I’m 17 at the time, and I’m sure I was incredulous at how the Boston Celtics thoroughly dismantled the Los Angeles Lakers in Game 1 of the 1985 NBA Finals on May 27, 1985, known as the “Memorial Day Massacre.”
This thumping came only days after the Lakers crushed my hometown Denver Nuggets 153-109 in the Western Conference Finals. It was the closest any of my beloved Colorado-based teams came to a championship since the Broncos played in Super Bowl XII in 1978. My hopes for an NBA title coming to the Mile High City were dashed by Magic, Kareem & Co.
As I moved on from the loss, I had to choose a side—like the rest of America—in the biggest burgeoning rivalry in sports. Magic or Bird. West Coast or East Coast. Lakers or Celtics.
Truth be known, even though I rooted for the Nuggets, I was fascinated by Magic Johnson and the Lakers. I loved the glitz of L.A. and glamour of fast-break basketball. I owned a pair of Magic’s Converse Weapons shoes. And the Laker Girls? Big fan.
If I remember correctly, on that day—possibly around the same time that Game 1 of the Finals was going on— my cousin George and I were playing through the latest of our series of epic 1-on-1 bouts in my family’s front driveway.
He had advantages in height (about two inches) and experience (he was a solid junior high and high school baller) and he used those effectively. Fortunately for me, I had an outside shot that I honed over years of shooting on my home court. He was tough to guard and extremely difficult to drive on. I had to be “on” with my outside jumpers or I was pretty much toast against him.
George was also a Boston fan. While he came at me with smart, disciplined play characteristic of the Celtics, he would also announce a move with “Parish with the block!” or “Bird launches the three!”. He would then take it a step further by dominating with Celtics bench players. Meanwhile, I would counter with a few dashes of Lakers Showtime. In my mind, I pictured myself dribbling and spinning like Magic, and firing from long distance like Byron Scott or Michael Cooper. I imagine I even attempted a Kareem sky hook at some point.
I’m sure my cousin was thrilled with the score of the Lakers-Celtics Finals opener. Boston seemed poised to claim a second consecutive championship over L.A. It’s also a good bet that he dominated me on the court that day.
However . . .
A comeback was in store, both for the Lakers and myself. L.A. bounced back from their humiliating Game 1 defeat at Boston Garden to win the series in six games. For my part, I recall a day—and I can’t pinpoint the date exactly—when I felt comparable to how the Lakers did following their eventual 1985 Finals triumph over their chief rival.
It was a day where, in the words of Marv Albert, I was, “on fire!” George and I played several games on this particular day, and I basically had his number every time. I kept him off-balance with deft shooting and new tricks (points in the paint!). It was a terrific feeling and provided me with a huge shot of confidence. George continued to remain tough to beat, but that one day was all mine. My determination, will to win, and the multiple 1-on-1 wins that I earned over my cousin that day still emboldens me in everyday circumstances that really challenge me.
This is just one example of how sports inspired me in my life. To the 1985 Lakers, I thank you!