THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, February 1, 1996 TAG: 9602010417
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY FRED KIRSCH, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 72 lines
I didn't want to watch the game. Magic Johnson is - and always will be - my favorite athlete of all time. But I didn't want to see a 36-year-old, 255-pound Magic playing something called called ``power point forward.'' No, I didn't want to see that.
Over the years when talk of his comeback would come up yet again, I was always glad when Magic didn't materialize out of the stands onto the Forum court. For my sake. I had too many memories - memories of a player nothing short of magnificent.
And he'd been away forever. If the last two minutes of an NBA game are a lifetime, what are almost five years?
But this time, I was happy he was coming out of retirement. For his sake. This wasn't another athlete who already had played too long, inflicting himself on us with a comeback. This was a man who, because of his fellow players' ignorance about AIDS and maybe their selfishness, had been deprived of completing his career. The NBA owed him this. In a way, so did all of us. If Magic wanted to play, that was great. He'd just have to play without me watching.
But somehow I found myself drawn to the TV set Tuesday night as the announcers were hyping ``stayed tuned for Magic Johnson's comeback.'' I thought of how it used to be when the girls were little and we'd gather around the TV late at night and watch ``Showtime'' with Magic, Kareem and Coop. ``Those kids have to get to bed,'' their mother would bellow. ``It's almost midnight and they're not even 10 years old.''
``But Magic's going for a triple- double,'' the Kirschtones would answer in unison, slapping a full court press on her.
This time, everyone was in bed as I settled onto the sofa. It was about three minutes into the first quarter when Magic pulled off his warm-ups. There was that stiff gait of his, the tape around the fingers and, of course, the smile. Yeah, it was him. But, God he was huge. It was like seeing an old friend at a high school reunion.
He missed his first shot - a baby hook - but then he got oh-so young Joe Smith backing up on a fastbreak and blew by him for two. Then he posted up and rolled in a hook. A few minutes later, when he faked Jerome Kersey into the parking lot and took it in for a layup, the phone rang.
It was my office hoop buddy, Charles.
``I had to call someone,'' he said. ``And I knew you'd be watching. The man can still play, can't he?''
Yeah, he can still play. But it's a different sort of magic he creates. He doesn't take your breath away by pulling a 60-foot bounce pass out of his hat. It's a quieter sort of magic, done by setting screens and being one step ahead of the opposition mentally. But it's all about what he's always been about - making everyone around him better.
I watched the whole game. When the Warriors made a late run, somehow the ball wound up in Magic's hands. And at the end, there was Magic at half court, dribbling the clock down.
Nineteen points. 10 assists. 8 rebounds. Pretty amazing, I thought, turning off the TV and heading upstairs, considering there's only been a handful of triple-doubles in the NBA the whole season. But I knew, as everyone else did who stayed up to watch, the magic wasn't in the numbers.
It's where it's always been. In his joy. MEMO: Fred Kirsch is leader of The Virginian-Pilot's Real Life team.
ILLUSTRATION: THE MAGIC TOUCH
Associated Press
[Color Photo]
Magic Johnson
by CNB