Close Shop When They Punch Out

It was like having a pizza delivered and finding everything on it except the sauce and the cheese. For the first time at the Forum since 1975, the Fabulous Laker Boys had to play a game of basketball without Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on their payroll--and what happened? They got Magic Johnson taken away from them, too.

What’s the matter, doesn’t anybody want the Lakers to have their whole starting five anymore?

Last June, they had to rumble with the Detroit Pistons for the NBA championship without Johnson and Byron Scott, which left them with sort of a starting three. Then, Tuesday night, upon their return to the scene of Detroit’s crime, the Lakers had to fend off the Phoenix Suns without K.A.J., who retired, and without E.(M.)J., who retired early for the evening, 3 1/2 minutes into the fray, kicked out for fighting.

So, some home opener this was. No Number 33. No Number 32. These guys may have worn gold tank-tops, but they bore precious little resemblance to the real Lakers. They were the Almost-Lakers. Their prices might as well have been marked down, like day-old bread. They were one James Worthy injury away from turning into the Charlotte Hornets.

And yet they won, 111-107, which goes to show that the NBA’s Western Division still belongs to Los Angeles until somebody says different, which may very well be when Magic is as old and bald as Kareem.

Phoenix could be a contender.

“Not yet,” Sun Coach Cotton Fitzsimmons said. “As Casey Stengel might say, we had an amazin’, amazin’, amazin’ year last year. I still have to be shown that we can knock off the Lakers.”

Or knock them down.

“I didn’t see the fight--just the tail end of it,” Fitzsimmons said. “I just saw Magic throw the punch.”

At the 8:38 mark of the first period, L.A.’s Magic Johnson and Phoenix’s Kevin Johnson got into a shoving match. Magic’s longer arms got in most of the blows. He looked like one of those schoolyard bullies who puts his palm atop the other guy’s head so the smaller guy keeps swinging and missing.

Kevin Johnson had this dramatic, blow-by-blow description of the fight.

“No comment,” Kevin said.

What started it, at least?

“I got no comment,” Kevin said.

Any particular reason you got no comment?

“Because I got no comment,” Kevin said.

Meanwhile, in a neutral corner just up the hall, Marvelous Magic Johnson was far more willing to comment.

“What can I say? What can I do?” Magic said. “It’s over. I mean, it’s over. What can I say?”

You heard it here first.

It was that kind of night in Inglewood, where a crowd of 17,505 got to see most of the Los Angeles Lakers play most of the Phoenix Suns.

Even the audio was busted on the only television in the Forum press room, meaning Chick Hearn couldn’t be heard. No Kareem, no Magic, no Chick--man, this thing was a “Cheers” episode without Sam, Carla and Norm. Hey, you! Hey, referee! Thanks SO much for not making us watch Magic and Kevin Johnson. Maybe next week you can work a Chicago-Philadelphia game and eject Michael Jordan and Charles Barkley.

Everybody had just arrived in his or her I’ve-been-shopping-on-Melrose clothes and settled into their I-could-have-fed-Ethiopia-at-these-prices seats when Johnson and Johnson started trading whacks. We Forum regulars could hardly believe our eyes. Our big Johnson was bumping their little Johnson. If ever there were two NBA guys who didn’t figure to get down and dirty, they were Earvin and Kevin, a couple of sweethearts.

I mean, Notre Dame one week, Magic and Kevin Johnson another week--who’s going to pick a fight next? Wayne Gretzky? Jim Abbott? Jackie Joyner-Kersee? Maybe Arnold Palmer will belt Chi Chi Rodriguez.

All we know is, visiting teams had better be careful if they intend to start getting violent with Magic Johnson. People at courtside will pelt them with their gold American Express cards. Vlade Divac will call out the whole Yugoslav army. We’ll start playing those Paula Abdul songs even louder, and bust those Phoenix guys’ eardrums. Don’t be messing with Magic.

“The fans deserve more,” Magic said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to play for them.”

Oh, well. Spats happen.

The officials just wanted to set down some ground rules, to show everybody they weren’t going to be tolerating any rough stuff this season--from anybody. Not even from Earvin, the kid who put the “Angel” in “Los Angeles.”

We assume Magic will no longer be misbehavin’. At 3 1/2 minutes a game, his chances of repeating as the NBA’s most valuable player are slim at best.