THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, May 5, 1996 TAG: 9605010026
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K2 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: REAL MOMENTS
SOURCE: BY JASPER SHORT
LENGTH: Medium: 98 lines
WHILE I rooted for Earvin Johnson and the Lakers to whip the Rockets in the first round of the NBA playoffs last week, my mind kept going back to those times years ago when Dad and I would gather 'round the TV set and watch a young Magic and the old ``Show Time'' Lakers.
Until Magic came along, Dad and I had never rooted for the same team, much less shared the same heroes. But it was through this single basketball player that Dad and I formed a bond stronger than any we had known.
It seems like only yesterday, but it's been over 16 years since we first saw the skinny young kid with the high dribble and no-look passes who won our hearts with his style and charisma.
Dad was already a Lakers' fan - because of Kareem - when Magic traded the cold winds of Michigan State for the glamour of L.A. I, however, was a hard-core Dr. J fan, so I lived and breathed Philadelphia '76ers basketball.
As Magic was leading the Lakers to the championship at the end of his rookie season, I began to notice the growing affection that Dad and I both were starting to have for this 19-year-old sensation. I was evolving into a purple-and-gold Laker fan! How could I not? Unlike Dr. J, and any other player that I had previously rooted for, I, as well as Dad, liked Magic as if we knew him personally. He made you feel like you did.
During the epic battles of the '80s between the Lakers and Celtics, Dad and I became immersed in their yearly championship finals. We looked forward to this like some people look forward to Christmas. More than a sporting event, it was a chance for us to hang out not only with each other, but with Magic as well. As Magic would run up and down the hardwood, I would notice Dad lowering his shield and allowing his passion and his pain to shine through his armor. I realized his likes and dislikes more then than during any other time that I can recall.
As younger players such as Jordan, Barkley and Olajuwon flooded the league, friends of mine jumped ship and rooted for other teams. But not Dad and I. We were the Lakers' faithful fans. We watched them win against the hated Celtics, we watched them play the Bad Boys of Detroit, and we watched them get blitzed by the upstart Chicago Bulls, in what would be our last time together watching Magic play for the Lakers.
All this made that fateful day of Nov. 7, 1991, even the more tragic. As Magic announced he was retiring because of the HIV virus he had contracted, it was as if someone had stuck a dagger into the lifeline that united us all. Our pain was visible, not only in our love for sports, but in our love for each other.
This man was our friend. Nearly every week he had come into our living room and shared his exuberance for life and basketball with us. I don't think that either Dad or I had ever cared as much for someone that we didn't actually know.
Although Magic disappeared from the hardwood, he still appeared on television. I can remember, as though it were yesterday, the sound of the phone ringing late at night, as Dad had discovered that Magic was on The Arsenio Hall Show. ```Magic is on, turn to Fox!'' he blurted out, not wanting to miss a word that Magic had to say.
We were happy to see that Magic was apparently doing fine. Subconsciously, I believe we both saw that despite Magic's absence, what we shared was still very much alive.
Over the next few years, Magic more than once teased us with rumored attempts of returning to action. I recall the jubilant feeling that Dad and I shared watching Magic outshine Jordan, Isiah and others in the 1992 NBA all-star game.
During his official retirement celebration at halftime of the Lakers game, I recall the tears that found their way into Dad's eyes, and mine as well. It was times like those that caused me to see a side of Dad that was new to me. Despite the fact that we were always close, Magic had helped me to see a deeper, more emotional side of the man whom I loved dearly.
Now it was no longer Magic, Dad and me; it was just Dad and me. Then, after a very brief illness, Dad died suddenly. Despite the traumatic loss, I came to realize that it wasn't the sharing of Magic but the sharing of time and emotions between Dad and me that had made this an unforgettable relationship.
Quite recently, as rumors began to surface that Magic would return to the Lakers, I found myself getting excited for the first time in quite a while.
On the day that Magic made it official, I watched with deep emotions as I thought about my friend returning to the Lakers. Although I had missed him, there was something even deeper that kept my emotions close to the surface. It wasn't just Magic that I had missed, it was Dad that I was missing all over again.
I missed the fact that he wouldn't be there with me to share in Magic's return; to cheer him on like always. I found myself wanting to call to tell him, ``Turn to TNT, Magic's back!''
As I focused on the game and a heavier Magic, I realized that for the first time, he'd be on the court minus his old familiar teammates, while I'd be sitting at home minus mine.
Magic reinforced a bond between a man and his son that will live on forever. Now whenever I watch No. 32 by myself and see that high dribble and those no-look passes, I always think back to when it was Magic, Dad and me. MEMO: Jasper Short lives in Portsmouth and hopes Magic Johnson will play long
enough for his 7-month-old daughter to cheer him on.
by CNB