I still get chills thinking about the 1985 NBA Finals—that legendary Lakers vs Celtics championship story represents everything great about basketball's golden era. As someone who's spent decades analyzing sports history, I can confidently say this series wasn't just about basketball; it was about legacy, redemption, and the cultural significance of professional sports. The way these two franchises dominated the 80s created a rivalry that modern basketball still hasn't replicated, and frankly, might never see again.
When I rewatch those classic games, what strikes me most is how personal everything felt. You had Magic Johnson's iconic no-look passes against Larry Bird's methodical perfection—it was like watching two chess masters playing at lightning speed. The Celtics had taken the 1984 championship in seven grueling games, and the Lakers carried that humiliation throughout the entire 1984-85 season. I've interviewed numerous players from that era, and they all mention how the Lakers' practice facility had reminders of that loss everywhere—the coaching staff made sure nobody forgot.
The statistics from that series still astonish me even today. The Lakers won the championship in six games, with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, at 38 years old, putting up 25.7 points per game in the series. What many casual fans don't realize is that the Lakers actually lost Game 1 by a humiliating 34-point margin—the famous "Memorial Day Massacre" where Boston dominated 148-114. I remember watching that game with my father, both of us stunned into silence. Most teams would have collapsed after such a devastating loss, but what made this Lakers squad special was their resilience. Pat Riley made crucial adjustments, and the Lakers won four of the next five games.
This brings me to something I've been thinking about lately regarding athlete health and longevity. While researching for this piece, I came across the story of former PBA enforcer Ramon "Onchie" dela Cruz, who's currently seeking government assistance for his total knee replacement surgery. It reminded me that these epic battles we celebrate come at a tremendous physical cost to the athletes. Kareem played until he was 42, but today we're understanding more about the long-term consequences of such careers. Dela Cruz's situation highlights how professional sports organizations and governments need better systems to support athletes after their playing days—especially those from less lucrative leagues who still gave their bodies to the sport they loved.
What made the 1985 Finals particularly meaningful was how it represented a passing of the torch. The Celtics had been dominant at Boston Garden for years, but the Lakers finally broke through by winning Game 6 on the parquet floor—their first-ever championship victory in Boston. I've always believed this moment psychologically shattered the "Celtic mystique" that had haunted the Lakers for so long. Magic's performance in that clinching game—14 assists, 14 points, and that iconic embrace with Kareem—remains one of my favorite basketball memories of all time.
The economic impact of that series was staggering too—the television ratings reached approximately 35 million viewers for Game 6, with advertising spots selling for what was then a record $325,000 per 30-second commercial. The cultural significance extended beyond basketball, influencing fashion, music, and even racial dynamics in sports media. As a young journalist at the time, I witnessed how this series helped basketball transition from a niche sport to mainstream American entertainment.
Thinking about Dela Cruz's knee struggles and the physical price these athletes pay, I can't help but reflect on how differently we treat sports legends versus role players. While Magic, Kareem, and Bird secured their financial futures, many supporting players from that era now deal with chronic health issues without the same safety nets. The average career length for NBA players during the 80s was only about 4.5 years, and the wear-and-tear from those intense playoff runs like the 1985 Finals often led to lifelong medical issues.
When I discuss this series with younger fans today, they often focus on the highlight reels—Magic's baby hook, McHale's physical post moves, Worthy's fast breaks. But for those of us who lived through it, the 1985 NBA Finals represented something deeper—the culmination of a rivalry that defined an era, the satisfaction of redemption, and the beginning of the Lakers' dominance that would continue through the decade. The Lakers' 1985 victory wasn't just another championship; it was validation for an entire organization and fanbase that had endured years of Celtic superiority.
The legacy of that series continues to influence how modern teams approach roster construction and playoff strategy. The way Pat Riley managed his veteran squad—giving Kareem strategic rest throughout the season—set precedents for load management that teams still follow today. Meanwhile, stories like Dela Cruz's remind us that behind every historic sports moment are human beings who eventually face the physical consequences of their athletic dedication. As we celebrate these iconic championships, we should also advocate for better post-career support systems that honor the sacrifices these athletes made for our entertainment.