When the Game Was Ours Read online

  When the Game Was Ours

  Larry Bird and Earvin Magic Johnson Jr.

  * * *

  With Jackie MacMullan

  * * *

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN HARCOURT

  BOSTON • NEW YORK • 2009

  * * *

  For our fans

  —LARRY BIRD AND EARVIN "MAGIC" JOHNSON JR.

  To my parents, Margarethe and Fred MacMullan,

  who taught me anything was possible

  —JACKIE MACMULLAN

  * * *

  Copyright © 2009 Magic Johnson Enterprises and Larry Bird

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book,

  write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  www.hmhbooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Bird, Larry, date.

  When the game was ours / Larry Bird and Earvin Magic Johnson Jr.

  with Jackie MacMullan.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-547-22547-0

  1. Bird, Larry, date 2. Johnson, Earvin, date 3. Basketball players—United

  States—Biography. 4. Basketball—United States—History. I. Johnson, Earvin,

  date II. MacMullan, Jackie. III. Title.

  GV884.A1B47 2009

  796.3230922—dc22 [B] 2009020839

  Book design by Brian Moore

  Printed in the United States of America

  DOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  * * *

  Introduction

  from LARRY

  WHEN I WAS YOUNG, the only thing I cared about was beating my brothers. Mark and Mike were older than me and that meant they were bigger, stronger, and better—in basketball, baseball, everything.

  They pushed me. They drove me. I wanted to beat them more than anything, more than anyone.

  But I hadn't met Magic yet. Once I did, he was the one I had to beat. What I had with Magic went beyond brothers.

  I never let on how much he dominated my thoughts during my playing days. I couldn't. But once we agreed to do this book, I knew it was finally time to let people in on my relationship with the person who motivated me like no other.

  Our careers, right from the start, were headed down the same path. We played each other for the college national championship, and then went to the pros in exactly the same year. He was West Coast, I was East Coast, and both of us were playing for the two best NBA franchises of all time. You couldn't have made it up any better.

  I didn't like how it went in the beginning. It was always Bird and Magic instead of the Celtics and Lakers, and that didn't seem right to me. We didn't even guard each other.

  I did have incredible respect for Magic—more than anyone else I ever competed against. From the first time I saw him, I could see he approached the game the same way I did.

  It's all about the competition, and that's what both of us shared. That's what we both thrived on. My teammates used to rip Magic all the time. They made fun of his smile, his "Showtime" routine. But when you got right down to it and asked them what they honestly thought, even they had to admit, "He's the best."

  I didn't spend a whole lot of time comparing myself to him. We were two totally different players, with a few similarities. We both loved to pass the ball and keep our teammates involved. Neither one of us cared about scoring 50 points, although we both could have done that just about any time we wanted when we were at our best.

  I'd watch highlights of Magic after a game and I'd say, "How did he do that?" He controlled the tempo of the game like nobody else I've ever seen. There were times when we played the Lakers and I'd be the only guy back on one of their 3-on-1 breaks. Even though I'm not that quick, I used to be able to read the point guard in those situations and have an idea of which way he was leaning. Not with Magic. I never had any idea what he was going to do with that ball.

  We didn't like each other that much. It was too hard. We were trying to beat each other year after year, and people kept comparing us. I wanted what he had, so I didn't want to get to know him, because I knew I'd probably like him and then I'd lose my edge.

  People think it all started with the NCAA championship in 1979. It didn't. We were teammates the summer before that in an international competition, and we made some incredible plays together. Too bad nobody saw them. The coach didn't play us, so we had to figure out other ways besides playing in the games to prove we belonged among the best college players. Trust me, you'll see when you read this—we figured out ways to get noticed.

  In this book, we'll give you the inside story of our days leading up to the NCAA national championship, not what I call the "fish stories" that are out there. Through the years countless people who were on the fringe of our Indiana State team have been quoted about what I was doing or what I was thinking back then. I'm always amused by that, because I barely know them, which is why they never get the story right. People who have the least to do with the success of a team often have the most to say about it.

  That's one of the reasons Magic and I decided to do this book together. For once, you can hear from us what we were feeling when we played against each other for the NCAA championship and those NBA championships. It's been an interesting ride, believe me.

  It hasn't always been a smooth one either. When you are as competitive as the two of us are, there's going to be bad feelings along the way. I had them, and after doing this project, I've learned Magic had some too.

  After years of battling each other, people couldn't think of one of us without the other. We were Frazier and Ali. When I retired, people asked me about him all the time. They'd say, "Is Magic okay? Have you seen him?" Even more than my own teammates. Nine times out of ten it was, "So what's Magic doing?" and one time out of ten it was, "What's McHale up to these days?"

  It's hard to explain what it's like to be linked to someone like that. We didn't choose for it to be that way, it just happened. And now we're stuck with each other.

  Once, a few years ago, I was driving down the road in my car and I got a call from a television reporter in Indianapolis. He asked me, "Have you heard the news?" I said, "What are you talking about?" He said, "Well, it isn't confirmed yet, but we've got a report that Magic Johnson died."

  I almost went off the road. I got this pit in my stomach, and I really felt like I was going to lose it. I hung up and called Jill Leone, my agent, right away. She got on the phone with Lon Rosen, Magic's agent, and he told her it was a bad rumor, that Magic was fine. I called that TV guy back and said, "Don't you ever do that to me again."

  People have been writing about Magic and me for years. Some of it they got right. Some of it they didn't. This is our story, from the two people who lived it.

  When the Celtics and the Lakers played in the 2008 Finals, it brought back a lot of great memories for me. Those were the greatest times of my life, those battles with Magic and the Lakers. They were all I thought about. Nothing was sweeter than beating LA.

  We fought like hell for the same thing for over 12 years, and through it all, the respect was always there. For the rest of our lives, we're connected.

  I used to mind.

  I don't anymore.

  LARRY BIRD

  Indianapolis, March 2009

  * * *

  from MAGIC

  MY HIGH SCHOOL COACH George Fox used to tell me to never take my talent for granted.

  "You're special, Earvin," Fox used to say. "But you can't stop working hard. Just remember—there's someone out there who is just as talented as you are, and he's working just as hard. Maybe even harder."

  When Coach Fox told me tho
se things, I'd nod my head, but in my mind I was thinking, "I'd like to meet this guy, because I haven't seen him." Truthfully? I wasn't sure anybody like that existed.

  That changed the day in 1978 when I walked into a gym in Lexington, Kentucky, and met Larry Bird for the first time. Then I knew he was the guy Coach Fox was talking about.

  Larry was a different kind of cat. He didn't say much, and he kept to himself. But, oh, could he play. I had never seen a player with his size pass the ball the way he did. Right away, we had chemistry. We played on the second team with a bunch of college All-Stars, and we just embarrassed the starters.

  I knew I'd see him again, and I did—everywhere! When I got to the NBA and played for the Lakers, I watched as many Celtics games as I could so I could keep track of what he was doing. He became my measuring stick. The first time we played head-to-head in the Finals, in 1984, Larry got the best of me. It took me years to get over it. Actually, I'm not sure I'm over it yet.

  I was surprised to hear Larry describe watching me win the NBA championship in my rookie season. He admitted he was jealous, which really shocked me, because he never ever showed it back then. Of course, as you'll learn when you start reading this book, I had my own bouts of jealousy when it came to Larry.

  When I go out and speak to people, I tell them I wish their kids had a chance to see Larry Bird play, because he did it the right way. He played a team game, but it was his will to win, his toughness, his spirit, and his knowledge of the game that I admired the most.

  I'm tied to Larry—forever. That's just how it is. I wanted the two of us to walk into the Hall of Fame together, but we didn't get a chance to do that, so this book is the next best thing. It gives us a chance to tell our story and share with you the evolution of our friendship.

  Some of it will surprise you. I knew while we were playing I was doggedly scrutinizing Larry's every move, but I had no idea until we started talking for this book that he was following me just as closely.

  I can't get away from Larry. I bet he can't get away from me either. I run into fans all the time and the first thing they want to know is, "Have you seen him? Have you talked to Larry?" No one ever asks me about Kareem or James Worthy or Byron or Coop. It's always Larry. We've gotten used to that.

  When I go around the country, I always get a nice reception, especially in Boston. The people tell their children, "You missed it. Larry and this guy here put on a show. We used to hate this guy, but we respected him."

  Every time I walk into the new Boston Garden, I have tons of memories. I swear they still have the same guys putting down that parquet floor that they had when I played. It takes me back to the day. The Beat LA T-shirts, the vendors outside, the cold showers, the fire alarms in the middle of the night when we stayed at the Boston hotels. There has never been a better rivalry.

  What we try to do in this book is put you right in the thick of it—like in 1984, just after the Celtics have won the championship. I'm stuck in a Boston hotel room, looking down at all those Celtics fans going crazy in the street. And you won't believe where Larry is!

  Sometimes I'll pop in some of the old Celtics-Lakers games. I never get tired of watching them. On each team there are five bodies moving in sync with each other. Usually we scored 60 points by halftime. It was basketball poetry. When I'm watching those games, I can't help but notice the intensity on Larry's face, and on my own face. We never took a single play off. We couldn't afford to because, if we did, the other guy would exploit it. Can you imagine what it's like to have a player of Larry Bird's caliber pushing you night after night? It wore me out.

  It took some time for us to get to know each other. It's hard to develop a relationship with someone who wants exactly the same thing that you want. We were different, that's for sure. I was very emotional on the court, while often Larry never even changed expression. Inside, I knew, his heart was pounding just as fast as mine, but there were countless times I'd look at him and wonder, "What's he thinking?"

  Now—finally—I know.

  I always wanted to work with Larry on a project like this. The love and respect I have for him is genuine. I've never met anyone else like him.

  That's because there's only one Larry Bird.

  I'm proud to call him my friend.

  EARVIN "MAGIC" JOHNSON JR.

  Los Angeles, March 2009

  1. APRIL 9, 1978

  Lexington, Kentucky

  THE ERRANT SHOT came off the glass at a sharp angle, but Larry Bird, charting the flight of the ball, pulled down the rebound and advanced without hesitation, swiveling his head as he examined his options.

  Earvin Johnson had already begun to head down the court the moment the ball was in flight. He'd been playing with Bird for only six days on a team of college All-Stars in this international round-robin competition, yet already Johnson had determined that Bird was the most resourceful rebounder they had.

  Bird filled the center lane, and Magic streaked down the right side, calling for the ball, but the forward looked away, as if he had pressing matters elsewhere. For one brief instant, Magic was disappointed. "I guess he's not going to give it to me," he murmured.

  And that's when it came: a behind-the-back missile that landed directly on Magic's right palm. It remained there just long enough for Johnson to disarm defender Andrei Lapatov with a crossover dribble, then sling it back over his shoulder with a no-look feed to Bird.

  Indiana State's star barely aligned the seams before his touch pass was back to Magic, leaving no time for the overmatched Soviet player to react. As Johnson banked in the lay-up, the crowd at Rupp Arena in Lexington, Kentucky, roared with delight.

  Magic turned and charged toward Bird to offer him his signature high-five. Bird slapped the teenager's hand, and the two jogged back down the floor, side by side, one skipping, clapping, and celebrating as he went, the other, head down, expressionless, as if nothing remarkable had occurred.

  The intertwined basketball journey of Earvin "Magic" Johnson and Larry "Joe" Bird had officially begun—as teammates.

  Johnson had never met Bird before the tournament. He was stunned at how well the forward passed the ball, and when Bird fed him the no-look pass, Magic told himself, "I'm not going to let this guy upstage me."

  "It was an incredible three seconds of basketball," Magic said. "It was boom, boom, boom! I'm thinking, 'Man, I love playing with this guy!' And believe me, the crowd loved it too."

  Some thirty years after that collaborative transition basket, executed against the Soviet Union's national team when Magic was just 18 years old and Bird only 21, both remember the play with startling clarity.

  "The defender was stumbling to keep up with us," Bird recalled. "We were coming at him so fast that his head was going around and around, and he ended up in a circle. I was sort of laughing, because the poor kid didn't have a clue."

  He wasn't the only one. No one thought to chronicle the footage of Bird and Magic's wizardry in the open floor. There were no breathless descriptions of the artful passers in the morning papers. In 1978, though both had displayed a developing basketball pedigree, they were not widely recognized as elite players. At that juncture, neither had won an NBA championship, a league MVP, or, for that matter, an NCAA title. The irony of Bird and Magic commencing their storied relationship as teammates did not register because their parallel careers had not yet evolved into one of the compelling rivalries in basketball history.

  "They were certainly good," noted Michael O'Koren, their tournament teammate, "but they weren't Magic and Larry—not yet."

  Instead, Johnson and Bird were second-stringers on an amateur basketball team participating in an international round-robin competition called the World Invitational Tournament, or WIT, attempting in vain to prove to the coach, Joe B. Hall, they were worthy of prime-time minutes.

  Although Bird and Magic occasionally shared knowing glances when the two of them outwitted the starters in practice, Bird revealed little of himself to Johnson. He was a young man of f
ew words—until he went back home to French Lick, Indiana, and tracked down his brother, Mark Bird.

  "I've just seen the best player in college basketball," Larry gushed. "It's Magic Johnson."

  The World Invitational Tournament was a whirlwind, made-for-television event that assembled a group of top college players and held three games in five days against the Soviets, Cuba, and Yugoslavia at rotating venues: the Omni in Atlanta, Carmichael Auditorium on the campus of North Carolina, and Rupp Arena in Lexington.

  Bird had just completed his junior season at Indiana State as a first-team All-America selection who would be drafted by the Boston Celtics within the next three months. Magic had just finished his first year at Michigan State, a third-team All-America pick who had dazzled the Big Ten with his array of no-look feeds, alley-oops, and backdoor bounce passes.

  Yet, on the World Invitational team, also known as the Converse Cup, Johnson and Bird were afterthoughts. The headliners were Joe B. Hall and his Kentucky Wildcats, who had beaten Duke 94–88 the previous week to capture the NCAA championship. Coach Hall placed five of his guys on the WIT roster: swingman Jack "Goose" Givens, who had poured in 41 points in the title game against Duke; Rick Robey, their rugged big man; point guard Kyle Macy; lefty forward James Lee; and guard Jay Shidler.

  Givens, Macy, and Robey garnered most of the minutes in the tournament even though the second team, anchored by Johnson and Bird, dominated them in practice. Privately, both players fumed as they sat and watched inferior players gobble up their minutes.

  "There were the Kentucky players, and the rest of us were fillers," Bird said. "Hall wanted to go around the country and show off his guys."

  Bird and Magic spent a total of eight days together during the WIT. They engaged in no more than four or five conversations, even though they ate together, practiced together, and rode the bus together. While Magic hobnobbed with Arkansas star Sidney Mon-crief, blasting his boom box and jiving to the beat of the Ohio Players, Bird remained largely to himself, surveying the Kentucky scenery out the bus window while Magic's music—and personality—overtook the team.