Spring Loaded

Magic Johnson is turning 50.

Amazing.

I didn’t know if he’d see 33.

Has it really been nearly 18 years since I walked out of a Forum press conference seeing something I had never seen before, or since: Cynical, sarcastic, know-it-all reporters shedding tears.

Has it really been nearly 18 years since we sat around talking about how hard it was going to be to watch this guy with the broad smile and the bubbly personality die in public?

When Magic stood up in front of the gathered media and a worldwide audience to announce that he was retiring from the Lakers because he had the HIV virus, I thought it was a death sentence.

Back in those days when knowledge of the disease was relatively meager although it had been around for nearly a decade, I thought HIV and AIDS were the same thing. Interchangeable terms.

So too, Magic later admitted, did he.

When he said he was going to beat the disease, we thought he was living in a fantasy world. This wasn’t an opponent like the Boston Celtics or the Chicago Bulls, a foe with weaknesses to probe and strengths to overcome. This was a deadly virus that wasn’t going to be faked out by no-look passes.

But we knew Magic well enough to understand that he wasn’t going to fade away, to spend his final days in some remote hospice.

He gravitated to the spotlight like a moth, in good times and bad. So he was going to fight the good fight in our faces as long as he was physically able.

As it turned out, of course, the odds against him weren’t as long as they first seemed. If this wasn’t a winnable fight – there is still no cure – it was at least a battle Magic could take into overtime after overtime after overtime.

With a positive outlook, a vigorous work ethic, a healthy diet and, most importantly, cutting-edge medication, Magic has kept the virus under control.

Eighteen years later, it’s still there, but, according to doctors, barely detectable in his blood.

The public’s attitude has changed dramatically since those dark days in 1991. Back then, both Karl Malone, then of the Utah Jazz, and Phoenix Suns executive Jerry Colangelo, publicly questioned whether Magic should dare to step on a basketball court.

The wife of one player told Magic he could score whenever he wanted to. All he had to do, she said, was to slash his wrist and drive down the court. Nobody would dare touch him.

And indeed, when Magic did suffer a cut on his arm on the court in his first attempt to return, a hush came over the crowd and some in the arena looked at him as if they were Superman and he was a big, glowing mass of kryptonite.

I have to admit, I had my moment of hesitation. I’ve known Magic for a long time. His rookie year in the NBA was my rookie year as a Laker beat writer.

Whenever I see him, he opens his arms for a big hug. But the first time we came face-to-face after his jaw-dropping announcement, and those arms opened up, I paused.

Just for an instant.

But, I paused.

Then common sense took over and I opened my arms as well.

There is no way to gauge how many similar sufferers from the HIV virus have been bolstered in their own struggles by the shining example of Magic. No way to chart how many have remained active and visible in society because he did.

Ask him if he’s a hero and he’ll laugh. No way, he’ll say, just living life as I told you guys I would.

And to think we doubted him.

Happy birthday, Magic. And here’s to 50 more.

“Beat L.A! Beat L.A!”

The chant has reverberated across the nation for nearly three decades in large stadiums and small arenas, echoing off hardwood and ice, uttered by men in business suits, women in tank tops and kids in oversized jerseys.

Doesn’t matter if it’s the Lakers or the Dodgers or the L.A. Angels of Anaheim. Heck, even the Clippers get subjected to it.

When the Boston Celtics clinched the championship last June at the TD Banknorth Garden, stomping the Lakers in Game 6 of the NBA Finals, delirious Celtic fans didn’t know what to do first, cheer their favorite sons or chant “Beat L.A!”

This week, it’s being screamed at an ear-numbing decibel level in Salt Lake City’s EnergySolutions Arena where the Jazz are hosting playoff games against the Lakers.

The Lakers were the first target of “Beat L.A!” and they weren’t even within earshot when it began. It started in the old Boston Garden, the memorable, but now-demolished home of the Celtics, their arch rivals. But it was directed at the Philadelphia 76ers, who were about to eliminate Boston in the 1982 Eastern Conference finals.

That victory would pit the Sixers against the Lakers in the NBA Finals.

And so Boston fans, who had no great love for either Philadelphia or the Sixers, nevertheless were rooting them on against an enemy who instilled even greater hatred.

“Beat L.A.? That’s great,” said Dick Stockton on the CBS telecast, giving the network stamp of approval.

A game was lost that day, but a chant was born.

What’s next? Beat Tiger because he’s from L.A.? Or the Rams and Raiders because they once were in L.A.?

So what’s the deal? Why not beat New York? Beat Chicago? Beat Green Bay?

It’s not as if L.A. has been a dominant sports town on the national landscape. Yes, the Lakers have been a force in the NBA, winners of three titles this decade and the favorite to add a fourth this spring.

But the Dodgers hadn’t won a playoff series in 20 years before beating the Chicago Cubs last season, and they haven’t won a World Series since 1988.

The Angels won a world championship only once and aren’t even an L.A. team. Neither are the Ducks. The Kings are a perennial joke. The Clippers are worse. And soccer in town will again become inconsequential with the departure of David Beckham.

L.A. doesn’t even have NFL teams. It does have USC, an annual contender for an NCAA football championship, and UCLA, a frequent Final Four participant.

But “Beat L.A!” doesn’t sound quite right in a college venue.

People may hate the Yankees, but, when they do, they chant “Yankees suck,” not “New York sucks.” So no, it doesn’t have to do with dominance.

It doesn’t have to do with personalities. The same crowd can chant “Beat L.A!” when the Lakers are on the floor, yet come back with “MVP! MVP!” when Kobe is at the free-throw line.

So what is it?

Jealousy, that’s what it is.

The rest of the country looks at the sunshine, the ocean, the Hollywood stars, the laid-back style (never mind the fact California is broke) and seethes with envy.

It’s not just “Beat L.A!” It’s beat those smug, arrogant Tinseltown prima donnas who are living the life we want.

The Lakers could lose to the Cleveland Cavaliers in the Finals. But when’s it’s over, the Lakers get to come home while Cavalier fans have to stay in Cleveland.

Disagree? Shoot us your take below with your reason for chanting “Beat L.A!”

I’m betting it boils down to one word: Envy.