Game 1: Magic Johnson - Sweet Potato Pie

Magic Johnson stood behind a gaggle of reporters covering coach Luke Walton’s pregame comments. It was April 9th, 2019, the day the Lakers would play the 82nd and final game of a lost season. As he watched in that moment, Magic was the Lakers’ president of basketball operations, but he was and is so much more than that title. To call him the most beloved Laker of all time is to sell the man short. If you tallied every single person to reside in L.A. from its founding as El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles in 1781, Magic is next to Vin Scully as the most universally beloved Angeleno of all time. The amount of joy he’s given to others through his one of a kind athletic ability and NBA titles and humanitarian fundraising and under-served community building is immeasurable. And for all the happiness he’s brought to others, we have given it back to him tenfold. What does it feel like to wake up and know that everybody loves you? Magic can tell you. He’s done it for almost half a century.

But that morning, Magic Johnson woke up and decided he wanted to experience an even greater sense of pleasure: The feeling of quitting a job that you absolutely hate.

Magic enjoying a pre-game hot dog. Not very healthy, but at least it’s not NFL players smoking on the sidelines in the ‘60s!

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Think back to the last job you couldn’t stand. The one that enveloped you in anxiety as you tried to sleep. The type that slapped you awake before you got the crust out of your eyes. Maybe your company profited off the suffering of others. Maybe your boss was racist, sexist, or a creep. Factors like obnoxious coworkers, unethical job duties, and unsafe or unsanitary working conditions probably played a role in the deterioration of your mental health. It might’ve paid well, but even chasing capitalism’s ultimate high  -- financial security -- pales in comparison to a cheaper, faster acting drug: Quitting.

Magic Johnson is a quitter. That sounds like sacrilege, but hear me out. Before quitting as team president, Magic had quit on the Lakers several times before. He quit as head coach of the Lakers in 1994 after going 5-11. He quit as a player on the Lakers three times, mostly due to circumstances out of his control. The first time was after his shocking HIV diagnosis. The second time was because several of his fellow players held unsubstantiated beliefs that him being on the court posed a danger to their lives. The third time, after a surprisingly robust 32-game stint in the 1995-1996 season, he retired for good in a way he describes as “on his own terms.” But that’s sugarcoating the final chapter of his playing career. Magic joined a young team that was initially in awe of him, but soon grew annoyed as he took away their playing time. Magic didn’t retire on his own terms; he retired because he wanted to play point guard. The Lakers, who were weeks away from drafting Derek Fisher to back up the rising young star Nick Van Axel, did not care for that idea.

So instead of signing with another team, the greatest Laker of them all quit. And there’s nothing wrong with that. In the instances of quitting his jobs as team president, head coach, and back-up power forward, Magic didn’t just quit jobs he detested. He quit jobs he felt pressured to do in order to please his family, first his surrogate father, Dr. Jerry Buss, and later, the woman he calls his sister, Jeanie Buss. The Lakers were a mess in 1994 when he agreed to jump in as a gimmick head coach and in 2017 when he became team president. Both times, Magic believed he owed the Buss family these favors to repay what Dr. Buss had given this poor kid from Lansing, MI: Business advice, countless nights out on the town, unconditional support after contracting HIV, and even allowing Magic to buy 4% of the team. The Lakers made him the man he is and, like someone who puts their life on hold to take care of the ailing grandparent who raised them, he returned to try and put his family back in order.

Magic with his real family: wife Cookie and youngest son, Earvin “EJ” Johnson III.

But these basketball-adjacent positions were not Magic wanted to do with his life once he hung up the jersey. In the early 90s, Magic -- and most others -- thought he only had a few years left until he withered and died. Thanks to his wealth in those early years of HIV/AIDS research, he is alive and thriving. He knows he lives on blessed borrowed time and he continues to live, mostly, doing what he wants to do: Spending time with friends and family, building his sprawling $600 million business empire, charitable fundraising, and mentoring young NBA players. Magic was fined multiple times by the NBA for the latter, which the league considered a violation of its tampering rules. But Magic’s breaking point came when he and Rob Pelinka asked Jeanie for permission to fire Luke Walton and she, to his disappointment, said yes.

"(On Wednesday) I would have to affect somebody's livelihood and their life. And I thought about it and I said, 'That's not fun for me. That's not who I am.' And then I don't want to put her in the middle of us, even though she said, 'Hey, you can do what you want to do.' I know she has great love for him and great love for me."

So instead of personally firing Walton (who would be fired three days later), he quit. Magic had taken on a job that required him to do the opposite of what he loved to do: To make people happy. Magic’s signature smile, the one as wide as the L.A. basin, hadn’t been seen in years and it was wearing him down. He didn’t give any notice. He didn’t have anybody in line to replace him. He didn’t even bother telling his boss face-to-face. He sent the equivalent of a 4:50 PM email on a Friday where everybody was scrambling to prepare for the Monday pitch meeting. And I bet it was the best feeling he had in years.

It’s always Friday when you are Earvin “Magic” Johnson.

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In the World Champion Los Angeles Lakers are Cookin’ Family Cookbook, Magic is described as the team’s “official team chef” who regularly invites the team over to his L.A. mansion for a BBQ. “I’ll barbecue steak, chicken, pork ribs, shrimp, anything. I’ll cook for 30 or 40 people. Back home (Lansing, Michigan), I’ve cooked for as many as 200 people, just me working three or four big grills. It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it when it comes out just the way you want it to.”

• Sidenote: The book says “If the Lakers had an official team chef, it would be Magic Johnson.” Meaning that even the flashiest, most successful sports team of the 1980s didn’t have team chefs. They were just expected to eat right before coming to practice/games and to choose wisely on the road. It’s a far cry from sports teams in 2019, who not only have chefs but nutritionists making sure they’re putting the right things in their body. Another thing that was almost unheard of in 1985? Vegan athletes. Today, some of the most prominent NBA vegans include Kyrie Irving, Damian Lillard, and Victor Oladipo, all of them All-Stars.

However, the recipe included within aren’t any of these mouth-watering meat options. Instead, it’s a simple sweet potato pie from his mother, Christine, who, according to the cookbook, taught Magic his group cooking skills.

Sweet Potato Pie

3 medium size sweet potatoes peeled and sliced

½ stick of butter

¼ teaspoon nutmeg

1 egg

½ cup milk

1 9-inch pie shell

1 teaspoon vanilla or lemon flavor

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon flour

½ cup sugar

Boil sweet potatoes until well done; mash while hot. Add butter and mix well. Add remaining ingredients, mix together and put in pie shell. Bake at 350 degrees until brown and set.

So how did I do? Pretty good! I would describe myself as an okay cook, the kind who can master a solid dozen dishes while orbiting around average on the rest. But seeing how I’d never baked before, I was scared of not being as precise as the art needs from its practitioners. It was so tasty, I ate almost half of it before mercifully (for my health) bringing it to a friend’s Autumnal house warming party. Thank you, Mrs. Johnson, for the delicious recipe and for raising a stand-up guy!