SMOOTH AS SILK
He is now a Pro Basketball Hall of Famer and College Basketball Hall of Famer, but you might miss him if you blinked during his playing days or Winning Time. His name is Jamal Abdul-Latif Wilkes. Wilkes was a winner at nearly every grade level through the pros. He was always consistent and superb and never sought to draw attention to himself. The native of Ventura, California, was born Jackson Keith Wilkes (he preferred Keith). Wilkes became iconic for his jump shot, known for its ugly overhead release, that would swish through the net often, like silk (the nickname bestowed upon him years later by legendary announcer Chick Hearn [Spencer Garrett]). He was a 4.0 student in high school who had skipped a grade. His sister skipped two grades and entered Stanford University at age 16. [3] Silk graduated from UCLA with a bachelor’s degree in economics. After a storied time at UCLA, winning two NCAA titles, he moved on to the pros. Wilkes made an immediate impact as a first-round draft pick of the Golden State Warriors, winning 1975 Rookie of the Year honors playing under coach Al Attles and alongside Rick Barry and Clifford Ray. The relative youngster was a significant part of the Warriors’ 1975 upset championship win over the highly favored Washington Bullets.
After three years, he inquired about a previous promise from management regarding a pay raise. Subsequently, Wilkes (depicted by Jimel Atkins in Winning Time) heard only “crickets”; thus, he moved on to the Lakers as a free agent. His acclimation and homecoming were initially askew as injuries beset him; however, upon the arrival of Magic Johnson in 1979, his career took off. The fusion was lethal from 1979 to 1982; Jamaal averaged over 20 points per game and shot 50% from the field during that stretch. His younger leader highlighted his often obscured skills in his Hall of Fame induction. “Jamaal Wilkes had an unbelievable game,” said Johnson, reminiscing about the 1980 title team. “Everybody talked about my 42 points, but it was also his [37-point effort].” [5]
One of the preeminent reasons he is not omnipresent in the HBO series was his knack for abiding above the fray and off-court theatrics. When the ball was in play, Wilkes was a cold-blooded assassin. For the tenure of his professional career, Silk sanctioned his play to orate for him, and it spoke volumes.
THE MAC CAN DOO
Early in the 1981-82 stanza, the Lakers seemed to be in limbo after a season-ending injury to the generously, if not overly compensated, power forward Mitch Kupchak (acquired for Jim Chones). With all of the riff-raff and strife, the contenders had become more circus than substance. Christmas Eve, however, in 1981, would bring them a 6‘10“ windfall named Bob McAdoo (Omari Johnson). A former NBA MVP, Rookie of the Year, multi-year all-star and three-time scoring champ with the Buffalo Braves, Big Mac bounced around the league a bit, having spent time in New York, Boston, Detroit and New Jersey. En route, he had earned a reputation as a shoot-first, self-centered, egomaniacal ballplayer, a malingerer and an overall malcontent. In Detroit, a season-ticket holder often taunted Mac for his inconsistent performances and availability as a member of the Pistons, shouting within earshot of the bench, “McAdoo–McA-don’t–McA-will–McA-won’t!”
He could still ball but had to fit into the right system. Yet, there were more than a few raised eyebrows when new head coach Pat Riley (played by Adrien Brody) gave management the OK to annex him. Bill Sharman was on board but marginally cynical. It’s often problematic for a player of such magnitude who’s used to being the focal point to conform to that of a role player (e.g., Elgin Baylor [late in L.A.], Allen Iverson [Memphis]). After acclimation, McAdoo eventually bought in and knew that a championship was potentially on the horizon.
Nevertheless, for Mac to go from bonafide superstardom to the self-perception of mere ersatz was cognitively traumatic.
“I had to adjust to coming off the bench for the first time in my life, which was very difficult. I was not playing a lot of minutes, which was also difficult. I just dealt with it. Nobody knew it, but it was probably the most frustrated that I’ve ever been in my life. But I wasn’t the type that was going to cause any problems. My main thing was winning a [title]. I was aching to win. I wouldn’t jeopardize that, even though I was used to playing 40 to 45 minutes a game, [but] in L.A. I played maybe 15 minutes a game, which was hard to deal with. Then we got to the playoffs, and everything changed. I went from 15 minutes up to 30 minutes, then 40 minutes. It was crunch time, and it was winning time. You put your best [players] on the floor. And as a result, we had a playoff run that was just unbelievable.” [3]
Despite a relatively inert start, with McAdoo playing limited minutes, he began to catch fire. After the coaching adjustment, Riley guided the reinvigorated Lakers over the remaining 71 regular season games to a sizzling 50-21 record. The slick-haired $1000 Armani suit-wearing coach was nicknamed “GQ” by the players. It was up-tempo hoops: it was Showtime. They were a virtual buzzsaw in the playoffs, sweeping the Western Conference (Phoenix 4-0 and San Antonio 4-0). In the 1982 NBA Finals, they again triumphed over the Philadelphia 76ers 4-2.
Coach Riley disregarded the broad badgering to weave Mac into the starting five. Having him as a catalyst off the bench paid galactic dividends in the playoffs. By then, the Lakers had primarily settled in on a seven-man rotation of Magic, Kareem, Nixon, Jamaal Wilkes, Kurt Rambis, Michael Cooper and McAdoo. In the championship win over Philadelphia, Doo could have been named the most valuable player of the series. Rambis (Joel Allen) was the starter, but Mac was the key sub, played the most critical minutes, and personified instant offense. The veteran briefly exchanged fisticuffs with Sixers forward Mike Bantom, also in hot pursuit of championship glory, in a frantic, intense game-six closeout win. Luckily, ejections were harder to come by in those days.
Mac, another eventual Hall of Famer (and a nine-year veteran at that point), celebrated hard after winning and cried joyously after the cameras dispersed. This was his first professional crown through all those challenges and crucibles in other locales. In hindsight, however, deep down, he had wanted to play against the Boston Celtics. “Bob (briefly a Celtic) looked at Boston, with their predominantly Caucasian roster, and their arrogant coach, Bill Fitch, who, after their game-seven home loss to Philadelphia in the Eastern Conference Finals, proclaimed, ‘Let me just say this, if we had played the Lakers, we would’ve beat them.’ [Like many, McAdoo also despised] the city’s racist loyalists. ‘I wanted to destroy them.’” [6]
In the not-too-distant future, he would be granted his wish.
MAGIC v. BIRD
“Larry Bird Duuuuuude!!!”
If I had a quarter for each time I heard that phrase during my junior year of high school, I would have surpassed affluent before age 18. Western Pennsylvania, my new home at age 16, was a far cry from Baltimore, Maryland, in more ways than one. The Celtics had throngs of enthusiasts dispersed outside of Massachusetts.
Most white guys with whom I studied and played ball generally lost their collective minds in the late Spring of 1984 when Magic v. Bird was about to go down. Bird had been jonesing for revenge since his loss in the 1979 NCAA title game while at Indiana State to Johnson’s Michigan State Spartans. Johnson had smoldered with envy ever since Bird was resoundingly voted as NBA Rookie of the Year in 1980. Both had won NBA titles. Magic owned two championship rings (1980, 1982) and Bird one (1981).
In the 1983 playoffs, their foretold encounter would be delayed by a phenomenon named Moses Malone. The 6’11” star joined the Sixers that season, leading Philadelphia to a 65-17 record (12-1 in playoffs) and its first league title since 1967. Boston was eliminated in the East via a sweep by Milwaukee. In the West, L.A. got past a San Antonio team (Gervin, Gilmore, Mitchell, Moore) that gave them fits, only to be swept by the juggernaut (Moses, Erving, Toney, Cheeks) from the City of Brotherly Love. Moses Malone, benched by Pat Riley in favor of Abdul-Jabbar during crunch time in the 1982 All-Star Game after going on a tear with 12 points and 11 rebounds in only 20 minutes for the West, never forgot the perceived slight. He always had extra gratuity for Riley and his Lakers. Moses helped close the series for Philadelphia by scoring 24 points and snatching 23 rebounds in game four, winning the finals MVP.
The Magic v. Bird collegiate face-off was polarizing for innumerable reasons. At the professional level, it would be even more so. Nationwide, people often espoused sides based on skin saturation.
“When Magic Johnson landed at Boston’s Logan Airport for his first playoff game against the Celtics, an older African-American man chased after him and extended his hand.
‘You gotta beat those Celtics,’ he said.
‘Where are you from?’ Magic asked.
‘I’m from Boston,’ the man answered.
‘I thought everyone from Boston loved the Celtics,’ Magic said.
‘Son, I am a Black man,’ he replied. ‘Why would I root for those white boys?’” [4]
Former Celtic Cedric Maxwell stated, “Most Black people were rooting for Magic and the Lakers, and when Larry Bird and the Celtics won instead, it was one of the worst black eyes you could’ve given Black America.” Maxwell continued. “Now, I was a Black man playing for the Celtics at the time. We had a bunch of Black guys that year, but it didn’t matter. We also had a Black [head] coach [KC Jones]. We were still perceived as a white team, and Larry was front and center. You couldn’t find any Black people rooting for us, even in our own town.” [4]
Although he was undeniably the face of a largely non-melanated franchise, Bird scoffed at embracing the commission of the “white hope.” Many despised the Celtics, but they acknowledged the brilliance of his play. In a similar fashion, years earlier, Jerry West (Jason Clarke), one of the greatest guards (at either “the point” or “the two”) in basketball annals, was extolled by the late comedian Richard Pryor (Mike Epps, in Season 1) during one of his stand-up routines. Pryor, who had relocated to California in 1969, loved the Lakers and respected West’s game but still felt a certain way about him and revealed it on stage in 1971. “I always root for the Brothers. Jerry West?!? I wish that motherf****r couldn’t even play basketball because that motherf*****r can play some basketball! I’ve seen him make some Brothers look ridiculous. It’s embarrassing.” [7]
The ‘84 series should have theoretically been concluded in four games. In this terrain, woulda, shoulda and coulda are of no consequence. Untimely errors by the Lakers–particularly in the clutch–cost them victories in both game two on the road and game four at home. Instead, the slugfest went the distance, adding to the euphoria of CBS brass. Similar miscues in pivotal moments contributed to the loss of game seven and the series. Several Celtics, including M.L. Carr and Cedric Maxwell, christened the Lakers as chokers. The former attempted to mimic Abdul-Jabbar by donning a pair of goggles during pre-game warm-ups. In the immediate aftermath, Kevin McHale threw salt in the wounds by dubbing #32 “Tragic” Johnson and their vanquished foes, the L.A. “Fakers.” To add insult to injury, the Lakers were stuck in their Beantown hotel quarters until the following day before heading home, albeit crestfallen.
As depicted in Winning Time, Celtics fans bombarded their team charter with beer cans, rocks, food, and other debris. (NOTE: This transpired after the Celtics clinched in game 7, not after their home loss in game 1). This behavior was part of their victory “celebration” in the Bostonian streets. The Lakers’ mode of transportation was violently pushed side-to-side by a group of nearly 100 fans until the police arrived.
It would be another long, harrowing summer.
After the dust settled, Riley would address each player face-to-face and via letter. That summer, he sent Magic correspondence in three phases: about not allowing Boston to run it back, ending self-pity, and a plan for redemption. Under these circumstances, the assertion of the imperishable and iconic Chuck D (He Got Game) applied:
“Don’t let a win go to your head or a loss to your heart.”
LOCAL AFTERSHOCK
June 13, 1984, was the day after the Boston vs. L.A. series. The typically raucous and boisterous “hoop court” in Whitaker Projects (PA) was quiet and not for lack of participants. Pick-up games usually ran throughout the day and into the evening.
For more than a few moments, the subject of the latest NBA Finals was a topic too raw to broach. Although over 2,400 miles away from L.A, this fortress was–by and large–Laker territory. Someone broke the relative silence–intermediated only by the bouncing ball–while shooting around and warming up on the hot asphalt. Ten melanated players (with monikers like Omar, Khalil, Chip, and “Critter”) had several disparate hypotheses and attestations for the Los Angeles meltdown.
PLAYER 1: “Y’all see the game last night?“
PLAYER 2: “Lakers choked.“
PLAYER 3: “Magic didn’t do a d**n thing.”
PLAYER 4: “Worthy neither.”
PLAYER 5: “L.A. blew it.”
ME: “It should’ve been over in four. After they got back to the [Boston] Garden, it was a wrap!”
PLAYER 6: “I can’t stand Boston.”
PLAYER 2: “They punked LA. You see that hit on Rambis?!? After that, [the series] was over. Their hearts were pumpin’ Kool-Aid.”
PLAYER 7: “Man, that s*** was fixed! They wanted it to go seven. The whole series is rigged to go seven [games]. TV money! That’s what they wanted.”
(Loud laughter)
SEVERAL (in unison): “F**k outta here!.. Who is ‘they’?!?”
Sides were chosen, and the game commenced. There was no time to idle within Los Angeles’ setback. It was time to deal with the man in front of you. The flow of the game, the chatter and the competition were a welcomed circumnavigation from reality. Almost on cue, at the close of our second contest, a 30-something-year-old former college player (lit joint in one hand, nasty-a** Iron City brew in the other) stopped by the court baseline—high as the sky—as a bystander. He happened to be a Celtics fan.
“Larry Bird is a baaaaad brotha’!” he yelled defiantly, “Anybody wanna’ contest that?”
There was no rebuttal, just utter silence, a few brisk and indignant audits, and internal concessions.
At least summer vacation had started.
NOT GOING OUT LIKE THAT
The second season of Winning Time culminates with the crowning of the Celtics in 1984. Few things were as chafing as the abrupt conclusion, which, to basketball aficionados, was analogous to discovering tattered pages at the climax of a long-anticipated novel.
Spoiler alert: we’re going to keep it moving!
When training camp commenced for the next stanza, the Lakers had one adjudication in mind: crush Boston. Both troupes ran on all cylinders in the 1984-85 season: the Celtics went 63-19 and the Lakers 62-20. Both breezed through their respective conferences to reach the NBA Finals for the second consecutive year. To multitudes, Los Angeles against Boston represented many diametric bedrocks: flash vs. fundamentals, style vs. substance, Hollywood vs. hard-hats, swank vs. subdued, reckless abandon vs. restraint. And after their last duel: timid vs. tough.
In the L.A. quarters, and notably the quintessence of Earvin Johnson, the mantra was “Atone for ‘84.” Conversely, their slogan in Winning Time was more audacious: “F**k Boston!”
The two storied brigades would reconvene three times in four years with the league title on the line. However, the long-envisioned rematch in 1985 was one for the ages. L.A. was salivating, enthralled with getting to the summit and squelching the Boston “jinx” over the franchise. In every one of their meetings (eight, including the Lakers’ time in Minneapolis) to that juncture in the finals, the Celtics had emerged victorious over their West Coast counterparts. Once again, the Celtics held the home-court advantage. The series would be in the 2–3–2 format regarding scheduling. Still, the Lakers were confident and resolute. Yet, game one insinuated more of the same.
Most television broadcasts of NBA games lasted approximately 2.5 hours in real-time. This opening contest was decided in under an hour. Game one was subsequently dubbed “The Memorial Day Massacre.” The Lakers appeared shell-shocked, and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (12 points and three rebounds) resembled every bit of his 38 years of age. It wasn’t Larry Bird who put the heat on them, nor was it Kevin McHale, Dennis Johnson, or Danny Ainge. The hero that day was Boston reserve forward/guard, Scott Wedman. Wedman was 11 for 11 from the field for 26 points in just 23 minutes of play! He led the Celtics to a blowout 148–114 victory. It’s often forgotten that Wedman was no slouch. The former 2x all-star had hit a game-winner in overtime in the previous championship series in ‘84, tying the series up at one game apiece. Boston would have plummeted into a significant deficit without his heroics by dropping the first two home games.
Over in the L.A. clubhouse, after some soul-searching and an apology from team captain Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, the Lakers hit the reset button and went from stunned to sanguine, taking four of the next five contests. The scene in Winning Time (episode 5), where Riley smashed his fist into a blackboard, occurred after this series’ game one loss and not in 1982. No longer disconcerted–but galvanized–they detonated the decades-long “hex“ held over them by the Celtics and closed out by capturing the title on the hallowed parquet floor of the Boston Garden. They sealed a deal with a 111–100 win in game six on June 9, 1985. Los Angeles’ adoption of a new, no-nonsense milieu had paid dividends. Abdul-Jabbar was unanimously voted the most valuable player, finishing the last five games with point and rebound totals of 30/17, 26/14, 21/6, 36/7, and 29/7.
The Beantown crowd of 15,000 plus looked on in daunt and astonishment. The Celtics would forfeit the NBA title for the first time on their home turf (it was also their first championship series defeat since 1958). Last season’s trash-throwing and vitriol lay dormant as the clock wound down in the game’s final minutes. Both squads received a standing ovation from the partisan crowd. The rancor—for the time being—had morphed into respect.
Two years later, the two teams would vie again in the rubber match, with the Lakers emerging as the 1987 NBA champions. That season, Magic was voted league MVP for the first time (of three). Larry had won it for the previous three seasons (1984-1986). At his peak, following a loss to L.A., Larry admitted on national television during the 1987 NBA Finals that “[Magic is] the best I’ve ever seen.” In turn, Johnson stated years later that Bird was the “greatest I’ve ever played against.” Regarding who is better, just because Magic took two of the three championships over Bird does not make the deliberation as simple as night following daytime.
ENDGAME
Magic, Kareem, Riley, and the rest of the Lakers smiled broadly throughout the summer of ‘84. So did the fellas in Whitaker. The Lakers’ victory was an excellent way to cap my high school graduation. During the ceremony, I encountered a classmate who was a staunch Celtics fan. We shook hands and congratulated one another, and I couldn’t balk at reminding him about the L.A. win.
“MAG-I-CAL, ain’t it?”
Laughing but crimson with a qualm, he replied, “Well, now they’re tied at one apiece.”
While it was next to impossible to replicate (on set) the quality of basketball exhibited during that era, many Winning Time details were on target. If one paid close attention to the jerseys of particular L.A. opponents, names like Mike Newlin, Nate Archibald, Maurice Lucas, Allan Leavell, Marques Johnson, Walter Davis and Calvin Murphy flashed through the frame. The series, still inclined to a modicum of fiction and embellishment—as is a producer’s prerogative—was nevertheless diverting. Many of the individuals portrayed (namely West and Magic) did not subscribe to the depictions; however, some did.
Spencer Haywood told one of the producers, “Hey, I was there. You guys got it more right than wrong.” [8]
“I have a lot of friends who know some of these [Lakers] who are like, ‘We love the show. But don’t tell anyone we’re watching,’” executive producer Salli Richardson-Whitfield said with a laugh. [8]
Since college, Magic and Bird had maintained surveillance on one another from afar; game recognizes game. By the time they had tenure in the league, they could virtually cite each other’s box score from the previous night, no matter the venue. More noteworthy, each was mindful of their won-loss records, streaks, strengths, potencies and demerits, aware that an annual June series showdown hung in the balance. They set the tone for their respective rosters. Other players fell in line. Pride in check, laid-back individuals, those willing to remodel fingerprints or embrace a novel and unaccustomed niche for the team’s quantum leap: this is how dynasties materialize.
During the 1979 pre-draft phase, as demonstrated in Winning Time (Season 1), previous Lakers owner Jack Kent Cooke attempted to wine-and-dine Earvin Johnson with a main course of sandabs (a small, upscale, Pacific flounder) instead of something less opulent for the palate. The latter preferred and insisted on a burger and fries. While recounting his record-setting L.A. 1972 NBA Championship roster, Cooke, well-established as pompous and problematic, stated it best, “They were a mishmash of gnarly egos.”
While cockiness and hubris from players are generally reproached at this level, those characteristics, when inhibited, can serve a purpose. The Lakers of the 80s were laden with similar self-assured individuals: uber-confident killers (Magic, McAdoo, Haywood, Nixon), tranquil assassins (Kareem, Wilkes, Worthy, Scott), lurid pests as defenders for the opposition (Cooper, Kupchak, Rambis), ironclad coaching (Pat Riley).
The Celtics, with downscaled glimmer, possessed and unveiled synonymous hallmarks: skilled players/trash talkers nonpareil (Bird, Maxwell), the staid yet deadly (“D.J.,” Parish, Wedman), great, knowing it, but sacrificing stats for the greater good (Archibald, McHale), a categorical nuisance to any foe (Ainge, Carr, Buckner, Henderson), sterling X’s & O’s (K.C. Jones).
Self-assuredness, when aligned and tempered, can invoke championship hardware.
The Lakers won five NBA titles in the 1980s, going back-to-back in 1987 and 1988. Admittedly, absent the Len Bias tragedy, the Celtics may have had the scales tipped in their favor for quite some time. Boston, led by Bird, won a total of three. Their face-off was compelling as their respective tribes supported each roster in earnest. Bird and Johnson eventually developed a friendship and admiration that transcended basketball. Today, they look back fondly as two Midwestern guys who went to opposite U.S. coasts but landed at the same altitudinous pantheon of their profession: distinguishable styles and on-court positions with pharaonic achievements.
I’d want both on my roster if I constructed an NBA franchise.
Words by Dr. Eric Hawkins (“Dr. Hawk”/@MDHawk on Twitter)
REFERENCES
(1) Greer, Jordan. “Magic Johnson’s Lifetime Contract With the Lakers: Remembering When the Los Angeles Legend Signed A $25 Million Deal.” The Sporting News. Sportingnews.com. August 6, 2023,
(2) “A Fuming Mad Jim Chones.” UPI Archives. Upi.com. December 8, 1980
(3) Lazenby, Roland. “The Show: The Inside Story of the Spectacular Los Angeles Lakers.” McGraw-Hill Books. (2006). New York. Pp. 213, 217
(4) MacMullan, Jackie, Larry Bird, & Earvin “Magic” Johnson. “When The Game Was Ours.” Houghton-Mifflin-Harcourt. (2009). New York. Pp. 102, 106
(5) Medina, Mark. “Magic, Kareem Among Jamaal Wilkes’ Presenters At Hall of Fame.” The Los Angeles Times. Latimes.com. August 29, 2012
(6) Pearlman, Jeff. “Showtime: Magic, Kareem, Riley, and the Los Angeles Lakers Dynasty of the 1980s. Penguin Group LLC. (2014). New York. Pp. 177, 187, 189-190
(7) Pryor, Richard. “Craps (After Hours): ‘White Folks.’” (Trk. 16). Laff Records LP (1971)
(8)“HBO’s‘WinningTime’EndsWithAbrupt,SurpriseSeriesFinale.”NBCNews/Variety. NBCnews.com. September 18, 2023.