammate Clyde Drexler lofted him the ball and Johnson launched a three-point bomb.

"I didn't have to look," Magic said. "I knew it was good."

Magic was mobbed by his teammates, just like the old days. Mullin came over for a double high-five, Drexler slapped him on the back, and East big man Kevin Willis approached Magic without hesitation and wrapped himself around him. As they left the court, Isiah leaned over and pecked Magic on the cheek.