Would You Like a Little Magic With That Bird?

If you’re expecting something all nice and dripping with gratitude on the cusp of Thanksgiving Day, I’m sorry to disappoint you. That namby-pamby stuff doesn’t interest me much today. While I do of course hope that you’ll have a splendid and congenial feast with your loved ones, my subject brings with it some rancor, some bristles up, some heightened tension. There is, however, at least a Bird involved.

Maybe my mood can be attributed partly to what just happened during my evening English Composition class. About to embark on an assignment called, “Explaining a Concept,” we were brainstorming sub-topics that might be included in an essay, directed towards people of another culture, about the custom of Thanksgiving. One of my students immediately sang out, “Family in-fighting!” Well, of course.

This term struck me as, shall we say, the close cousin of what I had already been thinking about: rivalry, of any denomination. You know: who’s better—her or me, them or us? Sounds terrible, sure, and often is pretty terrible. But the sheer energy that the whole conflict generates can seem like goodness incarnate, especially when the two antagonists—whoever, whatever they are– can’t stand each other so much that they end up grudgingly admitting their mutual respect and admiration.

Clearly, we wouldn’t be putting the Jets and the Sharks—or any of their current equivalents– in this category. No, gangs like those are just plain menacing; their turf wars and hatred so deep-seated that the often high-spirited “rivalry” doesn’t begin to cover it. This is nasty business.

In the realm of school sports, though, longstanding rivalries are seen as healthy, stirring, even beloved. At our son’s new school–St. Mark’s–they paint their faces almost as if they’re heading to war on Groton Day. All in good fun, of course.

O.K., it’s time for full disclosure here. Lest you think that I’ve been harboring some grudge against a local woman who hits a tennis ball with more authority than I do (the line forms there), I need to say that a certain retired basketball star has been on my mind recently. My husband’s work as a religious leader doesn’t usually bring him into contact with professional athletes. Last week, however, he flew to L.A. for a conference of the National Association of Episcopal Schools where none other than Magic Johnson was a featured speaker.

In the program, he is identified with this blurb:

NBA Legend…Two-Time Hall of  Famer…Entrepreneur…Philanthropist…Motivational Speaker…Episcopal school parent are just a few honors possessed by Earvin “Magic” Johnson.

Granted, this list is already pretty long as it is, but they left out one really important one: “Nemesis of Larry Bird.”

Back in his high school years, I gave a book to our son that tells the story of this particular celebrated rivalry. Bearing a self–effacing title– When the Game Was Ours— and a nice gold cover, it’s been sitting amidst a bunch of other sports tomes in our living room shelves. Prompted by my husband’s brush with Magic, I’ve dipped into it over the past several days, and I’ve been richly rewarded.  Well, maybe not quite as richly rewarded as the two players who wrote it…

My husband said that Magic spent a few minutes talking about his evolving relationship with the guy from French Lick. As you may well know, they had an almost completely parallel span of years in the NBA (each played thirteen seasons) and about the same number of tremendous honors bestowed upon them. They opposed one another in the NCAA Championship in 1979 and Lakers/Celtics games provided intense thrills to fans on both coasts and everywhere in between throughout the next decade. They were propelled, in no small measure, by each other; but they had to demonstrate disdain. Eventually, though, the two actually became amicable— something that would have seemed impossible at the beginning of their mutual ascendancy. Smack in the middle of the decade, in 1985, Magic travelled out to rural Indiana (imagine him peering out from his limo at the fields) to do a Converse commercial alongside Larry, and they had a far-ranging talk in the Birds’ basement. Animosity couldn’t withstand that kind of experience.

Many would say that these two guys actually saved the NBA at a time when viewership had been fading, ticket sales down. And there it is— rivalry having a life-giving effect.

That brings us, in a kind of roundabout way, to the Bible–specifically, to the Epistle of Paul to the Philippians 2:3. Here’s the language from the King James:

Fulfill ye my joy, that ye be likeminded, having the same love, being of one accord, or one mind. Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each other esteem other better than themselves.

Such nice sentiments, aren’t they? The first part—“having the same love”—sure would hold true of these two players. Honestly, though, we might read the rest of this verse now and wonder—in the context of the NBA or a whole lot of other arenas for that matter— is there anything done in the public eye that’s not through “strife or vainglory”? Are any of us encouraged on a daily basis to have “lowliness of mind”? Doesn’t that sound too much like groveling in a culture where pride counts for a lot? Aren’t we supposed to stand tall, believe in ourselves, shout our feats from the rooftops even sometimes? Ah, St. Paul; we may have no idea still how much we need you.

 

Then again, sitting down at the Thanksgiving table esteeming everyone else better than ourselves doesn’t sound like so much fun, either. Anyone have the recipe for a Happy Medium?