(Rough Draft - Revised)Bird and Magic: Rivalry Inspiring Empathy and Transcending Animosity
- joshuamathisen
- Nov 27, 2018
- 8 min read
Updated: Nov 29, 2018
We tend to think of sports rivalry as inherently divisive. When considering the rivalries of teams like the Boston Celtics and Los Angeles Lakers, the hostile chants directed towards opposing teams and fan bases are one of the first things that come to mind. The tribalism demonstrated when an entire arena of Celtics fans chants “Beat LA” (or worse) in unison can be disturbing and cause us to wonder if sports and rivalries are doing more harm than good by driving groups of Americans apart. However, there is one pairing (perhaps the most iconic rivalry of all time) that on closer examination shatters that divisive mold and causes us to reconsider what rivalry has the ability to accomplish.
That rivalry is the one between Larry Bird and Magic Johnson -- the two inextricable names that come to mind immediately when the topic of rivalry is broached to almost any American sports fan. Their rivalry forged one of the closest bonds in sports history and demonstrated that passionate and fierce competition has the ability to overcome prejudice and inspire empathy and respect. The respect and love between Bird and Magic, who were made out to be dueling representatives of white and black in a nation divided, set an example from which we can all learn. It is often said that Bird and Magic saved the NBA by raising the level of competition and establishing a level of excitement that had never been associated with the league before. I would add that they saved the NBA in an even more meaningful way by creating an environment in which fans could empathize with and look up to athletes of any race, which was certainly not the case when the two rivals entered the league.
The NBA in the 1970s appeared to be on the brink of collapse. Rampant drug use, specifically cocaine, created a terrible image problem for the NBA, making players seem reckless and selfish. Even more problematic was the relationship between fans and players, as there were rumblings that the NBA was “too black” to be palatable for a white audience. In an interview from the HBO documentary A Courtship of Rivals, a white fan at an NBA game in the ‘70s said, “It’s turning off a lot of white customers at the game. I think there is still a lot of conflict between the white and the black and I don’t enjoy going to a game and seeing all black players.” On the surface, this fan could appear to be simply exceptionally racist or misguided, but the problem was that this was a pervasive sentiment among “average” fans across America.
Even when Bill Russell was leading the Celtics to 11 championships in the late 50s and 60s -- easily the most dominant run of any American professional athlete in history -- he did not feel welcome. In a 2013 interview with Bill Simmons for NBA TV, Russell explained that Celtics games were under-attended during the regular seasons of their championship run and that when the team conducted a survey asking fans how they could improve attendance “over 50% of the response said too many black guys.” Russell also said in the same interview that, for him, there was the team and there were the fans; the two were distinct entities and he only felt like he was a part of the team. The fans respected Russell as a player but not as a human being -- they still could not see past the color of his skin. This was the environment of racial tension and animosity that Larry Bird and Magic Johnson walked into when they were rookies in 1979, with the weight of the league on their shoulders.
When Bird and Magic entered the league, they were already tied together in the eyes of America from their battle in the 1979 NCAA National Championship Game, which still holds the record for the most-viewed national championship game of all time. Magic and Michigan State dominated by focusing all their efforts on Bird and defeated Indiana State 75-64. In A Courtship of Rivals, Bird said that was “the toughest loss I ever took” and it was clear that Magic took pleasure knowing that loss would “haunt him [Bird] forever.” This was the relationship the two of them had early on in their careers; each found almost as much gratification in the failures of the other as they did in their own success. Humiliating their counterpart was (in part) what defined their success. When Bird beat Magic in their first meeting in the NBA Finals, he said about Magic, “I hope he was hurting -- I hope it killed him. He made some bad plays down the stretch and nobody in there was happier than me. Not only winning the game makes you feel good but also just knowing that the other guy was suffering” (A Courtship of Rivals). This is the near-toxic level of animosity that competition on basketball’s biggest stages initially bred between the two of them, and the fans and media certainly tried to attribute this to their race. This 1986 commercial from Converse perfectly encapsulates the proxy race conflict that the NBA world tried to shove onto the two of them.
Bird is molded into the representative of the white, working class, man of dirt and sweat, a fundamental basketball player while Magic is the black, rich, cool, devilishly charming, flashy basketball player. When Magic drives his limousine through the corn fields into Bird’s backyard it is as if it represents America under attack, and Bird’s grim response is meant to show that he is white America’s defender from African Americans’ threatening newfound upward mobility. As if that wasn’t problematic enough, the commercial ends with the tagline “Choose Your Weapon,” inviting you to pick a side and display your allegiance almost violently. This disturbing relationship was not reserved for the hyperbole of commercials. In a Sports Illustrated article from 1979, when the rookies two were getting ready to enter the NBA, Douglas Looney called Bird the “Designated Savior” of professional basketball and said, “Not since Walton came into the NBA in 1974 has there been so much interest—yea, unbridled hope—invested in a single player.” This “hope” was of course, because Bird was white, like Walton: the last white college and NBA star to appease disgruntled racist fans through his dominance. White Americans, spurred on by the media, assumed that the “Hick from French Lick” (as Bird liked to call himself) would agree with their vitriolic sentiments towards African American stars like Magic -- the truth is, he never cared about race.
In 1987, Isaiah Thomas was vilified after he said that Bird would be “just another good guy” if he were not white. There was an uproar in both the media and NBA fans, and they expected Bird to share their fury. In a press conference with Bird, Thomas apologized and explained that his comments were an expression of resentment that only white players were given credit for their hard work: “Larry definitely had to work hard to get where he is at, but so many times it's been said about black athletes that their talent is 'God-given' or that it's 'natural ability.' I had to work just as hard to get where I am.” Bird couldn’t have cared less about Thomas’s original comments and was confused as to why anyone else was. Bird was not interested in race and he never bought into the idea that he was the champion of white Americans, fighting for them against black players -- racists who expected him to share their sentiments would surely be disappointed. In his interview from A Courtship of Rivals he said that race, or being the white savior, "meant nothing" to him and was perplexed that some people assumed it did. Any enmity that Bird displayed on the court (of which there was plenty as Bird was a legendary trash talker) was purely as a competitor who loathed losing and loved winning.
How did Bird and Magic bridge the gap between them that intense competition and the prejudice of others had created? Respect and admiration for the characteristics that they shared made them realize that their differences were unimportant. They both came from poor, working-class families that inspired them to demonstrate unbelievable levels of hard work and determination. The flash that they both shared made their games appear effortless, but the passion for winning that they demonstrated each and every night made it clear just how much effort they put into practicing and mastering the fundamentals of basketball. They both were team-oriented players who cared more about winning than personal glory -- something that is often said about players but which is hardly ever as true as it was for Bird and Magic. In his article for Sports Illustrated Bob Ryan quotes Magic as having once said, “It's hard to look at a white man and see black, but when I looked at Larry, that's what I saw. I saw myself.” Magic was able to look past the color of Bird’s skin (while everyone else was fixated on it) and found a brother, someone with whom he could deeply relate to and rely on. Bird’s stone-cold hostility on the court eventually gave way to affection because he respected the competitor that Magic was and admired the characteristics that made him so formidable. After years of measuring themselves against each other and being used to measure their races against each other, they formed a kinship that showed America it didn’t have to be Black vs. White -- it could be Black and White, hand-in-hand bringing the NBA forward together. Their rivalry didn’t have to be about humiliating each other, it could be about inspiring each other.
The NBA today is more popular and “blacker” than ever -- if you would’ve told a fan or media member from the 1970s that these two things could simultaneously be true they probably would not believe you. It is partly because of the love between Bird and Magic that we live in a world in which players like Michael Jordan are celebrated for their determination and work-ethic, not just players like Larry Bird. Growing up, generations of Americans of every color want to “be like Mike” or be like LeBron James -- they are role models not just because of their awe-inspiring athleticism but also because of the humanity they demonstrate in their perseverance striving for excellence and immortality.
When I fell in love with basketball, Michael Jordan was the first person I ever wanted to be. Sure, this was partly inspired by of his soaring, tongue-wagging dunks but what I related to most where the stories of him staying outside all night, shooting in the rain and the cold. Anyone who has ever truly loved basketball empathizes with those stories of being alone for countless hours with a ball and a hoop, connected with Americans across the country on their driveways. I dreamed of flying like Mike, but what I really wanted was to work like him. I wanted to be cool like Allen Iverson, passionate like Kevin Garnett, and fearless like Kobe Bryant. I could not have cared less about the color of their skin. I like to think that I would’ve felt this way even if I had grown up in the 1970s, but there is no question in my mind that the brotherhood of Bird and Magic played a major part in changing the NBA so that I wouldn’t even question why these men were my heroes.
Even with the transformation of the NBA and its fans that Bird and Magic inspired, there is still room for us to look back and continue to learn from their example. Prejudice and the inability to relate to other Americans is still a pervasive problem not only in the country as a whole but also in the sports world as well. Even respected heroes like LeBron James continue to face racism. During the 2017 NBA playoffs, his Los Angeles home was vandalized with the n-word and James said, “No matter how much money you have, no matter how famous you are, no matter how many people admire you, being black in America is tough, and we got a long way to go.” Even though we have come a long way from the 1970s, when the “average” fan felt like they could not relate to African American players, like James says, even more progress is necessary. Just as Bird and Magic questioned the narrative that they should hate each other because of the color of their skin, we should learn to question superficial differences and the narratives that emphasize them and search for the values, passions, and struggles that we share. The rivalry of Larry Bird and Magic Johnson, and its ability to transcend tribal animosity, can gives us inspiration on how we can bridge division and find a unified identity.
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