Bird and Magic: They’re Different, Yet They’re Alike

You can’t compare them. They are as different as night and day. They don’t even play the same position.

Yet sometimes you wonder if Earvin Johnson Jr. and Larry Joe Bird aren’t really--to steal an album title from Dan Fogelberg and Tim Weisberg--twin brothers of different mothers.

Otherwise how do you explain . . .

Bird is 6-9 and 220 pounds, if you count the bone chips floating around in his shooting elbow. Magic is 6-9 and 215, after having about five pounds of knee debris surgically removed.

Both are small-town boys from Midwestern, middle-class families. Each chose a college near home.

Magic now earns $2.1 million per season. Bird earns $1.8 million, but makes up the difference by mowing his own lawn.

In keeping with his down-home image, Bird drives an American-made, four-wheel-drive vehicle. So does Magic, although he does keep a Mercedes or two for backup.

As a kid, Magic was a gym rat. “I spent so much time on the Main Street courts that I could have had my mail delivered there,” Magic wrote in his autobiography. “In summer, I played from morning until night. In winter, I shoveled the snow right off the court. Nothing stopped me from playing.”

As a kid, Bird . . . you guessed it. “I’d get up in the morning and the first thing on my mind would be playing ball,” Bird told the Boston Globe. “I’d go right to the gym. After the first period in school, I couldn’t wait to get back to the gym again. When school was out, it was no different.”

As a grown-up (sort of), Bird is still a gym rat, only now he owns his own gym, a full-court one with glass backboards in his mom’s front yard in French Lick, Ind.

As a grown-up (sort of), Magic is a gym rat, with his own indoor court in his back yard in Bel-Air, which is the French Lick of Beverly Hills.

Magic isn’t married, but he has the same No. 1 girlfriend he had in college seven years ago. Ditto Bird.

After six seasons in the NBA, Bird is learning to loosen up, smile and get more into the joy of the game. After six seasons in the NBA, Magic is learning to take the game more seriously, to smile less.

Neither Bird nor Magic can run fast or jump high. They both walk like old men.

Bird, in the offseason, spends a lot of time at his mother’s home, where he keeps a room. Magic’s mother spends a lot of time at her son’s home, where she keeps a room.

Bird and Magic have never done any serious weightlifting, yet both are regarded as very physical players, true bangers.

Neither guy can sing, although only Bird is aware of this fact.

Bird turned a stale franchise into an instant winner. The Celtics went from 29-53 before Bird to 61-21 his rookie season. In his five previous seasons, Bird’s teams have won two NBA titles.

Magic turned a boring, mediocre team into an instant winner. The Lakers went from 47-35 and third place in their division before Magic, to the NBA championship his rookie season. In his five previous seasons, Magic’s teams have won two NBA titles.

In this, the Age of Drugs, neither Magic nor Bird has ever been involved in even a hint of a scandal or incident involving drugs or alcohol. I don’t know if they even drink coffee.

They both wear the same brand of sneaker.

Neither wears wristbands.

They both play softball in the offseason.

Each has his own personal designated dogger. The Lakers would pay Michael Cooper his full salary if all he did was show up for the NBA finals to hound and pound Bird. Dennis Johnson’s job is to be Magic’s caddy--that is, to meet Magic at the front gate, follow him around all day and club him.

Each keeps a thick, mental computer-file of exactly where, when and how each teammate likes to receive the ball.

Both Bird and Magic continually deny that theirs is a one-on-one duel and rivalry. They both know better.

Neither could pass an oral exam in freshman English grammar, but either of them could charm the socks off, and banter casually with, the prime minister of England.

Despite their small-town backgrounds, both have adapted completely to their respective big cities. Each now lives in a hideaway mansion, and they both claim they will remain in those respective cities even after retirement.

Both will start and finish their careers with the same team, a rarity. It is impossible to imagine either player playing for another team.

This season, for the first time, Magic talked of his eventual retirement. For the first time, so did Bird. Magic said he would play five more seasons. Bird said he would play five more seasons.

Both play an aggressive style of ball. They both play tough defense, they both dive and bang and pound, dish out and receive heavy punishment. Both Magic and Bird say they will be worn to a nub in five more seasons, beaten to a pulp and ready to limp into retirement.

This season, Magic and Bird each reached a new personal performance level, somewhere in the clouds, above the heads of mere mortal players and beyond the full comprehension of those who watch.

They probably can’t get any better. This is it. This is the season, this is the series, these are the two players for which hysterical announcers, high fives and videotape recorders were created.