I ’m not gonna lie, it’s a slow week for sports. With spring high school athletics winding down for summer break it appears this good ship has hit the doldrums, captain. But as the old Hegelian saying goes— (actually it was the president’s lackey Rahm Emanuel)—“You never want a serious crisis to go to waste.” So in the spirit of the times, I’ll take this opportunity to introduce the First Column of many I hope to come semi-regularly, which means whenever I have nothing else to write about.
Throughout my 30 years on this orb I’ve watched literally thousands of National Basketball Association games. At times, professional hoops and I have had a love-hate relationship, but, as hard as it is to admit, I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for the Los Angeles Lakers.
Sometimes that spot was more like a cancerous lesion, as I grew up a die-hard fan of the Phoenix Suns, the Lakers’ main Pacific Division rival for the past 20-plus seasons. Many a playoff run ended in tears for my soft and staid underdog Suns at the hands of the flashier, prettier gang in Hollywood yellow. I’ll never forget the heartbreak of watching my Tom Chambers-led Suns getting swept by the Lakers 4-0 in the 1989 Western Conference Finals. We had our revenge the following year, though, winning the semifinal series 4-1, and beating the Lakers in the deciding game at the Forum no less.
After the victory, my schoolyard chums and I rode around in the bed of a truck, blowing horns, and yelling, “We Beat L.A.!” It was the first time since 1981 the Lakers had failed to reach the Western Conference Finals, effectively ending the “Showtime” dynasty. Taking down the Lakers at a time when they seemed invincible was sheer childhood ecstasy, and a moment I still consider the finest in Suns’ history.
A year later, the Lakers were beaten soundly by the Chicago Bulls in the 1991 Finals, and Magic Johnson announced to the world that he was HIV positive. The Michael Jordan era had already begun, and the rest is NBA history.
Years of mediocrity passed in Tinseltown, but with the additions of Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant, the Lakers once again returned to top form. The San Antonio Spurs notwithstanding, L.A. is once again the team of the decade. This year, the Lakers will be gunning for their fourth title in 10 years. Impressive, yes, but still not as dominant as the glory days of the 1980s. The “Me” decade’s Lakers made eight appearances in the Finals, winning five.
Looking back, “Showtime” was quite a ride. I still have my torn and faded vintage “Three-Peat” shirt, a phrase that would later be copyrighted by their savvy and slick former coach Pat Riley. I really hope he doesn’t read this column. I’ll stand behind fair use if I have to, but I digress.
Let’s turn back the clock a little farther to 1987. I was 8 years old and witnessing the first NBA championship series I can remember with any clarity, and what an epic it was. Lakers vs. Celtics. A real East vs. West, Working Class vs. Celebrity Class showdown. The Celtics had Larry Bird—the Hick From French Lick, Larry Legend—The Great White Hope. Magic Johnson, a media darling who personified all the glitz and glamour of L.A. in his winning personality and scintillating showman’s charm, led the Lakers.
Johnson and Bird had a rivalry that could be traced all the way back to the 1979 NCAA Championship. They would meet three times during the 1980s to decide the NBA crown, with Magic and his Lakers taking two of them. That ain’t bad, according to a certain dramatic singer named after a ground beef entree.
I realize now this was the moment where basketball ceased to be a team sport. Sure, the rules stayed about the same. It’s still five-on-five, and you’re still required to pass the ball. But in the 1980s, the wizards on Madison Avenue and in the league’s executive offices thought they would be better off promoting basketball as a mano-a-mano sport, akin to boxing. Instead of two teams going at it, the people wanted Magic vs. Bird, Jordan vs. Bird, Jordan vs. Magic, Dennis Rodman vs. Anyone and Everyone. A fight to the finish, the stuff that video games are made of— except for maybe the Rodman thing.
Fast forward to 2009. After decades of marketing in this fashion the NBA is solidly built on individual glory. The names change—Tim Duncan vs. Dirk Nowitzki, Brandon Roy vs. Carmelo Anthony, Dwayne Wade vs. Chris Paul—but the act is the same. Remember the commercials for last year’s playoffs, which featured split screens of star players from opposing teams forming a single face and speaking the same lines? There can be only one, indeed.
The NBA relies on these one-on-one dramas to promote the sport, even if the two players rarely face off during actual game play. As much as the NBA must have drooled over a Kobe/LeBron James championship series, what we’re left with will probably be more interesting: L.A.’s Bryant vs. Orlando’s Dwight Howard.
Since his rape trial and reported run-ins with teammates, Bryant has become the NBA’s Petulant One, the fallen star, and the player people love to hate. Howard, who donned a cape to win last season’s slam-dunk contest, is Superman. He’s the man-child who’s just coming into his own and carrying the Magic on his Atlas-like shoulders.
The real difference-maker in the series, though, will be Pau Gasol, who spent seven years toiling in obscurity with the Memphis Grizzlies. The Lakers stole him for a song when they traded former number one pick Kwame Brown for him in 2007. I don’t know what the Grizzlies were thinking in giving up one of the best big men in the game for one of the biggest busts in NBA history. Then again, nothing the franchise has ever done has made much sense (Bryant Reeves anyone?).
Gasol will have his hands full keeping Howard out of the paint, but unlike the Cavaliers, the Lakers have more than enough offensive weapons to go around. The Lake Show has been on cruise control all season and that isn’t likely to change against the young and inexperienced Magic, who find themselves in the finals for the first time since 1995.
I know you didn’t ask, but I’ll throw in my prediction anyway (that’s what you’re supposed to do with columns right?). The Lakers will take it in five games and America will fall head-over-heels for Kobe again. But what do I know? I’m just a bum. And that’s my view from the bleachers.
Don’t tell anyone, but the Bleacher Bum is the alter ego of Staff Writer Jeremy Thomas, who still sports Kurt Rambis glasses just for kicks. You can reach them both by e-mail at jthomas @santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Jun 4-11, 2009.