When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [56]
A new era was dawning, and the future stars of the NBA were tuned in.
5. JUNE 12, 1984
Boston, Massachusetts
HE COULD HAVE SHUTTERED the curtains and cranked up the volume of the television. Instead, Magic Johnson acted on his perverse need to witness the celebration that was unfolding around him, staring blankly out the window of his Boston hotel, fixated on the sea of green below.
Thousands of fans clogged the streets, many wearing shamrock-colored T-shirts, creating a gleeful gridlock of traffic in the already historically congested city. Car horns honked, fireworks crackled, and grown men danced Irish jigs in celebration of the Celtics' Game 7 victory over the Lakers to win the 1984 NBA Championship.
"It was bedlam," Magic said. "I made myself watch it. It made me feel worse, but I deserved to be miserable."
His two close friends, NBA stars Mark Aguirre and Isiah Thomas, remained sequestered in the room with him, attempting to console him. Back then, there were no team charters to whisk professional athletes home immediately after the game. The Lakers flew commercial and were forced to wait until morning before they could escape Boston and their glaring errors, which were highlighted hourly on the local news channels.
Aguirre turned off the television, and Thomas ordered room service: a feast of chicken, ribs, mounds of fruit, and baskets of rolls and pastries. Most of it went untouched. Johnson had no appetite for anything except self-loathing.
His friends broached various topics with the aim of distracting him—music, cars, women—but as the hours droned on, Magic kept doubling back to missed free throws, errant passes, and dribbling out the clock.
"We should have won that series," Johnson said quietly. "I've always prided myself on getting it done in crunch time. What happened?"
He already knew the answer. Larry Bird happened. His rival dominated the series, copping the Finals MVP trophy with timely shooting, relentless rebounding, and uncanny court vision, a trait he and Johnson shared from the moment they lined up opposite one another.
By morning, Magic had been saddled with a new nickname for himself (Tragic) and his team (the Fakers). That was humiliating enough, but something gnawed at LA's normally ebullient star beyond that, something he wouldn't even share with his trusted confidants.
"It was losing to Larry," Magic admitted. "That was the most crushing part. It was my first time in an LA-Boston series, and he got the best of me."
Three miles from Magic's hotel, in a team van driven by the Celtics' assistant equipment manager Joe "Corky" Qatato, Larry Bird and teammate Quinn Buckner were mired in the celebratory traffic. Their plan was to ride in the van to Hellenic College in Brookline, where their cars were parked, then drive back downtown to join the team celebration at Chelsea's, a local watering hole in a tourist section of the city called Faneuil Hall.
But the traffic wasn't moving, and Bird was impatient. He reached across the driver's seat and thrust the van into park.
"C'mon, Quinn," Bird said. "We'll get our cars later."
The MVP of the '84 Finals leaped out the van, crossed over by foot to the other side of Storrow Drive, a major Boston thoroughfare, and began hoofing it back downtown.
A bemused Buckner followed behind, chuckling at the absurdity of their actions.
It was only a matter of seconds before they were recognized. A car with three fans driving inbound stopped in amazement when they spotted their franchise forward striding along the curb.
"Larry Bird?!!!" the driver asked.
"Sssh," Bird answered. "Listen, you got any room in there for Quinn and me?"
The young man opened the door and motioned for his companions,