he glowing, blue
Fri., Feb. 16, 1996
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: [email protected]
