When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [83]
It was then that he recognized the unmistakable gait of a large man strolling down the beach with a trail of people following in his wake. It was Earvin Johnson.
Riley sprinted toward him and hid behind one of the palm trees. As Magic walked by, he whistled twice. Johnson stopped and wheeled around. He knew that whistle. Coach Riley never used a real one; he had his own, distinct ability to stop the Lakers in their tracks.
"Coach," Magic said, peering into the palms, "is that you?"
While Riley was ecstatic about the chance encounter with his superstar, Magic, who had come to the island to sleep and replenish, was mildly disappointed. He truly wanted time alone.
"I was thinking, 'Oh, no, of all people, I do not want to see Pat Riley right now,'" Magic confessed. "I had gone to the Bahamas to get away from basketball. I had been working and training and fighting with the Lakers for eight months. I was wiped out. I just wanted a break."
He sat with his coach in the sand for three hours, rehashing everything from holding the ball to the no-lay-up rule to the ultimate thrill of beating the Celtics on their own crooked, warped floor.
"You better believe Larry Bird came up in that conversation," Magic said. "We both knew we were going to see him again."
Bird wasn't lounging on the beach in the summer of 1985. He was shoveling gravel for drainage to protect the new basketball court he had just installed. Although he had the financial means (times ten) to hire someone to do the work, the Celtics star prided himself on doing his own chores.
He knew it had been a mistake, however, the minute he tried to get out of bed the following morning. He had done something to his back and was alarmed by his lack of mobility. He walked around, tried to shake the stiffness, but the pain was unbearable. He lay down and tried to rest, but the sharp jolts shooting down his leg were persistent. Something was wrong—seriously wrong. In subsequent years, Bird would learn that his back troubles were the result of a congenital condition. The canal in which the nerves led to his spinal cord was too narrow, which caused all that unbearable pain. It was truly remarkable, his surgeon told him after watching Bird play basketball, that he managed for as long as he did.
For the next three weeks, Bird did not play any basketball. Still, the back problems did not subside. Quinn Buckner called to see about working out with him in West Baden. He knew something was amiss when Larry declined.
"Quinn," he said, "I'm in trouble."
And so, quite suddenly, were the Boston Celtics.
7. SEPTEMBER 12, 1985
West Baden, Indiana
LARRY BIRD STEERED his Honda motorcycle into the parking lot of the Honey Dew convenience store in the center of West Baden, Indiana. It was a warm, sunny morning, so he left his Ford Bronco, the car presented to him for winning the 1984 NBA Finals' Most Valuable Player Award, back home in the garage.
The car was spotless, as pristine as the day he received it, and although he didn't articulate it when they handed him the keys, it amazed him that someone would reward him with a car for playing basketball. His mother held down two jobs and his father labored through 12-hour shifts in order to fill grocery carts each week for Bird and his five siblings, and still there was never enough money left for a family automobile.
Bird had just completed his morning workout, so he was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers when he stiffly unfolded his 6-foot-9-inch frame off the cycle and began filling his own tank. His injured back had improved only slightly, and with training camp just weeks away, Larry was growing concerned. He'd refrained from pushing himself through his usual grueling off-season program in hopes that the rest would heal his injury. While the time off had helped, he was skeptical that he'd be able to play an entire NBA season unless he could find a way to alleviate the jarring pain.
As he shifted his weight while he pumped his own gas, three sleek black limousines glided past him on Sawmill