Magic and Bird; Bird and Magic

The two men are sitting at the bar, having a quiet conversation.

“It’s finally turning into a series, eh, Lakers and Celts?”

“Yeah, right. For one game. That’s all Magic’s gonna let ‘em have, the one lousy game.”

“Izzat right? What’s Magic got, an in with Ronnie Reagan, gonna have the series declared nullified and void?”

“Look, pal, Magic ain’t gonna let Boston get back in this one. Simple as that.”

“Uh, better slow down on those beers. I think they’re going to your head. And finding nobody home. Magic controls this series? That what you’re saying?”

“Who else? Pat Sajak?”

“Ever hear of a guy named Bird? Real pale fellow, wispy mustache, plays forward for the Celtics? Can’t miss him. He’s the one with Lakers hanging on his arms and biting his kneecaps, trying to stop him. He might have something to say about the series.”

“Yeah, like, ‘Wait till next year.’ Look, I don’t wanna take nothin’ away from your Bird, but I think Magic has established himself as the best player in the game. This is his decade. Case closed. Maybe Bird can stick around and take over the next decade, when Magic retires.”

“Somebody turn down the juke box, please. My friend here is doing stand-up comedy, sitting down. Look, I’ve been telling you for eight years now, and I’ll lay it on you one more time, hoping your brain is soft enough by now to absorb the information. Larry Bird is the finest basketball player ever. Magic has a nice game, but . . . “

“Nice? Did you happen to watch Sunday’s game, or were you over at the glass factory, getting fitted for new eyes? Magic goes for 32 points, 12 for 18 from the floor, 8 for 8 from the line, 11 rebounds . . . “

“And all Bird got was 30 points and 12 rebounds. He’s averaging 28.3 for the series . . . “

“And Magic’s averaging 27.7. But let’s forget about stats, because you’ll just get confused. Let’s look at court presence. In crunch time, who gets the ball?”

“Bird.”

“And Magic. Who has two MVP awards from the NBA finals?”

“Bird.”

“And Magic. Who’s going to win it this time? Wait, don’t answer that. I know you have the wrong answer, and I don’t wanna have to deduct points from your side of the board. Look, have you seen Magic’s new hook shot?”

“Have you seen Bird’s left-hander?”

“Nice novelty. I bet he’s working on a drop-kick three-pointer. What about Magic’s patented driving spin off the boards? Nobody works the glass like that since Baylor. He leaves skid marks.”

“What about Bird’s shot over the glass?”

“How about Magic’s new post-up moves?”

“You mean the ones he learned watching Larry Bird highlight films?”

“Can Bird match Magic’s no-look passes?”

“I guess you haven’t seen Bird’s no-look tap passes. Listen, Bird is still all about basketball. Magic lives in a mansion in Bell Gardens or Taco Bell, or whatever.”

“That’s Bel-Air, airhead. Earvin actually lives in his private basketball court, although he does come into the mansion occasionally to grab a sandwich.”

“ Earvin? You guys on a first-name basis now? You go over there to Air Bel, or Air Ball, or wherever, and shoot H-O-R-S-E with him?”

“I see no need to reduce this discussion to personal insults, camel nose. Look, I think you have to admit, the most dangerous team basketball player in the world is Magic Johnson, in the open court, point man on the fast break. It’s like Bob Cousy riding Secretariat.”

“Sorry, my vote goes to Larry Bird, with the ball, out on the wing. Did you see him out there against Worthy Sunday, shaking the ball back and forth like a giant martini, then blowing by Worthy? I went by the Garden this morning. Worthy’s still out on the floor looking for Bird.”

“What could Worthy do? Everyone with three brain cells knows Bird is protected by the refs.”

“Bartender, my friend has had too much to drink, even though this is his first beer. Listen, the refs might as well wear silver badges saying, ‘Magic’s Bodyguards, Inc.’ Larry gets knocked skidding on the seat of his pants so often, he’s thinking of trying out for the U.S. luge team.”

“If Magic gets knocked down any more, instead of ‘Lakers,’ his jersey will say ‘Welcome.’ The Celtics think Magic is a 6-foot-9 Conga drum.”

“Maybe they simply don’t like his basketball shoes. Who’s Magic’s shoe-fashion adviser, Ronald McDonald?”

“Right. I suppose you prefer Bird’s modified combat boots. Speaking of that, your mother . . . “

“Can we elevate the tone of this one-sided debate, hey? We’re both grown men, despite the disparity in IQs. We both know that the Lakers and Celtics will be out there battling tonight, but when it comes down to it, in the final analysis, the game will be on Bird and Magic.”

“Funny, isn’t it? We’ve been meeting in this crummy bar this time every year, for what?”

“Eight years.”

“Eight years. Every year, same argument. Every year we wait for the other guy’s player to crack, to retire, to slump. You’d think after eight years, one guy or the other would have an edge over the other. Two guys just can’t have parallel careers like this. Like bookends. Maybe the two greatest guys to ever play the game. It’s like they’re Siamese twins.”

“Crazy. Hey, turn on the TV, barkeep. The pregame show is starting. I wanna hear what Heinsohn has to say about the Mideast situation. So, we’ll continue this debate next year?”

“Same time, same place, until you wave the white hanky.”

“Saludo, amigo. “

“What’s that mean?”

“In your face, chump.”