When the Game Was Ours (42 page)

The gloves were in his pocket. Vitti reached for them, then looked at the Laker players, who were monitoring his every move. He pulled his hand out of his pockets without the gloves and placed a Band-Aid on Magic with his bare hands.

Cleveland coach Lenny Wilkens thought the crowd's response seemed awfully dramatic for a little scratch. He looked up to the stands and realized that the fans were fixated on his players, wondering what they'd do next.

"I think they were waiting to see if we'd run off the floor," Wilkens said.

The coach scanned the expressions on the faces of his players as he waved them to the sideline. He recognized fear when he saw it. Wilkens was a longtime NBA alumnus, a Hall of Fame player for 15 seasons, and a Hall of Fame coach for another 32. He had not forgotten what Magic Johnson had done to revitalize the league during one of its most dismal periods. Wilkens admired his skill and, in the wake of his diagnosis, his courage.

As the Cavaliers huddled together, it was apparent that some players were unfazed by Magic's "injury," while others were genuinely unglued.

"I don't know about this," said one of the Cavalier starters.

"I want to go home to my family without worrying about whether I'm going to pass on some infection. Let's stop this thing," said another.

"Guys, you have to calm down," Wilkens said. "You are not in danger. It's only a scratch. Now let's get back to work."

Danny Ferry was in the Cleveland huddle. He had already guarded Magic in the game and was ready to resume playing. Yet he understood why some of his teammates were hesitant.

"The NBA tried to educate us, but to be honest, it was an uphill battle," Ferry said. "They told us we were more likely to be run over by a car than contract HIV, but some of the guys in that huddle just couldn't wrap their minds around that."

As Wilkens coaxed his team back onto the floor, he glanced over at Magic Johnson. His face was steeped in disappointment. There would be no more high-fives that day, no joyous behind-the-back passes, no playful gestures to the crowd. The look of devastation on his face was unmistakable.

"His expression said, 'I can't do this anymore,'" Wilkens said.

The collective gasp of the Chapel Hill crowd haunted Magic for years. And when Cleveland veteran Mark Price publicly joined the fray as yet another NBA player who had reservations about Johnson playing, Magic knew what had to be done. He called Cookie and told her, "It's over."

"I'm not going to hurt the league Larry and I spent so much time building up," he said.

Over the weekend, Magic called Rosen and met him at Duke's, his favorite breakfast spot. He told him he was retiring and instructed Rosen to call a press conference.

For the first time in his career, Magic didn't bother to show up.

"He was so hurt by the criticism," Rosen said. "It devastated him. I'm not sure there was ever a lower point in his life."

The morning after the Charlotte exhibition, a photograph of trainer Gary Vitti ministering to Magic Johnson was on the front page of papers throughout the country. There, in plain sight, was proof that the trainer had not used his gloves. Within days he was
reported to the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) for not following protocol. The complaint came from a Rhode Island doctor.

"Who knows what motivated him?" Vitti said. "Maybe he was a guy the OSHA had been hassling. Maybe he was an overzealous Celtics fan. All I know is that I was investigated for the next year regarding everything I'd ever done with the Lakers."

Vitti was eventually cleared by the OSHA, but while his "impropriety" made the front page, his exoneration was a one-line news item buried in the back.

By then, Magic was retired from the NBA and had organized AllStar and barnstorming teams to play in exhibition games throughout Europe. He was received with great fanfare—and little mention of his medical condition—as he played against, and beat, the top players in the world. Over time, new cases of HIV cropped up daily, and so did new courses of treatment. Americans learned to live with HIV, just as Magic Johnson did.

On January 30, 1996, nearly five years after his first retirement, Magic Johnson embarked on one final comeback. Fears about HIV had subsided considerably, and prevention and treatment of the disease were part of the daily conversation in America. This time he felt certain that he could resume playing the game he loved without any further static regarding his condition.

In his return against Golden State, Magic assumed his new role on the Lakers as a power forward/sixth man and put up 19 points, 10 rebounds, and 8 assists. He was 27 pounds heavier, less mobile, and no longer an MVP candidate, but his court vision and his unabashed enthusiasm for the game were still unparalleled.

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."