In Afterglow of the Title, Here’s Looking Up at You, Kareem

Is everybody happy for Kareem Abdul-Jabbar? Is anybody? I mean, do people cheer for Kareem? I mean, they do--but do they? Do they like him? Do they feel good today for him, personally, and not just for America’s sweetheart, Magic Johnson, or for the Lakers as a whole?

Maybe not. Maybe we never root for Kareem any more. Maybe we never did. Nobody roots for Goliath, Wilt Chamberlain once said. Maybe we never warmed up to Kareem. Maybe we merely acknowledged his success. Acknowledged and accepted it. Respected it. Appreciated him for being who he was, but never really felt any joy for the guy.

Maybe we should be ashamed of ourselves. Maybe we should remember Kareem Abdul-Jabbar the person, and forget Kareem the center for a few minutes. Just because he has never become, well, cuddly with his public and simply adorable, the way Magic has, he sometimes misses our kisses when he succeeds and is denied our sympathy when he fails. This shouldn’t be.

I think about the year he has just had.

I think about turning on a television set one day and seeing Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, of all people, sitting inside one of the boxes on “The Hollywood Squares” game show, and thinking to myself, hey, I wish I knew this Kareem, the Kareem who loosens up a little when he is off-duty.

I think about a cold Saturday in December at the Reunion Arena in Dallas, four days before Christmas, at a morning shootaround before a Laker-Maverick game, when Abdul-Jabbar, wearing an eye patch, entered the arena to inform the team that he was flying home to be treated for “recurring corneal erosion syndrome.” I can still recall how concerned Magic Johnson was for the guy he calls “Cap,” which took precedent over how funny he thought Kareem looked with that eye patch, like a very tall pirate.

I can recall Feb. 24 at Phoenix, the final minute of the first half, Abdul-Jabbar in the far left corner, hearing someone on the Laker bench shout for him to shoot, taking aim and swishing a 23-footer, for the first three-point basket of his National Basketball Assn. life. I think back to April 6 at Denver, as the Lakers nail down their 60th win of the season, and Kareem nails down the 15,000th basket of his NBA career, 14,999 of which have been worth two points, and how after the game Coach Pat Riley discusses his team’s motivation for winning the championship, namely: “These guys know Kareem doesn’t have much longer, and they can’t afford to wait.”

And then there was April 16 at Salt Lake City, where, on the occasion of his 40th birthday, Goliath got a birthday party, complete with a four-layer cake and candles, plus a chorus of “Happy Birthday” from 12,212 people who had otherwise come to root for the Utah Jazz. Nobody in the NBA had ever played so long, so late, on a continuous basis. “Guys his age,” teammate James Worthy said, “are playing in ‘Y’ leagues with pot bellies.”

And now comes the end of the season, the very last day, and the victory over the Boston Celtics that makes the Laker year complete, and as I watch Kareem Abdul-Jabbar walking the sideline, left to right, hugging everybody in sight, celebrating the championship in those final seconds before it became official, I wonder: Are we happy for him? Not just the Lakers, but for him?

I think: What of any other athlete who at the age of 40 was out there leading his team to a championship? Wouldn’t we feel great for the guy? Wouldn’t we say how sweet it was? Didn’t we feel a tingle for Jack Nicklaus taking the Masters, or Willie Shoemaker winning the Derby? Wouldn’t we enjoy seeing Phil Niekro win Game 7 of a World Series?

We never get sentimental about Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. We see him sitting in that rocking chair, the one he presented to Julius Erving upon his farewell performance in Inglewood, and instead of imagining what Kareem must be thinking, and wondering what sort of gifts opponents will bestow upon him in a couple of years, all we do is talk about what a wonderful person Doctor J is--was, whatever--and write and read endless copy about Julius Erving being the epitome of class.

Well, doesn’t Kareem Abdul-Jabbar have class? And if he doesn’t, why doesn’t he? Maybe we see him as aloof. Maybe we never see a winning smile accompany all those winning efforts. Maybe we hear him tell Brent Musburger, “This is very nice,” when what we really want is for Abdul-Jabbar to bust loose with laughter or tears, as if this was in any way necessary. We shouldn’t require anything more of Abdul-Jabbar than what he gives.

What happens sometimes is that people stop being real to us. They become characters, even superheroes, like in comic books. We ignore their feelings, ignore realities. We hear of them being arbitrarily fined $7,500 for throwing a punch and think of it as chickenfeed. We hear of them being traded and we could not care less that they have just been told where they can work. But big deal, the guy’s rich, right?

We hear of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar losing more than $9 million, and trying to recover from it, and suing his former agent for $55 million, and we never give it a second thought, because all we want from Kareem Abdul-Jabbar is to throw that basketball into the basket. If he has an off night, it had better not be because he was distracted. If he is hurt, he had better be really hurt; otherwise, he ought to be able to play with pain.

It is so easy for all of us to sit back and ask others to do for us, so easy for us to say that if Kareem Abdul-Jabbar didn’t make faces at every referee’s call that went against him, he might be as classy as Julius Erving. We want people to be what we want people to be.

All I know is, on those two nights in Texas, just before Christmas, when Kareem Abdul-Jabbar wasn’t with the team, when he was back home in California, wearing an eye patch, a couple of understudies named Mike Smrek and Frank Brickowski played center for the Los Angeles Lakers, and their combined two-game totals were 7 points, 7 rebounds. The Lakers needed Kareem Abdul-Jabbar back desperately, as they have for years. Thank heaven they got him back. Thank heaven he will be back.

I feel good for the guy today. Not all of us do. Maybe more of us should.