A Little Magic Turns Fan Into a Basket(ball) Case

At the risk of public humiliation, I am going to tell you about Wednesday night. I am not proud of my behavior, and it has caused some embarrassment to my husband and friends. I swear it was the first time I ever did this.

It all seems like a dream now. The cocktail lounge was kind of smoky, with that diffused lighting that makes everyone look hazy at a distance. But there was no missing him at the hotel bar entrance, bright lights from the lobby illuminating the 6-foot-9 hero of the basketball game. I’ll never forget: He was wearing black pants and a white oxford shirt, and, at 5-foot-2, I was about eye-level with his ribs.

Oh my God! I said. It’s Magic Johnson!

As I said, this was my first out-of-body fan experience. And it’s not as though I haven’t been around my share of professional athletes. I’ve interviewed baseball slugger Reggie Jackson and Rams kicker Mike Lansford.

But there’s something about the World Championship Los Angeles Lakers that makes me feel . . . possessed.

Since the first game I ever attended 2 years ago, I have been hooked on the Lakers. At half-time I even dragged my husband over to the other side of the Forum so that I could see Chick Hearn in person. Even though he’s a Laker fanatic, my husband kept muttering, “Chick? You want to meet the announcer? “

Then we bought Chick’s rap single, called “Rap Around,” in which he sings about Magic’s legendary passes and shouts all those great Chick-isms like “It’ll-count-if-it-goes-it-goes!” and “No harm! No foul! No ambulance!”

A year ago I forked over more than $100 for a 5-minute tape in which Chick dubbed in my husband’s name as the hero who plays alongside Magic and wins the final championship game for the Lakers.

You get the idea.

Wednesday night was only the second Lakers game I’ve attended. The home opener was like a big sold-out pep rally, with 17,000 raucous fans cheering as the Lakers got their championship rings and each player was introduced individually to a standing ovation. The Lakers creamed the Denver Nuggets and, flushed with the victory, our group of six die-hard Laker fans went over to the nearby hotel for a nightcap.

Magic probably gets charged by fans like me all the time, and as he made his surprise arrival at the bar I thought about how I would not be one of those rude jerks. I would be different. But something inhabited my body, and I stood up suddenly and was propelled over to where Magic stood, as my friends sat gaping behind me.

He was shaking hands with a couple.

Oh isn’t that just like Magic to be so friendly, I thought. I’m going to go over and say hello and shake hands, too!

Stepping behind the couple seated at a table, I heard Magic say, “I’m gonna take the boys to Spago.” As the conversation continued, it occurred to me that these people seemed to be more than fans. I didn’t want to interrupt, so I stood there at a respectful distance, waiting for a break in the conversation. It seemed like 10 minutes.

Actually, my friends told me afterward, I stood there looking stupid and grinning up-- way, way up--into Magic’s face for only 30 seconds or so. Finally, the Magic Man began turning toward the door, and here is where my body became really possessed. We’re talking The Exorcist time; someone else’s voice coming from my lips.

“Can I shake your hand, Magic? It would make my life complete .” Oh my God, did I really just say that?

Then Magic goes, “Suuuuure, how ya doin’?” He said it just like that. He has sort of a drawl, you know. Bending at the waist, he took my hand--my right hand--and shook it. For a long time. Two or 3 seconds at least. Then he turned around and waved at the room full of clapping people, and I just stood there smiling enough to about crack my face. I looked over at my friends, and they were laughing at me.

Of course, even as they teased me about being a dweeb, they wanted to touch my hand--my right hand--and to hear what I said. Then what Magic said. Then what I said.

It was great.

But it was terrible, too.

I figure that after this episode I had better get some help soon. I am almost afraid now of what I might do if I ever meet Bruce Springsteen.