When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [100]
Kareem had already missed three free throws in the game. Magic was relieved when his first throw dropped through, but the second one rolled off, and Kevin McHale and Robert Parish converged at the exact same moment in pursuit of the rebound. If they held on, Boston would have the ball, the lead, and very likely a tie series.
McHale appeared to have possession, but he collided with Parish and then received a bump from behind from Thompson, his friend and former college teammate. The incidental contact from the Laker forward was just enough to jar the ball free and send it bouncing harmlessly out of bounds.
So now the Lakers had the ball, down by one with seven ticks on the clock. For a decade, the only logical choice in the waning seconds of a game was Abdul-Jabbar. Riley could go to his big man again, as he had done one possession earlier, or he could diagram some screens for his own sniper, Byron Scott. There was Worthy, who was quick and elusive and could draw a foul. And then there was Magic, who had been waiting his entire career for a scenario like this: a chance to strike down Bird and Boston by finishing the job himself instead of dishing it off to someone else down the stretch.
Michael Cooper inbounded the ball under the basket. Magic, situated on the left side of the floor, came to meet the pass and McHale flashed out to meet him. The snapshot was framed: Magic, the 6-foot-9 point guard and 1987 MVP, against McHale, a first-ballot Hall of Famer and defensive force who had been hobbling through the series with a broken foot. Although McHale was a power forward, he made a living guarding smaller players, relying on his innate timing, his long, long arms, and his deceptive quickness for a man in a 6-foot-10-inch frame.
As McHale assumed his defensive stance, Magic instinctively thought "pass." He glanced over at Kareem, at Worthy, at Scott. They were all covered.
Magic leaned in, leaned out, and stutter-stepped past McHale, dribbling toward the middle. Parish moved over to help, but Magic was a step ahead of both.
Bird, sagging off Michael Cooper on the opposite side of the key, saw Johnson head toward the heart of the key. "Good," Bird said to himself. "He's going to the middle. We've got lots of help there."
With Boston's Big Three of McHale, Parish, and Bird flocking toward him, Magic left his feet.
"I still wasn't sure at that point if I was going to shoot it," Magic said.
Kurt Rambis, watching from the bench, thought Magic was contemplating flipping the ball over his head to Kareem. It was an option that Rambis prayed Magic wouldn't choose, because he was certain the ball would be deflected.
Magic swooped the ball into the air, extending up, up, up with a hook shot as the three Boston players extended along with him. Rambis was transfixed by the ball's high, arching trajectory. "It seemed to hang up there forever," he said.
The choice of weapon was no fluke. Magic had spent the previous summer at Michigan State working on his post moves with Jud Heathcote, honing the hook shot so he would be comfortable launching it with either hand.
Bird was surprised that Magic chose to keep the ball and equally stunned at how effortlessly he executed a shot that takes years to master. As he watched his rival expertly flip his wrist, Bird experienced the overwhelming and sinking feeling of helplessness.
Magic Johnson was open, and there was nothing Larry Bird could do about it.
Magic's "junior junior" hook dropped through like a plump raindrop into a bucket of water. On the sideline, Pat Riley raised his fist triumphantly.
"I had been waiting on that moment," Magic said. "I was calm, ready. I had been taking the last shot all year, so it was second nature to me.
"If I had taken it in '85, I probably would have missed. I would have been too excited. It wasn't until '87 that I really understood and appreciated