Justice: Fists Are Worth $50,000, Fraud Costs Lakers Only $25,000

A recognized jurist, we take under advisement today the case of the Los Angeles Lakers and the $25,000 they are nicked for putting a slick move on Portland fans the other night.

What happens is, the Lakers decide, quite without informing villagers, that Magic Johnson, James Worthy and Mychal Thompson need rest preparatory to the playoffs, and they are kept off the floor.

The Lakers play as if Jack Nicholson is in the game. And when they score only 88 points, the Portland owner hollers for the bunco squad, claiming that people watching in the flesh and on pay-per-view are swindled.

The NBA commissioner sustains the charge. He fines the Lakers 25 big ones, an interesting assessment considering what happens to Charles Barkley and Bill Laimbeer when they are principals in a fight.

Each is fined $20,000 and suspended a game. Under league rules, a suspended player is docked during his absence.

Since Barkley’s salary is said to run $2.6 million and since he gives up 1/82nd of it, he is paying roughly $50,000 for throwing a few knuckles, and, for defrauding the public, the Lakers are paying half that sum.

In our court, the unalterable conclusion is that the NBA office harbors in its heart a soft spot for ownership.

The coach of the Lakers, Mr. Pat Riley, has done a job pretty much resisting criticism. His mission is to win titles. And it is his mature view that resting some of his forces in the Portland game is the tactical way to play it.

Riley, remember, doesn’t work for a piece of the gate, especially Portland’s.

But we run a check on ticket prices in Portland and we find, for instance, that those sitting courtside are paying $75.

Of course, those sitting courtside in Los Angeles are paying $350.

“That’s not much,” the Lakers might argue. “When Imelda Marcos went shopping for candy in New York, she spent $8,000.”

Others in Portland are spending $47.50, $33.50 and the like for tickets, and they are making their purchases in good faith well before the start of the season. Their warranty is every game is going to be contested to the best of each club’s ability.

And when it doesn’t happen, the consumer has been fleeced.

But the NBA, whose system of laws calls for study, sees it a greater sin for players to fight than for ownership to stick the public.

Pro football shows the consumer no mercy. In order to keep one’s location in the stadium, one purchasing season tickets must take in the package exhibition games for which the buyer has no assurance what he is going to get.

Will Joe Montana make a cameo appearance? Will Eric Dickerson play a quarter? Will Jim Kelly play at all?

People have gone to court protesting mandatory purchase of exhibition game tickets, but they have lost on the ground this is not an illegal tie-in.

An illegal tie-in would be if one purchasing football tickets were made to buy a vacuum cleaner, too.

During World War II, one walking into a liquor store, seeking to acquire a fifth of bourbon, would also have to buy a pint of kumquat brandy.

Was such a shakedown against the law? Not in the judgment of the court. It ruled that since both products involved alcohol, the tie-in wasn’t illegal.

In our court, the guy hustling the kumquat brandy would be made to drink it.

OK, give this one some thought: Three years before the ’84 Olympics in Los Angeles, people started buying tickets for events. Suddenly, the Soviets pull out, taking most of the Eastern Bloc with them and watering down the show.

“I bought tickets to the opening ceremony to watch the Mongolian People’s Republic march,” you picture someone complaining. “I like caracul hats. Now I want my money back.”

“Keep the tickets,” Peter Ueberroth might have told him, “and you’ll be able to scalp them for three times their value.”

Ueberroth didn’t give refunds, but at least he gave advice, which is more than the Lakers gave people in Portland.

The Lakers must learn the American way. If they want to rest Magic before the playoffs, announce his suspension for spitting on the team bus and send him home.

The night before a USC game, Lou Holtz sent home two guys for missing dinner. The Trojans didn’t complain the next day when their fans were cheated.