When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [47]
Magic Johnson also slid down low in his chair, but it was boredom, not embarrassment, that altered his posture. He dreaded the entertainment portion of the program and planned once the lights went down to slip discreetly out of the ballroom. His cohorts included Isiah Thomas, George Gervin, Norm Nixon, and Dennis Johnson, and their exodus was done two by two, under the cover of darkness and crude punch lines. By the time the lights came back up, the room was more than half-empty.
In 1984 Bird sat adjacent to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in yet another All-Star ballroom, this time in Denver, perspiring from the white-hot lights bearing down on him.
"This sucks," Bird said.
"These damn lights are giving me a migraine headache," muttered Abdul-Jabbar, who stood up and walked out.
Although the players were unaware of it, their fortunes were about to change. On February 1, 1984, one day after the All-Star Game, David Stern replaced the retiring Larry O'Brien and was sworn in as the new NBA commissioner. Although he was not widely known outside the league, from within Stern was heralded as a bright, innovative attorney who had been tirelessly advocating for change. No matter was too insignificant to escape Stern's notice: whether researching a stipulation of the collective bargaining agreement or choosing the color of the cloth napkins for a staff luncheon, he immersed himself in every detail. He was a marketing master with a portfolio full of new ideas for his struggling league.
He was also an accessible executive who solicited his players' opinions. When Bird said that he abhorred the pregame All-Star banquet format, Stern replaced it with a private room and buffet meal where players could come and go with their families. When Magic complained that the entertainment didn't reflect the interests of the athletes, Stern hired singer Jeffrey Osbourne, who was so dynamic that he had the crowd on their feet pumping their fists and hollering "Woo! Woo!" instead of trying to slink out the back door.
"Overnight the whole feel of the league was different with David Stern," Magic said. "He understood what we needed. He also understood what he had. Larry and I were right there, waiting to take the NBA to the next level."
Although he had watched the 1979 NCAA championship game between Michigan State and Indiana State, David Stern wasn't salivating over Magic and Bird's potential to infuse new life into the NBA. He was more focused on the fact that the announcers were forbidden to mention the NBA during their telecast. The NCAA had no interest in promoting the next landing spot for its stars. The colleges were wrangling with pro basketball for publicity, airtime, and consumer dollars, and they were winning.
The marketability of Larry and Magic simply was not pressing enough to sit atop the to-do list of either Commissioner O'Brien or his chief lieutenant Stern in 1979.
"We were too busy trying to get through the day," Stern said.
O'Brien, a political strategist by trade, had run the senatorial campaign for a young upstart Democrat from Massachusetts named John F. Kennedy in 1959, then eventually followed him to the White House. He stayed on as part of Lyndon B. Johnson's team, was named postmaster general, and in the early seventies became chairman of the Democratic National Committee, which led to his office being targeted in the famous Watergate scandal that destroyed the presidency of Richard Nixon. O'Brien's résumé was captivating, but his background in politics did not impress his basketball brethren, who often found the commissioner to be aloof, unapproachable, and indifferent regarding matters of the game.
Financial concerns had left the NBA weighing the possible contraction of its Denver and Utah franchises. League attendance was spotty, the television package was modest, and NBA marketing strategies were rudimentary. The majority of the athletes playing professional basketball were African American, and corporations were openly skeptical that a league of mostly