After 21 years and too many seasons of viewer apathy, it's great to see the Boston Celtics and the Los Angeles Lakers back in the NBA Finals. Truly it is. There's nothing quite like two prominent blue states duking it out to invigorate the pollsters.
Yet the anticipated ratings bonanza, intense Internet chatter and renewed interest aside, the better team isn't here.
Neither one of them.
These are not those Celtics or those Lakers. Not even a resemblance. While the current contenders certainly earned the right to represent their conferences, the flood of comparisons and historical data is more than a little irrelevant. When these teams last met in the Finals – in a poignant six-game series back in 1987 – the Lakers of Magic Johnson and Celtics of Larry Bird were merely the leading men for sublime, supremely talented rosters dominated by future Hall of Famers.
Magic and Bird. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Robert Parish. Michael Cooper. Dennis Johnson. Bill Walton. There was K.C. Jones and Pat Riley on the sideline, Jerry West and Red Auerbach in the front offices, the gravel-voiced Johnny Most and legendary Chick Hearn in the broadcast booths.
"Those teams were more talented," recalled the Kings' Jerry Reynolds, "but the real difference between then and now is the bench strength. I remember scouting games in the Garden and Forum and thinking, 'How can we beat these guys?' It was like, 'Heck, we can't."
Luke Walton and Derek Fisher?
Rajon Rondo and Kendrick Perkins?
Don't think so … and that's OK. None of us can relive our 20s. Just acknowledge the inevitable, specifically, that the 1980s was a tale of two superstars choreographing a once-in-a-lifetime period in the history of the sport.
Together, the Lakers and Celtics executed textbook fast breaks, running off makes and misses, and advancing the ball with the pass, not the dribble. They adhered to fundamental defensive principles of moving the feet and extending the arms and rotating quickly to open shooters. They were separated by 3,000 miles and cultural differences – yet, astonishingly, a mere seven assists in 1986-87 (with averages of 29.6 and 29.5, respectively).
You wanted entertainment? Dramatic hook shots? No-look touch passes? Trash-talking? Name-calling? With no ESPN highlights to enliven the competition, the players monitored each other's progress the old-school way: by religiously perusing the box scores in the morning newspapers and pressing the journalists who covered the league (and spent time in both locker rooms) for additional information.
Cooper coyly inquired about Bird. "DJ" asked about Magic. Jones wanted to know what Riley was saying. Kevin McHale chirped about everyone and everything.
"That's all we watched," Magic said Tuesday on a teleconference call with his former rival. " 'Where are the Celtics? Did they win last night?' "
Added Bird: "They (Celtics) even came up with nicknames for the Lakers players. Some of it was completely out of control. But that's really how we were taught."
It was about the team, about five stars collaborating on a single goal, about awaiting Boston-L.A., about one more glorious Celtics-Lakers series before Riley lost his way and, along with Chuck Daly, introduced a slower, excessively physical style. Catch any of the Boston-L.A. classics on ESPN and there are few instances of players dribbling dents into the floor or coaches posing like statues on the sideline, calling yet another isolation play.
That was then and this is 2008, time to renew a rivalry and establish another trend.
"The game can get back to that," Bird said. "Obviously you have to have players … but we got a lot more easy baskets. If you can get it down quick, get the defense off balance, you get mismatches."
Added Magic: "And the league is back to selling (promoting) franchises, not individuals, so it's great we're talking about the Celtics and the Lakers. We got away from doing that."
Call The Bee's Ailene Voisin, (916) 321-1208.
