Hitting Home: Magic's Plight Had An Impact On Us All
Sharing a commentary I wrote after Magic Johnson announced, on Nov. 7, 1991, that he had tested positive for HIV and would retire from the NBA and dedicate his life to "battle this deadly disease." At the time, I was a general assignment reporter in the Portsmouth bureau of The Virginian-Pilot and The Ledger-Star. The newspaper published my column on Nov. 13, 1991.
At first the sight of blood didn't bother me a bit. An opposing player had just scratched my wrist while we chased a loose basketball during a pick-up game at a Virginia Beach community center. Normally, I wouldn't dare wipe off the blood, preferring instead to wear it like a badge of honor until after the game. Suddenly, it became important to stop the bleeding. What if someone else saw it? Would they wonder if I had AIDS? Wanting no sign of blood on my T-shirt, and with no towel in sight, I quickly pressed my wrist underneath my multi-colored shorts. No luck. Still bleeding. It was time for desperate action: stop the game, run from the gym to a water fountain and douse the wrist with cold water. It worked. Talk about relief.
This was Saturday, my first time playing basketball since Magic Johnson announced he had tested positive for the HIV virus. Later I felt ashamed for being so anxious, for succumbing to the paranoia attached to AIDS. But then I looked on the bright side – if there is one considering Johnson's situation. Johnson hopes his misfortune will force everyone – everyone – to realize that HIV/AIDS does not discriminate. My experience Saturday satisfied me that I had begun to take the disease more seriously.
Many say Johnson's plight will have the biggest impact on the sports world since University of Maryland basketball standout Len Bias died from a drug overdose five-and-a-half years ago. Maybe so. But my agony is greater this time. Strangely, I can't remember ever seeing Bias play basketball. I honestly believe that I saw Johnson play at least 200 times.
Better yet, I once interviewed Johnson. It was June 15, 1988, a few hours before Mike Tyson knocked out Michael Spinks in Atlantic City. Working then for the Atlantic City Press, I was at the area airport intending to talk with people flying in to see the bout. Word spread that among those getting off the latest flight was Magic Johnson, who nine days earlier had helped the Lakers become the first time in two decades to capture back-to-back NBA championships.
I couldn't believe it. Here was Magic Johnson walking directly toward me. Remembering my mission, I sought the interview of my career. Poised I wasn't. I stopped just short of addressing him as "Mr. Johnson."
"Magic, you here for the fight?" I finally muttered, knowing full well that it was one of the dumbest questions of my career. Magic nodded yes while moving slowly but steadily through the crowd. Feeling bolder, I asked, "Who do you think will win?" No answer. The crowd was growing and Magic, too tired to flash his legendary smile, just kept walking. A few seconds later, he looked back at me and said: "Tyson in seven. Spinks after that."
Just that fast, he was gone. But it remains the biggest thrill of my career.
There's something else I'll never forget: Magic Johnson standing at a lectern telling the world that he was infected with the HIV virus. I wanted to cry, but he wouldn't let me. I have never been more proud of anyone than I was of him for the way he handled himself.
There are many messages to be learned from all of this, one of which being that if we live long enough, we may all know someone stricken with AIDS or the HIV virus.
Maybe Johnson's greatest assist will be helping us know better how to deal with the news when it comes.
At first the sight of blood didn't bother me a bit. An opposing player had just scratched my wrist while we chased a loose basketball during a pick-up game at a Virginia Beach community center. Normally, I wouldn't dare wipe off the blood, preferring instead to wear it like a badge of honor until after the game. Suddenly, it became important to stop the bleeding. What if someone else saw it? Would they wonder if I had AIDS? Wanting no sign of blood on my T-shirt, and with no towel in sight, I quickly pressed my wrist underneath my multi-colored shorts. No luck. Still bleeding. It was time for desperate action: stop the game, run from the gym to a water fountain and douse the wrist with cold water. It worked. Talk about relief.
This was Saturday, my first time playing basketball since Magic Johnson announced he had tested positive for the HIV virus. Later I felt ashamed for being so anxious, for succumbing to the paranoia attached to AIDS. But then I looked on the bright side – if there is one considering Johnson's situation. Johnson hopes his misfortune will force everyone – everyone – to realize that HIV/AIDS does not discriminate. My experience Saturday satisfied me that I had begun to take the disease more seriously.
Many say Johnson's plight will have the biggest impact on the sports world since University of Maryland basketball standout Len Bias died from a drug overdose five-and-a-half years ago. Maybe so. But my agony is greater this time. Strangely, I can't remember ever seeing Bias play basketball. I honestly believe that I saw Johnson play at least 200 times.
Better yet, I once interviewed Johnson. It was June 15, 1988, a few hours before Mike Tyson knocked out Michael Spinks in Atlantic City. Working then for the Atlantic City Press, I was at the area airport intending to talk with people flying in to see the bout. Word spread that among those getting off the latest flight was Magic Johnson, who nine days earlier had helped the Lakers become the first time in two decades to capture back-to-back NBA championships.
I couldn't believe it. Here was Magic Johnson walking directly toward me. Remembering my mission, I sought the interview of my career. Poised I wasn't. I stopped just short of addressing him as "Mr. Johnson."
"Magic, you here for the fight?" I finally muttered, knowing full well that it was one of the dumbest questions of my career. Magic nodded yes while moving slowly but steadily through the crowd. Feeling bolder, I asked, "Who do you think will win?" No answer. The crowd was growing and Magic, too tired to flash his legendary smile, just kept walking. A few seconds later, he looked back at me and said: "Tyson in seven. Spinks after that."
Just that fast, he was gone. But it remains the biggest thrill of my career.
There's something else I'll never forget: Magic Johnson standing at a lectern telling the world that he was infected with the HIV virus. I wanted to cry, but he wouldn't let me. I have never been more proud of anyone than I was of him for the way he handled himself.
There are many messages to be learned from all of this, one of which being that if we live long enough, we may all know someone stricken with AIDS or the HIV virus.
Maybe Johnson's greatest assist will be helping us know better how to deal with the news when it comes.
