When the Game Was Ours (5 page)

"My coach wasn't very happy with me," said Bird. "But what was I supposed to do? The guy was hanging on my back."

If Hall was aware of Bird's little "incident" that spring, he never mentioned it. In fact, he didn't say much to Bird, Magic, or any of the other non-Kentucky players at all.

"I've never had a coach completely ignore me before," Magic said. "Joe B. Hall was the first."

Robey, one of the Kentucky chosen few, sensed the disconnect between his coach and the rest of the players. He befriended Bird and showed him the lodge where the Kentucky players stayed on campus during the school year. The accommodations were luxurious, complete with separate rooms and bathrooms for each player, a designated dining area with a cook, and a sitting area called the Wild Coyote Lounge, which had plush sofas, television sets, and pinball machines.

The lavish perks were later deemed an NCAA violation because they created an uneven playing field for recruiting, but it was clear to Bird that the Kentucky players were used to having the best.

Robey, who a year later became Bird's closest friend in the NBA, was funny, generous, and outgoing. He was difficult to dislike, but it was the situation that irked Bird, not the people involved. He objected to the way Hall doted on the Kentucky players and overlooked the others.

"We were kind of separate from the rest of the group," Robey acknowledged. "I'm sure there were better players than the Kentucky guys, but Joe already knew we could play together."

Because Magic was only 18, his body hadn't filled out yet. He was the youngest member of the World Invitational team, but he felt certain that once Hall spent some time with him he'd fall in love with his game and put him in the starting lineup where he belonged. The first two days of practice, Johnson dominated Macy, forcing turnovers, taking him to the basket, and running past him in the open floor. Yet, when the team played Cuba in its opening game on April 5 in the Omni, the starting lineup was Kentucky across the board.

"I'm thinking, 'Well, wait a minute,'" Magic said. "Sidney Mon-crief was sitting next to me on one side. James Bailey was sitting next to me on the other. Larry Bird was sitting next to James. Larry said, 'Forget about it. He's going with his own guys.'

"But when we scrimmaged at night, we were blowing 'his guys' off the floor. We embarrassed them. Macy and Robey and them couldn't keep up with us. And this was happening every time, not just once in a while."

The United States trounced the Cubans, who had only two players who were 6-foot-6 or taller. Bird grabbed 7 rebounds in 14 minutes of playing time, while Magic contributed 4 points and 3 assists in 13 minutes of a 109–64 win. News accounts of the game failed to mention either player. In fact, much of the ink was devoted to describing the spectacular pregame warm-up dunks of James Bailey, Sidney Moncrief, and Louisville star Darrell Griffith, who was also on the team.

In the first few hours he practiced with Magic and Larry, Moncrief recognized their exceptional court sense. Their pass-first, shoot-later approach was refreshing—and needed with a lineup of scorers who weren't used to sharing the ball.

"They were both so unselfish," said Moncrief. "It was a little unusual."

After their first win, the team was walking up the staircase to exit the arena when they spotted Celtics general manager Red Auerbach descending on the other side.

"Hey, look, it's Red Auerbach," said O'Koren, nudging Bird.

"Who?" Bird asked.

After the opening game, Hall settled on a starting quintet of Givens, Macy, Robey, Moncrief, and Bailey. The Americans squeaked past Yugoslavia, the runner-up to the United States in the 1976 Olympic Games, 88–83. Although Kentuckians Macy and Lee were credited the following morning with helping the team pull away, it was the Indiana State forward who rattled in a 16-footer with five and a half minutes left to tie the game 72–72. Magic played 11 minutes in the game and tallied just one assist. He was pressing, trying too hard to impress in the short minutes he was given.

"You could see he was frustrated," Bird said. "I don't blame him. It was a joke. Kyle Macy over Magic? C'mon."

"It was crystal clear what was going on," Bailey said. "We just couldn't understand how Joe B. Hall could play those Kentucky guys when he had all this better talent in front of him—especially Magic and Larry.

"It was unfair. But if those two guys were disappointed, they never showed it."

During one practice when the starters were drilling on how to break the press, Bird and Magic instituted what Bird called the rat trap: forcing the ball handler to his opposite hand, then, as soon as he spun, bringing another player up and making the dribbler try to throw the ball over the top.

"Nobody told us to do it," Bird said. "We just did. We were stealing the ball and scoring on them like crazy. Then all of a sudden Hall just blew the whistle and stopped the drill. He was mad. Next thing you know, we're on to something else. He didn't seem very happy with us."

In their final game against the Soviets, which the Americans won handily, 102–87, Bird and Magic brought the fans out of their seats with their sizzling back-and-forth exchange. It was a snippet of brilliance, at least half of which Hall publicly acknowledged when the tournament was over. Pressed on how he chose his starting quintet of Macy, Robey, Givens, Moncrief, and Bailey over the talent he had on his roster, Hall said, "We felt that was our best unit. But today Magic came in with his road show and he blew them out of the press. He's a sensational player and real fine young man."

Moncrief and Givens were named to the All-Tournament team, while two Kentucky boys, Robey (20.0 minutes) and Macy (18.7 minutes) were among the team leaders in minutes played. Bird and Magic left content—they had made their mark in the privacy of the workout sessions.

"It's too bad we didn't play more," said Magic. "We were the crowd favorites. I'm not sure people had ever seen players like Larry and me."

Although they generated a large measure of respect for each other, the two players departed without having a single meaningful conversation. They arrived as strangers and left as mere acquaintances.

Eleven months later they met again, with the NCAA national championship—and their college legacy—on the line.

T
HE DOOR TO THE
gymnasium creaked open, unleashing a rush of disquieting noises. First it was a burst of boisterous laughter, then a thunderous commotion of bodies clomping toward the entrance.

Magic Johnson and his Michigan State teammates turned in unison to see who dared to interrupt Coach Jud Heathcote in midsentence, in mid
-strategy,
as he reviewed his team's defensive assignments for the final time in preparation for their NCAA basketball championship game.

The Spartans were down at the far end of the gym, huddled around their coach and a full-court heave away from the distractions that had punctuated their session, yet even from that distance the interlopers were unmistakable: the Indiana State basketball team, clad in jeans, boots, and ten-gallon cowboy hats.

The first person Magic looked for was their star, Larry Bird. He was amazed to see him standing there, his hat slightly askew.

Indiana State was scheduled to hold a shoot-around immediately following Michigan State's workout, but the allotted time for the Spartans had not yet expired. The ISU players knew that, but guard Carl Nicks said, "Let's go in there and watch practice and flaunt our stuff. Let's let them know we're here."'

There was an instant when the two basketball teams, one day away from playing in the most widely anticipated college title game ever, simply stood frozen in place and studied one another in silence.

Yet that moment was swiftly obliterated by the screeches of Heathcote once he checked his wristwatch and realized the Sycamores were encroaching on his precious practice time.

"We still have 20 minutes! You aren't supposed to be in here! Get out of my practice!" Heathcote howled.

As quickly as they materialized, Bird and his boys disappeared, slamming the door demonstratively behind them.

Magic was alternately stunned and amused by Indiana State's behavior, but Heathcote seethed for 10 minutes after the Sycamores left, teeth clenched and spittle flying.

"They don't respect you!" Heathcote roared. "They are trying to distract you! No one interrupts our practice! Do you see what they are trying to do?!"

Heathcote, who had been motivating college athletes for 15 years, recognized an opportunity when he saw one. He harped on Indiana State's antics until his players were sufficiently insulted and agitated.

The Spartans ran into the Sycamores one more time in the hallway as they departed. A handful of the ISU players chanted and sang the team's fight song as they passed.

"I'm not sure what they were trying to do," said Michigan State forward Greg Kelser, "but it was awful disrespectful."

As the Spartans filed onto the bus to return to the team hotel, the talk again turned to Indiana State's curious choice of attire.

"It just doesn't fit," Magic said to Kelser. "I didn't know they were cowboys. You just don't see that kind of thing in college.

"Just what are those country guys trying to pull?"

***

The 1979 NCAA championship game between Michigan State and Indiana State drew a 24.1 Nielsen rating, the highest in college basketball history, a noteworthy milestone that remained untouched three decades later.

It was the matchup every college basketball fan longed to see, not because the two schools had demonstrated a long history of success or a simmering, adversarial rivalry, but because of a more singular concept: Magic versus Bird, two prolific stars who led their teams with the perfect blend of superb passing, nerveless shooting, and, above all, a steely ability to withstand the mounting pressure that dogged each of them as their résumés swelled with success.

Their paths to the championship game in Salt Lake had not been nearly as smooth as their stellar records would indicate. Indiana State's unblemished 33–0 mark suggested a perfect season, yet it did not reflect the volatility that swirled around Bird, a demanding young player who would not tolerate anyone who failed to consistently submit the proper effort. It was of little consequence to Bird whether he was popular with his teammates. What he wanted—expected—from them was to match his intensity, and that was often a tall order.

"Larry would fight you," said Nicks. "He wouldn't back down. If he didn't like what you were doing, he was in your face, telling you."

Indiana State forward Leroy Staley learned that firsthand in preseason when he committed some sloppy turnovers and Bird began chiding him to pick up his game. Staley took out his frustration on seldom-used backup point guard Rod McNelly, cornering him as he brought the ball up the floor and kneeing him as he swiped at the ball.

As McNeely crumpled to the ground, Bird charged Staley, fists curled.

"Leroy was frustrated, I think," Nicks said. "He wasn't playing well, and he got too rough. But Larry wasn't going to let him get away with a cheap shot like that."

"I really don't know what happened," Staley said. "Larry was having a bad day. Next thing I know, he was swinging at me."

The two were eventually separated, but not before three Sycamores hauled Bird away.

Nobody approached Bird after the altercation; they understood it was wise to let their volatile leader cool off on his own. Coach Bill Hodges called Bird and Staley in to clear the air, and both players agreed to move forward. When Larry returned, he was unapologetic and as steely-eyed as ever.

"We had a lot of skirmishes that year," Nicks said. "Every day in our practice was a dogfight."

Bird's mantra was simple: play the game the right way or stay away. In his mind, the previous season had been squandered by a lack of discipline, and he wasn't going to allow that to happen again.

"Leroy Staley is a great guy," Bird said. "He was also a good player and a good teammate who helped us a great deal. But you needed to stay on him, and he wasn't the only one.

"I didn't mind doing it. Those guys were intimidated by me. It was my job as the leader of the team to keep their intensity level up, even in practice. I knew that was the only way we could win a championship."

Bird was keenly aware of the inordinate publicity he received and stopped talking to the press in hopes that the media would promote other Sycamore players. Even so, he still had to contend with the perceived slights of his teammates, who grew tired of it all being about number 33.

"There was a lot ofjealousy—still is to this day," Bird said.

Indiana State was projected to finish in the middle of the pack in 1978–79 when head coach Bob King suffered a heart attack and brain aneurysm and was replaced by assistant Bill Hodges. Up until that point, Staley, who had clashed with King, was planning to transfer to Florida State to play for coach Hugh Durham. Once Hodges received the promotion, Staley decided to stick around.

Transfers Nicks, Bobby Heaton, and Alex Gilbert brought new life and a fresh approach to the team and quickly became key components of the Sycamores' nucleus.

Nicks was a cocky guard from Chicago who went hard to the basket and wasn't afraid to take on anyone—defensively or offensively. Heaton, Indiana State's sixth man, was a savvy player with good court sense and a perimeter shot that would prove to be pivotal during ISU's remarkable run. Gilbert was a rebounder and shot blocker who possessed incredible leaping ability.

The other starters included defensive stopper Brad Miley and point guard Steve Reed, an inexperienced yet unselfish player who had great range but was a hesitant shooter.

The Sycamores' bench was short; the only other player besides Heaton who played significant minutes was Staley. The limited rotation earned the Sycamore regulars the nickname "the Magnificent Seven." And when a local car dealership featured them in one of their advertisements wearing blue cowboy hats, jeans, and boots, it became their signature look.