Saturday, Feb. 18, 2023 | 2 a.m.
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I wasn’t there. Not this time. Not like I was nearly four decades ago.
Check out the video. I’m the one in the sweater. The tan sweater with the purple stripe across the middle. It must have been chilly that night in Las Vegas. On April 5, 1984. I’m at courtside where sports media members sat before team owners started selling the prime space to rich folks. I’m there as the Los Angeles Lakers took on the Jazz of Utah at the still spit-shine-new Thomas & Mack Center on the campus of UNLV.
It was a Jazz “home” game. (The Jazz played a handful of home games 400 miles away in Las Vegas during the 1980s in an attempt to boost revenue because then-owner Sam Battistone was convinced the team would be more successful at the new arena in Southern Nevada.)
It would have otherwise been a rudimentary late-season encounter had not history been on the game plan.
With just under nine minutes remaining — 8 minutes, 54 seconds, specifically — Kareem Abdul-Jabbar anchored his slender 7-foot, 2-inch frame on the low block on the right side, posting against man mountain (7-foot-4) Mark Eaton (for NBA fans, here’s a fascinating piece from SI.com on the disappearance of “post” play). The goggled one clutched an entry pass from Earvin “Magic” Johnson, who had back-dribbled to just outside the three-point stripe near the right sideline.
Kareem took one bounce to his right, met a “friendly” double team from Jazz guard Rickey Green, pivoted left and floated — fittingly — a soft-as-cotton skyhook over Eaton. Swish. The basket raised the future Hall of Fame center’s career points tally to 31,421 and toppled Wilt Chamberlain as the league’s all-time scorer.
With the Mack filled with more Lakers than Jazz fans, the place exploded like every slot machine in the city hit jackpot all at once.
Kareem, almost awkwardly, ran toward midcourt and was swarmed by hugging and high-fiving teammates Johnson, James Worthy, Michael Cooper, Byron Scott, Bob McAdoo and coach Pat Riley. Family and friends crashed the scrum.
As the television camera panned the scene, catch a glimpse of the 28-year-old journalist in the tan and purple sweater. The kid is clearly swept up by the moment. I hold three fingers in the air, asking colleagues if Kareem was doubled, or actually triple-teamed.
Bless my heart. No one in the arena saw that but me. Because it didn’t happen. Kareem was barely covered at all.
Who knew my youthful exuberance would be forever chronicled — and easily findable — on something that would not be invented for almost another 21 years? On YouTube.
This time, I wasn’t there. Not this time. Though I felt like I was. I wasn’t in Los Angeles when LeBron James accomplished a feat almost everyone in Las Vegas that night almost 39 years ago believed would never happen: He toppled Kareem.
His historic shot wasn’t exactly classic — a 14-foot fadeaway just left of the free-throw line — and the aftermath seemed much more choreographed than spontaneous. Not a soul swarmed LeBron as he strode to the other end of the court, arms raised skyward in celebration. He was surrounded instead by a phalanx of cameras until his young daughter broke through.
The basket gave the 38-year-old future Hall of Fame forward (for those wondering, Kareem was 37 when he toppled Wilt) 38,388 points. Kareem finished his career with 38,387.
I wasn’t there, though Kareem was — for the assist, the dime, symbolically handed to the game’s new scoring king during the celebration: greatness to greatness.
Roy Johnson is a columnist for al.com.
