When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [155]
Magic eyed the Boston roster warily, but was optimistic that when the Lakers added forward Pau Gasol they'd have enough strength up front to offset the loss of center Andrew Bynum, their young and rapidly improving big man whose knee injury ruled him out of playoff contention.
LA's world revolved around Kobe, the most prolific scorer in the league. Before the Finals started, Bryant assumed the unofficial role of the team's spokesman and predicted his team would be united and prepared against Boston.
Magic believed it—until he looked out of the window of Boston's Four Seasons Hotel just hours before Game 2 and saw Lamar Odom loaded up with shopping bags less than three hours before game time. Johnson was fond of Odom, but couldn't believe his eyes.
"What is he doing?" Magic said. "It's 95 degrees outside. He should be resting! Does he know there's a game today?"
Johnson rode down the elevator with the Lakers coaches and informed them of what he'd seen.
"They don't grasp the magnitude of this moment," said veteran assistant Frank Hamblen. "They don't understand they might never have this chance again."
Before the Finals started, the league asked Bird and Magic to conduct a conference call for the legions of journalists who wanted to revisit the great rivalry of the eighties. Bird was hesitant. He called Magic to discuss how they should handle it.
"This shouldn't be about us," Bird said. "These young guys deserve their turn. Let's do this one thing and get out of the way."
"Agreed," said Magic, who knew Kobe chafed at comparisons to the Showtime days. "We'll keep the 'Magic and Larry Show' to one hour."
The two icons conducted the conference call, then agreed to pose for a split-screen advertisement promoting the Finals.
"After that," Bird said, "I disappeared."
As the Boston-LA series got under way, Magic sat down in front of a TV and popped in eighties footage of the epic battle between his Lakers and Bird's Celtics. He watched in silence, admiring the ball movement and the speed of the game. He marveled at the passing skills of his teammates and how the ball rarely touched the floor.
"I wish they still played the game like this," he told his son E.J.
Bird placed a phone call to one player before the Finals: Lakers forward Luke Walton, son of Bill Walton. Bird, who had known Luke since he was a young hellion riding his tricycle through Larry's kitchen, left him a message wishing him luck and reminded him to savor every moment.
Magic also placed a call to one player: Celtics star Paul Pierce, who grew up in the shadows of the Forum in Inglewood, California, worshiping Magic and the Lakers. Pierce had played summer ball with Magic, who counseled him on everything from the proper dribbling drills to the knack of staying humble amid his sudden change in fortune. He also cautioned Pierce "to leave the street behind" as he made his climb to the NBA elite.
"You can't be hanging on that corner anymore," he told Pierce. "You can see your guys, say hello, but then you've got to keep on moving. You have different responsibilities now. They just can't be a central part of your life anymore. You can see them once in a while, help 'em out if you want, but there's too much at stake to find yourself in a position that just doesn't make sense."
In their final conversation before the Finals, Bird and Magic talked briefly about Pierce's personal growth. Bird said he was happy the kid would finally have some of his own Finals highlights. For years Pierce had looked up at his own Jumbotron and seen clips of Russell, Havlicek, and Bird. His franchise had been stuck in the past, and now, finally, with Garnett and Allen alongside him, the future was now.
"Lakers in six," Magic told Bird, before he signed off.
"Your boys are going down," Bird shot back.
Bird