The Drugs, Sex, and Swagger of the 1980s Lakers--Plus How They'd Match Up to the Miami Heat Today

They were one of the greatest NBA teams to ever take the hardwood. And last week, the travails of the 1980s Lakers—including Magic Johnson, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and coach Pat Riley—put sports writer Jeff Pearlman pretty instantly back on the New York Times bestseller list. We talked to the former Sports Illustrated columnist about Showtime, his buzzy new Lakers book that charts the electric stylings and all-time influence of that dynastic Los Angeles team. Read his take on the players’ sex lives, their on-court rivalries, and one infamous GQ cover that helped sink Riley’s likeability. Highlights:

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In his autobiography, A View From Above, Wilt Chamberlain said he slept with 20,000 women. From the sounds of it in your book Showtime, it appears the 1980's Lakers weren't far off from that tally. Just how large of a role did sex play with this team?

Well, a lot. But also not a lot. Here's what I mean: The Lakers were superstars in a hot city at a time when HIV awareness wasn't there yet, and groupies were at their peak of popularity. There were women in hotel lobbies, women outside the arena, women in the arena. Everywhere. And they wanted to have sex. So Lakers players did—often. But. . . it wasn't all that unusual in the world of pro sports. The Knicks, I'm guessing, had lots of sex. And the Cavs. And even the Clippers—well, maybe not the Clippers. But most teams. So there was a lot of infidelity going around the league, and I'm not sure the Lakers were incredibly unique in that regard. They just happened to have a superstar who wound up with HIV. Which brings a huge amount of extra attention to the behavior.

The fact that the team’s owner, Dr. Jerry Buss, was often seen with a cadre of women half his age by his side didn't change that impression, either. But Buss did more than just date these women. He put them through college, helped them get on their feet in LA. What made Dr. Buss so unique as an owner?

People use words like visionary far too often, but he was a visionary. When he purchased the franchise in 1979, he said he wanted people who were visiting Hollywood to see a celebrity to know they'd have that at a Lakers game. He got rid of the organ player and started using the USC marching band. Then he piped in rock music. He started the Laker Girls. The NBA today—loud, annoying, shit flying through the air, Miley Cyrus blasted beyond human capacity. . . that's all Buss's vision of making the NBA entertainment, not merely sport. He was the first to see it. Pure genius.

But he also stayed out of the way of basketball decisions, and trusted those around him to make wise decisions. His own big interference, player-wise, was when he nearly traded James Worthy to Dallas for Mark Aguirre and Roy Tarpley. [General manager] Jerry West learned of the deal, told Buss not to do it—and he didn't. Great owner.

This wasn't the 1950s, it was the ’80s. And yet, the Lakers players' wives seemingly all understood “the deal”—how'd Pat Riley effect that?

At the start of every season, Riley held a dinner at a restaurant the team would rent out for the evening. The wives and girlfriends would be there with the players, and Riley would give a long, pepped-up speech about everyone's roles in winning a championship. The men were required to focus on basketball—and only basketball. And the women, in Riley's words, were equally important as distraction buffers. Kid crying at 2 a.m.? Woman gets up. Man hungry? Woman makes a snack. Now, what went unspoken was also, "What happens on the road stays on the road." Translation: don't ask too many questions; don't add drama to a blissful ride. And, if you behave, the result will be rings and money and glory for all. A bit cultish.

James Worthy's wife eventually had enough, though. What was the last straw for her and the Lakers' star forward?

Worthy was busted in a prostitution sting in Houston, and she was mortified. Angela is no joke—she's tough and independent, and sometimes rubbed other wives wrongly because she didn't just go with the flow. There were certainly NBA wives who would have stuck with a James Worthy after such a circumstance. Angela, however, didn't want her daughters thinking it was OK to treat a woman that way. So she left, and later wrote an excellent book about empowering women. I admire her greatly.

It's hard to even grasp this happening in today's NBA, but several of the 80's Lakers dabbled in hard drugs. Is Spencer Haywood the tragic hero in this team's legacy?

Not the hero—just tragic. He waited his entire career for a chance to play with a team like the Lakers, and when he got there Los Angeles and the nightlife and the drugs just ate him alive. He wanted to do the right things—he genuinely did—but addiction is a beast. It's funny—my mom is an addiction specialist, and I spent my youth hearing about drugs and how they grab you and never let go. This was the best—and worst—example of that I've ever seen. He had it all. He lost it all.

Derek Jeter's about to embark on a farewell tour for his final MLB season. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's last campaign wasn't exactly comfortable. What made the NBA's all-time leading scorer so hard for fans to love?

Well, he treated them like liquid crap. Repeatedly, and without fail. The Lakers used to fly commercial, so they'd be in the airports among the people. One after another, folks would approach, asking for autographs. Magic signed and signed. Cooper signed and signed. Mike Smrek, Billy Thompson, Earl Jones, Mark Landsberger—all signed, and signed with a smile. Kareem told people to bug off, to get away. He hid in bathroom stalls, sitting on the toilets with a book. I don't entirely blame him—he was a museum piece for years, poked and prodded and ridiculed. He faced tons of racism, was taunted with "Lou ... Lou" years after changing his name. It wasn't easy. But he never adjusted, and there's a reason he could never land a real NBA gig, despite being very intelligent and accomplished.

Pat Riley is the only NBA head coach to ever grace this magazine's cover, but that didn't go over well with the players. Why'd his _GQ _cover rub them the wrong way?

By that time, Riley was well on his way to becoming something he hadn't always been—an egomaniacal "genius" (sorta self-proclaimed) who was no longer in on the joke. See, that's the thing that kills a lot of sports figures that go from cool to dolt—they forget how none of this is especially important. Guys who have perspective, who realize making millions of dollars to dress in glorified pajamas and catch a round object, are the ones who sustain and rarely wear out their welcomes. Riley once was that guy, and somewhere along the way he bought into his own hype. He began treating players like children, even when they were in their 30s. He stopped listening to suggestions. By the end of his time as the head coach, he was genuinely loathed by Laker players who thought his whole act had grown stale. He wasn't a genius. Merely a really excellent hoops coach.

There are rumblings within NBA circles of legitimate hostility between LeBron James and Kevin Durant. Everyone assumed Magic Johnson and Isiah Thomas were best of friends, but it wasn't always the case. How and why did that relationship sour?

Well, they were close for a long stretch—used to vacation together, spend a lot of time together. But they were also hardened competitors and pretty opposite personalities. Magic Johnson was the real deal—fierce and insanely intense, but kind, warm, universally beloved. Great smile. Thomas also had a great smile, but he was—frankly—largely full of shit. Not to be trusted, hated by a lot of guys in the league. The relationship took a major hit when Thomas talked trash about Larry Bird, making a case that he was overrated because he was white. Magic and Bird weren't close, but there was a bond—Michigan State–Indiana State, entering the league together, Boston-Lakers clashes—between Johnson and Bird. When Thomas made those comments, Magic called Bird and made clear he didn't agree. The Magic-Thomas relationship was never the same.

Could the 1980s Lakers compete with the LeBron-Wade-Bosh Miami Heat team that's won the NBA title the past two seasons?

Oh my God. Could they compete? The Heat are two great players, one very good player and a bunch of role players. The Lakers had two of the top five players of all time—Kareem and Magic. James Worthy is a top-thirty player. Jamaal Wilkes, Bob McAdoo—both top 100. Kurt Rambis was painfully underrated. Norm Nixon was one of the best point guards of the 1980s, Byron Scott an elite shooter, Michael Cooper may well be the best perimeter defender of all time. They ran guys off the bench who were legit NBA players—Tony Campbell went on to the Wolves and averaged 20 a game. David Rivers dominated Italy. Mitch Kupchak could brawl with anyone. Mychal Thompson was a stud. Pat Riley was a smart, savvy coach who got everything out of his players. If the Lakers play the Heat, Cooper sticks LeBron (even outweighed by 500 pounds) and the Lakers take off the roll. Not even close.

You've opened the doors and given readers full access to the 90s Cowboys, the '86 Mets, and the 1980s Lakers. What's next for you?

The Shannon Hoon biography I've always dreamed of.