LED readout on my alarm clock reads 5:18am. I’m lying here wide awake. This is
not unusual. Some things I’m good at. Sleep isn’t one. I can attribute many
causes to my mini-insomnia; too much to drink, a growling dog, the wind or the
craving for a cookie. Never, however, have I bolted awake, eyes wide open,
thinking about a basketball player. This morning is different. I’m thinking of
Magic Johnson.
If you’re unaware of Magic’s return to the NBA, you must be dead. The media
and public opinion have rarely been so totally unified, so completely on one
side of an issue. The overwhelming consensus is that Magic Johnson, confirmed
HIV positive four years ago, was stupidly run out of the league by ignorant,
fearful colleagues and a public terrified by the very mention of the dreaded
word, AIDS.
Magic Johnson is all anybody was talking about the last two weeks. My opinion?
Gut reaction: It’s good for basketball, good for Magic. I’ve changed my mind.
At the risk of sounding insensitive, perhaps we’ve all responded too
emotionally, too thoughtlessly, and maybe — certainly Magic falls into this
group — too selfishly.
We know a second party can’t be exposed to the HIV virus through casual
contact. Shaking hands, hugging, breathing the same air, being sneezed on, none
of these day-to-day things can infect someone with AIDS. This, so far, is
certain. Blood is a different story. Blood scares everyone. Overreaction, you
think? Find a nurse, doctor, dentist, or blood technician, who, no matter how
well they know you, doesn’t routinely snap on the thin gloves at the beginning
of any examination involving saliva or blood. These are medical professionals.
Do they take precautions like this frivolously?
Now, fantasize you’re a colleague of Earvin’s. Pretend it’s the playoffs. You
must play 40 brutal minutes, in a virtual war, guarding Johnson. Not just
tonight, but for seven games. How often, after playing a casual game of pick-up
basketball down at the park, have you returned home with your arms and back
filled with ugly scratches? You don’t know how it happens. It just does. Won’t
this thought — blood, open cuts — be close to the surface? Maybe you won’t
play Magic quite as physically, not quite so tough.
Though much about AIDS remains shrouded in mystery, it is a blood disease.
I’ve heard doctors say there’s a better chance of the scoreboard at the Forum
falling on your head than contracting AIDS from Johnson. Yet, if you walk into
their office, no matter how healthy you are, the omnipresent gloves snap on.
If I were guarding Magic, I’d be concerned. I’d be damn scared. There are some
players who feel this way, probably more than we think. They’re silent due to
the tyranny of the majority. They’re afraid of being labeled medieval or
selfish or just backward and stupid. In retrospect, after I let my own knee
stop jerking, this seems like a perfectly reasonable, rational, prudent point
of view. It’s really easy for us to say, “Hooray, hooray! Did you see that
pass?” We’re not risking our lives, watching Magic work from the safety of our
living rooms.
Human Immunodeficiency Virus is a frightening, Level 2, microscopic,
blood-born virus. How it enters a body, exactly, is uncertain. An open wound,
no matter how slight, is an invitation to death I’d rather pass on. This killer
virus emerged silently and invisibly from the dark rain forests of Central
Africa. Its exact penetration into the human species is unknown. It’s
devastated Central Africa. It’s now doing the same in Southeast Asia. In
research laboratories, people who handle HIV-infected blood wear space suits to
avoid any chance of accidental contamination.
Most of us, five years ago, thought Magic would be dead or at least a walking
skeleton by now. We see a big, strong, apparently vital Johnson and we want to
believe he really will beat this thing. (No one, in the end, does.) “There’s
nothing wrong with him,” we think. “After all, he’s Magic Johnson.” It’s
called denial and we’re all guilty. AIDS has a very long gestation period, as
it lies in the bloodstream, silently, slowly replicating until it gathers
strength to begin its horrible, final attack. It’s not unusual for an
HIV-positive patient to exhibit no symptoms at all for five, even 10 years.
Like his no-look passes, Magic’s fooling us with illusion and mirrors.
It’s selfish, very selfish, for Johnson to return to professional basketball.
He does not need this. He’s a wealthy, wealthy man. He’s back simply because he
wants to play, to bask in the spotlight; wants to hear the crowd cheer
his name. This I understand. I’m sorry; it’s not good enough.
I apologize if you believe I’ve got this wrong. As I hear my dentist’s opaque
gloves snap, as he begins a benign examination of a healthy mouth, I think real
concerns and fears are being, for some reason I don’t quite get, badly
minimized. I would not be concerned about the score-board falling on my head.
Banging on Magic
for seven games would scare me badly.
This is an indulgent, ego-driven mistake. If Magic infects anyone on the
basketball court, we won’t know it for a long time. Johnson, most likely, won’t
be around to apologize. n
Write me: coach@auschron.com
This article appears in February 16 • 1996 and February 16 • 1996 (Cover).