Challenge for Magic? It’s Perfect

The thing about Magic Johnson is, he’s not a sideline guy, not a weekend anything. Magic has to be in the action. Magic wants the ball.

He can’t sit in the seats munching popcorn while those dim bulbs out on the court miss the open man, blow the layup, completely miss the point on defense. Magic has taken every team he has ever been on, shaped it up, told everybody where to be on the floor, then said, “OK, I’ll take it from here.”

I don’t think anyone had the instinctive feel for the game of basketball Magic had--not Bird, not Jordan, Cousy, Oscar Robertson. Not anybody.

He could do whatever was called for. And he loved the spotlight. That was important. A lot of people with a positive genius for the game couldn’t take the hoopla it came packaged in. They whined about their privacy. They simply thought the game had always been there, the money came from the tooth fairy. They didn’t have to do anything to promote it; that had already been done for them.

Not Magic. Magic brought the most important elements to the Lakers when he came--a broad smile and a love of the action. Magic couldn’t wait to get to the arena, and he couldn’t bear to leave afterward. Magic was the veteran reporters’ best friend--and also to the newest kid on the beat. He stayed until you ran out of questions.

The Lakers were a joyless team when Magic joined them, a dour but talented bunch that played basketball as if it were laying bricks--or doing windows.

Magic would have none of that. A basketball game became Showtime, a headliner act, a happening. Hollywood wouldn’t miss the Magic shows. The remarkable thing was, nobody got jealous. Because Magic was a generous player. He scored only when nobody else was open.

It’s hard to remember now, but basketball was a hard sell, in a struggle for the entertainment dollar in those days. It was almost an acquired taste. It didn’t always get the front sports page.

It did when Magic came. I don’t know of anyone who did more to put his sport up on a rung with all the others. The nickname, of course, helped. But so did the smile. So did the attitude. So did the talent. I think one of the greatest sights and sounds in any sport was Magic coming up the floor with the ball in a tie game in the final seconds.

Magic was not only a star, he was a salesman. When the so-called Dream Team hit the Olympics in Barcelona, the world press didn’t get to see much of Air Jordan, or Mailman Malone, or Larry Bird, or even Charles Barkley. But they saw Magic Johnson at every news conference.

So now he’s a coach. The world is wondering if he’ll have the patience. After all, this is not a Dream Team he has on the floor at the Forum.

One of the truisms of sport is that great athletes do not often make great mentors. The game came too easily for them. You get a picture of a Babe Ruth saying to a kid going to the plate, “Why don’t you go up there and hit a home run, kid? That’s what I’d do here.” Or Sammy Baugh unable to understand why his quarterback doesn’t simply get the ball to that guy open in the end zone like he would.

For a coach, you need a guy who will also know when to bunt. Or when to bring the defense in with a running play. A guy who won’t sit around and wait for the three-run homer or the 80-yard bomb, who knows there are .230 hitters and pass-droppers.

This will be Magic’s challenge. Will the Smile fade? The eyes lose their twinkle? Will he find out why Bob Knight throws chairs?

But Magic Johnson already took a team that was in comparative disarray when he came on it and turned it into an NBA champion without raising his voice. If there is one thing you have to say about Magic Johnson, it is he knows how to win.

My notion is, basketball is lucky he wants to coach. Basketball has always been lucky he wanted the spotlight. Basketball has enough no-comment guys.

In his news conference, Magic made it clear he is returning because he craves the action. “I’m a basketball junkie,” he said. “I’m here every night anyway. My wife says I might as well coach.”

Already paid millions a year by the Lakers under an existing contract, he will coach for nothing.

Magic is back where he wants to be. On a bench, on a court, in front of the crowd. Center stage. On the high wire. Magic was never a captive of his talent, thrust by it into situations he didn’t want to be. Magic, like the great ones--Ruth, Pete Rose, Muhammad Ali, Bob Hope, Arnold Palmer--knows he belongs to the world. And is glad of it. Magic is not a rocking-chair or an 18-holes-of-golf-a-day guy. Not even the most dreaded disease of our time could make him go sit in a corner, feel sorry for himself.

There are baskets to be made, fast breaks to be run, shots to be blocked. Magic wants to go out with flags flying, bands playing, crowds cheering. He has always loved every minute of it.

Will he make a great coach? Basketball sincerely hopes so. So do I.