When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [138]
The harried Celtics public relations staff got the word out as quickly as they could. The local media flocked to the Garden, and the national pundits, aware of what the press conference meant, solemnly delivered the news that Larry Bird's basketball career was about to officially end.
Magic Johnson had already arrived at work at his downtown offices when his phone started ringing.
"You better clear some time in my schedule," Magic informed his assistant. "I think I might be kind of busy today."
Larry Bird told the people of Boston that if you didn't play for the Celtics, then you didn't play professional basketball. He told them he cherished the fact that he had played in one place his entire career. He promised them he would never—ever—make a comeback.
And then it was over.
Dinah had decided to go back to Indiana once she knew her husband was about to make his retirement official. There were too many memories, and, she surmised, it would be too emotional. She was sitting in a chair at the hairdresser's when the announcement breathlessly came across the radio.
Though Bird experienced a wave of nostalgia after the press conference, what he felt mostly was a huge sense of relief. He was in so much pain that he was ecstatic not to have to play anymore.
"At that moment," he said, "it was one of the happiest days of my life."
Larry Bird Night raised more than $1 million for 33 charities, among them WGBH, the local PBS affiliate that televised all the kids' shows that Bird's young son Conner loved to watch with his daddy.
While numerous dignitaries, celebrities, and Hall of Famers were present, the highlight was the arrival of Magic Johnson, who came nattily dressed in a suit and tie.
The Lakers had previously shipped Magic's uniform to the Garden, and as Magic began to change, he realized he'd forgotten to bring a T-shirt to wear underneath. The team tossed him a Celtics jersey and he snapped up his gold-and-purple warm-ups to cover it.
As the two legends bantered onstage during the ceremony, Bird suddenly lunged toward Magic and ripped open the Lakers warm-up jacket to reveal Celtics green. The Boston fans howled with delight.
Magic, matching Bird's gesture from his own retirement, presented him with a piece of the Forum floor signed by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Jerry West, Elgin Baylor, and, Magic chuckled, "all those other guys you don't care about."
He told the crowd that in all the years Bird had played in Boston, he had only ever told them one lie.
"Do you know what it was?" Magic asked Bird, who was genuinely perplexed by the line of questioning.
"You said there would be another Larry Bird," Magic continued. "And I'm telling you, you're wrong. There will never be another Larry Bird. You can take that to the bank."
A year and a half following his retirement, Bird underwent spinal fusion surgery, a major medical procedure that often leaves patients permanently unable to engage in most athletic activities. The surgery was successful, and Bird was able to play golf and an occasional tennis match through the years. It was made abundantly clear to him, however, that his basketball days were over.
Magic's prognosis was much murkier. He had been living with HIV for almost a year, and his T cell count (the white blood cells called lymphocytes that protect the body against infection) was holding steady. His energy level was high, and his health was good.
He kept busy during his time away from the game. He built up his business and still rubbed shoulders with celebrities and musicians.
By the early nineties, the Jackson Five had disbanded, but the youngest brother, Michael, had become a pop icon with his Off the Wall album. His handlers called Magic one night and invited him to dinner. When Johnson arrived, he was presented with an elegant plate of freshly prepared chicken garnished with parsley and a bed of rice.
Magic was about to dig in when he noticed that Michael Jackson had nothing in front of him. On cue, a servant came from the kitchen and placed a bucket of Kentucky