When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [104]
Magic thrived in his new role as playmaker and scorer. He led the team in minutes, field goals attempted, scoring, assists, and steals. Riley reduced Abdul-Jabbar's playing time and held him out of practice more frequently. Nobody minded; the strategy had its distinct advantages.
"The scrimmages were better when Kareem wasn't playing," Magic said. "We'd run up and down and up and down with no big man to slow us down."
"Get your rest, Cap," Magic told Abdul-Jabbar after the spirited sessions ended. "Just be ready for the fourth quarter."
Los Angeles posted victories in 12 of its first 14 games. They won all but one of their games in March. In February, they streaked out to a 29–0 lead against the Sacramento Kings and prevented them from scoring a single field goal in the first quarter. When the shell-shocked Kings finally converted on a pair of free throws, Riley called time.
The Lakers gathered around him, anticipating some compliments for holding an NBA team that featured scorers Reggie Theus, Eddie Johnson, and Otis Thorpe without a point for so long.
"Goddammit!" Riley roared. "Why did you foul him and put him at the line?!"
The most meaningful Lakers regular season win was a 117–110 victory over the Celtics in December. Boston was in the midst of a 48-game winning streak at home when the Lakers, touting themselves as "Celtic busters," went in and manhandled their East Coast enemies. Magic reveled in silencing the hostile Boston crowd with his no-look feeds and his new offensive arsenal. Bird winced when he watched his rival confidently bank in a jumper from the left side of the floor with the shot clock ticking down.
"He was so much more offensive-minded," Bird said. "He controlled tempo, got them running. Before, he'd always pass off to the wings. Now, all of a sudden, you weren't sure if he might take it in himself."
The Lakers developed a lockdown mentality on the road that had been missing in past seasons. It became a constant topic of conversation on the plane flights. Magic was the instigator, reminding his team, "It's the 12 of us against all these people who hate us. Let's shut them all up."
The Celtics were strangely silent during that December loss to the Lakers. Although they were still among the elite in the East, the luck of the Irish, which had presided over the storied franchise for decades, had been decimated in one memorable night.
Boston held the number-two pick in the 1986 draft and selected Maryland forward Len Bias, a versatile forward who was, by all accounts, a sure bet to be an NBA star. Auerbach envisioned Bias as his bridge from one dynasty to the next. The plan was for him to learn alongside three future Hall of Fame players, then assume his place in the pantheon of Celtics greats.
Instead, after a night of partying to celebrate his new life as a Celtic, Bias collapsed and died of cocaine intoxication.
It was a devastating tragedy and a sobering lesson for the Celtics on how to conduct their predraft business. Auerbach had always relied on word of mouth from his considerable college sources for his background checks. Maryland coach Lefty Driesell, one of Auerbach's trusted contacts, had vouched for Bias's character. In the wake of Bias's death, Driesell was forced to resign and Maryland embarked on a thorough investigation of its student-athletes. In turn, the NBA and the Celtics began refining their research of draft picks.
Teams began hiring private investigators to determine the character of the athletes they were considering. Yet even that was an inexact science. Boston had used a service to investigate Bias and even subjected him to a predraft drug test. He passed with no trouble.
Bias's shocking death was the