SI Flashback: The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

This article originally appeared in Sports Illustrated on June 29, 1987.

With a classic clash of styles, the NBA finals offered a feast for the fan's imagination -- Larry a Laker? Magic a Celtic? -- and food for thought on the subject of race, which cropped up again

Great NBA Finals are supposed to last seven games, of which at least six should be close; this year's series lasted only six, of which 3� were close. Even so, because of the nature of the matchups -- the difference in the styles of the two teams -- this series was in no way disappointing. The good games were so very good, and even the runaway games so resembled a clinic, that it was nothing less than the best against the best. A fan can ask no more.

Using only five men to any significant extent, exhausted and physically worn down as the series began, the Celtics had to play almost perfect basketball in every area to win, and they did that twice and almost a third time. For the younger, deeper, faster Lakers, the challenge was comparable: The Celtics are so tough and resilient that if the Lakers lapsed even a small degree, particularly on defense, the Celtics might capitalize and win. The Lakers were the better team, but only if they played their absolute best. Any lowering of their level and the Celtics would break through and win.

It was the kind of playoff series that showcases great athletes at the top of their game.

The Lakers were and are that good. They are a team of such speed and power that when they are playing their game, it seems almost not to matter who their opponents are. With the Lakers at their best, one has a sense of watching basketball as it will be played in the next century.

During one stretch of Game 1, Larry Bird hit 11 shots in a row. Normally that kind of shooting from an established superstar can crush the opposition; in this case it did not even dent the Lakers

They have become one of the most exciting teams in NBA history, one that can take control of a game in a matter of minutes. In the past it was the hallmark of the Celtics to drive through the opposition when it began to wilt and break a game open. In this series the Lakers returned the favor.

In the eight years since Magic Johnson joined them, the Lakers have won four championships and have been a powerful if somewhat schizophrenic team. They were, in most matters of critical importance, a Kareem team, bringing the ball upcourt at a steady pace and then setting Abdul-Jabbar up for a skyhook (a style perilously close to one which, were they the Celtics, would be called white basketball). But they were also a Magic team, one that showcased the latest in American athletic advancement, the 6 ft. 9 in. point guard who grabs the rebound himself and pushes it relentlessly upcourt, on occasion sacrificing control for tempo. Until this year that conflict between the two faces of the Lakers had never been entirely reconciled. It cost one coach, Paul Westhead (who had too clearly sided with Kareem), his job, and it reflected Pat Riley's skill as a coach that he was able to balance the two forces, paying homage to the Kareem team, while expediting the emergence of the Magic team.

This year the Lakers finally were Magic's team: Speed is power, power is speed. Slowly the cast had changed. Michael Cooper had emerged; A.C. Green and James Worthy had been added. Even Mychal Thompson, the most important pickup by either team this year, once was strong enough to play center yet was fast enough to play small forward at times. One had, at certain moments, a sense of watching a prototype of a different breed of athlete -- strong, fast, disciplined -- playing at a level of stunning intensity, with surprisingly few turnovers. If the Knicks of the late '60s could be described as four guards and one forward ( Willis Reed), then this was often a team of four forwards led by a point guard who could, in a very recent era, have played power forward.