This story originally appeared in SLAM 27, from August of 1998. Shop the whole Knicks x SLAM collection here.

The Zoo Bar. DC. April ’91.

A fight broke out. Black v. white. No chairs were thrown, no one got hurled across the room, no one’s ass got kicked either. But in this case, I started the fight.

UNLV had just lost to Duke. Me and my boy Rollie decided to drown out our sorrows at a spot we knew stayed open late and walked into an unsuspecting crowd of Duke fans, all-white Duke fans, all-white and drunk Duke fans. One “dude” came up to us while we were at the bar, ordering our first beers, and ecstatically said, “We beat the hell out of those…..! Duke rules!”

His scream of passion soon turned into a scream of pain. One quick blow to the dome changed a jubilant situation into an unbalanced war. With Rollie and I the only brothas in the place, it was an us against them confrontation. As we were escorted out of the bar, asked that we “never show our black asses in there again,” I threw a bottle in the direction of the crowd that wanted me dead. “This one’s for Larry Johnson!” I screamed. “This one’s for Larry Johnson!”

Larry Johnson was the first player ever to grace the cover of this magazine. He was it. All of it. The next Jordan, the pre-Kobe, the truth. That was four years and 26 issues ago. “Larry Johnson Livin’ Large” was the cover line. The tag line: “Best on his team? How about the league, fool?” Thangs done changed like mood rangs since then. Larry Johnson is not the same player he once was; the NBA is not the same league.

I went to LJ for answers, because it has never been confirmed what actually has gone wrong with his game. He’s always publicly said that nothing’s wrong, he’s fine. That he’s the same player he always has been, just playing different. Whatever. Dig deep into the LJ saga, and theories pop up like fights on Jerry Springer.

THE CONTRACT

The theory here is that contracts change players—not all players, but enough of them. Especially when it’s what many consider a ground-breaking, earth-shattering, too-much-money, Jon Koncak contract. There’s a different type of pressure and expectation that often comes with signing for new cheddar that no professional athlete will ever acknowledge. But contracts and history combined don’t lie.

David Thompson was never the same after he signed that $800,000 contract (then again, maybe Dennis Johnson had something to do with that); neither was Moses Malone, Larry Bird or Oscar Robertson, even though their new money came to them as payback instead of on potential. More recently, let’s see: Juwan Howard, Horace Grant, Travis Knight, Brian Williams, Greg Ostertag, Michael Jordan (just joking), etc. But on the real, the money and the pressure can make the best regress. Larry Johnson has to fall into this theory. There are other circumstances, but the fact remains that, even though he’s probably underpaid right now, the money got to his game—a little bit.

THE INJURY

Larry Johnson had never been injured in his career, never. Never missed a game before. When his back went out, much like Larry Bird’s, there was no coming back (no pun). At least not at the same level. Larry Johnson did not inflict a back injury upon himself on purpose. Sometimes in life, shit happens. LJ’s shit happened to his back, and it happened right after he signed that 12-year, $84M contract. Had LJ’s back gone out on him after he lived up to “the best player in the League” hype, after Charlotte had won a ring or two, after his fourth All-Star Game, then maybe he would have been given some benefit of the doubt. Maybe.

But since then, the theory is that his explosiveness and hops are gone. He’s still better than 80 percent of the rest of the League, but it’s not convincing enough to anyone who watches LJ play that the injury didn’t fuck his game up.

THE TRADE

More than coming to NY, maybe it was the leaving Charlotte that affected LJ. All of a sudden, he went from having an entire franchise being built around him to being just another forward backing up Patrick. He went from “The Man” to the man sittin’ next to the man that’s sittin’ next to the man who’s ahead of him. He was no longer the solution, just a part of the answer. Mentally, that can get to anyone, especially when you’re traded to New York and can’t avoid media people like Lupica and Vecsey, who hated LJ’s black ass all along.

THE SHOE COMPANY

Converse took Johnson on as the company’s marketing tool for the ’90s. They did a TV commercial with LJ, Magic Johnson and Larry Bird back in the day; it never aired. Said LJ was the combination/creation of Bird and Magic: Bird’s first name, Magic’s last; Bird’s scoring, Magic’s passing. The concept was dope. But maybe bad timing or straight back luck in his association with Converse explains what really happened to LJ’s game. Converse’s client roster reads like Schleprock’s Christmas list: Anthony Mason (drama), Kevin Johnson (injuries), Isaiah Rider (more drama), Dennis Rodman (life). No doubt, the Grandmama concept was a stroke of genius, but Converse’s luck with NBA players has gone south ever since they released Magic from his contract because he tested positive for HIV. Think about it.

THE GOLD TOOTH

When Larry came to NY, he looked at it as a new lease on life, a change of fate. Maybe it’s age, maturity or fear of having it snatched out of his mouth in Bensonhurst, but when LJ let the gold front go, some of his game went with it. Sorta like Darryl Dawkins when the League made him stop sporting gold on the court, he was never the same. LJ’s gold tooth was more than part of his aura, it assisted his strength. Sometimes the smallest, often insignificant things mean the most. Maybe this theory is reaching too far. Then again, who besides LJ can say that it’s not on-point?

THE CONCEPT OF FAMILY

If you look at Larry Johnson’s career, you will notice that he has always been surrounded by some sort of family on the court. Not biologically, but with teams that have more than just a love of basketball. At Skyline High and Odessa Junior College, there was an embrace. At UNLV, he, Stacey Augmon, Greg Anthony, Anderson Hunt, Moses Scurry were tight like a virgin stuck in traffic. At Charlotte, even though there was some tension between players, the relationship between Muggsy and Larry was infectious enough to make Min. Farrakhan and Jesse Helms agree. Just re-live the moment when ‘Zo hit the shot to beat Boston in the playoffs. Remember the pile-up? That was family. 

Maybe that’s the social environment LJ needs in order to get back what he once had on the court. Maybe Oakley, Starks and Ewing ain’t givin’ up the love Larry needs, or maybe Charlie Ward and Chris Childs ain’t givin’ him the ball in the right places? Maybe (coming from Dallas, Vegas and North Carolina) it’s just too muthafuck’n cold in NY, yo?

THIS MAGAZINE

Of all the theories that are conspicuous (or), this may have the most validity. SLAM magazine has a jinx on it. Just about every player we put on our cover (or even just write about) either falls the fuck off, or something dramatic happens to their game. It started with Timmy Hardaway and Latrell Sprewell. We put them on the cover, they stopped speaking and Don Nelson got fired two days after our interview. Jerry Stackhouse, cover story issue No. 11—what happened? Shawn Kemp, cover story issue No. 14—what happened? Our touch is lethal. Joe Smith, Christian Laettner, Rafer Alston, Grant Hill. 

Think I’m buggin’? Look at what happened to Kobe’s shine after he made the cover. We put the Nets on the cover two issues ago, and the minute it hit the stands, they lose Jayson Williams and Keith Van Horn and go on the longest losing streak of the season. Even stories that don’t run are like spells. The day after we decide to (finally) put Patrick Ewing on the cover, he breaks his wrist. The Penny Hardaway story was done in December, he returned the day before the story was supposed to be turned in. It got turned in. The next game, he was out for the season. If I were Gary Payton…

I believe this has as much to do with Larry Johnson’s game as any of the aforementioned theories. He graced our cover in January ’94. Now go back and check where everything started to go wrong for him.

“Hello, I’m trying to reach Lori Hamamoto’s office.” “Please hold.” As I’m on hold waiting to speak to the director of all media services for the New York Knicks, I’m thinking about where my Larry Johnson jersey is. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen it, it’s been longer than that since I’ve rocked it. Now, I’m beginning to wonder, why? “Scoop,” Lori’s voice is always a nice one to hear. “What’s up?” I tell her we want to do a piece on LJ. No photo shoot, just 20 minutes on tape. She says she’ll run it by him and call me back.

Two days later, “Larry declined.” Lori calls and springs the news. “What?!? A’ight, here comes a protest story.” I say this to myself. I ask Lori for credentials to the next game, so that I can ask LJ face-to-face why he doesn’t want to do the interview. I don’t want to go Rasheed Wallace on him, because in all honesty I don’t like protest stories. But I’ll flip one when provoked (see Elgin Baylor, page 102). That’s just the bitch in me.

The Knicks vs. Philly, excuse me, versus Iverson. Allen single-handedly brings the Sixers within points of winning the game, but Allan (Houston) and Larry are too much in the end. LJ gets the single game MVP, his picture blown-up large on the MSG scoreboard. 

In the locker room after the game, I roll up on Larry. He’s genuinely happy to see a brotha. “Where you been, Dog?” he spits. “Workin’, you know I ain’t got it like you.” We laugh, give each other pounds. As we semi-huddle at his locker, he puts his arm around me, asking me, “Wassup?” I go for mine, “Lori told me that you aren’t trying to talk to me. That you don’t want to do the story.” With all of the ill-expected answers I had running through my head, protest story on my mind, LJ gives me the most truthful answer any athlete has ever given me.

“Naw man,” he said. “It’s not like that. I’m just chillin’. I just ain’t in the mood to sit down right now. I got a lot of things on my mind, and I’m trying to stay focused on [basketball]. So you know it ain’t nothin’ against you, ’cause we cool. But I’m not talking to anybody right now. I’m just trying to stay focused on what we have to do. Just chillin’, Dog. The minute I stop, I promise you’ll be the first to know. Cool?” I give him the card. “I’ll call you,” he says. I believe him. 

What could I say? I have to respect that. Matter of fact, I respect that more than someone actually granting me an interview then making me feel as if I’m imposing on their time. The man looked me straight in the face and told me the truth, or something that was so genuinely close to it that I believed him. For the next five minutes, LJ and I talked about Master P and No Limit signing Snoop and P’s new sports agency. The locker room is thick with quote-happy media. No other journalists invade our space, no other Knicks are around. LJ must have rules they abide by. As always, the conversation is light and LJ laughs a lot. It’s like every conversation I’ve ever had with him. And although I can find reasons to find “faults” in his game, I can’t front on him as a person. He’s true.

Being true to the game means being honest. LJ being honest in the locker room forced me to look at his game differently. Honestly. Truthfully. To take into consideration all of the theories surrounding his so-called “decline” and discover what’s really going on. And the fact is, Larry Johnson’s game has gone from dominance to prominence. His role is less important, but his value has remained the same—if not increased. He is not the same player that ran the League in ’92, ’93 and ’94, but does that mean that he’s not as important? No. I defended Larry Johnson when I didn’t even know him, when he didn’t know me. I had his back then, I got his back (pun intended) now. Too bad he may be the only one to understand this.

The combination of the back injury and the contract—and the timing of them both—sent the expectations of Larry Johnson’s game out of control. There needs to be some type of empathy. Hell, if no one is complaining about Toni Kukoc’s play and contract, then LJ should not be the topic of anybody’s conversation. By today’s standards, Larry Johnson’s contract is average. So all of us need to stop hatin’ off of the money he’s making.

He’s come to New York as a Knick, not as a superstar. If he had done anything else, he would have been crucified by the press. Everyone stresses the importance of team, but when LJ tries to implement that concept instead of scoring 25 a night, when he tries not to step on Ewing’s, Starks’s and Allan Houston’s toes, or not get in Oakley’s way, when he passes up shots to maintain some sort of flow in the Knicks offense, it’s looked at as him being passive. Not aggressive enough, not “the old” Larry Johnson. Despite the fact that he’s proven over the second half of this season that—if asked—he’ll do what’s necessary for the Knicks to remain a threat. Increasing his scoring average from 11 points to almost 18 points a game since PE went down. Too many of us don’t really understand that it may not be the same, it may not be where we want it to be, but LJ still got game like a Spike Lee joint.

THE PAYOFF

In order to succeed, someone has to take the fall and lessen their role for the betterment of the team; someone has to be that sacrificial lamb. Larry Johnson plays Jesus for the Knicks. What he is doing by choice is no different from what Ron Harper did by accident for the Bulls. Both were superstars with other teams, both in their heydays could not be fucked with (even though Harp’s heyday lasted longer). Harper’s knees left him right before he came to Chicago, but he still found a way to be very valuable to the dictatorship the Bulls are running on the NBA. LJ is playing the same wall. But if you as a reader and a basketball fan cannot look past the theories and see this, see Larry Johnson’s game for what it really is now, then we as a basketball culture are finished. Stop reading.

“LARRY JOHNSON LIVIN’ LARGE.” I pulled out the original issue of SLAM to see where LJ was at that time. Teal uniform, goin’ upstairs for the left-handed dunk in the ’93 Dunk Contest. I smile looking at it. “That’s when he had it,” I tell my 12-year old nephew Brandon as he flips through all of the other issues that are void of significance at this time. 

“Uncle Scoop, why ain’t you all ever do another story on Larry Johnson?” Brandon blurts out. 

“I don’t know,” I answer. “Maybe we’re stupid, but I’m doing one now.”

“For real! He’s not the same as he used to be, is he?” Brandon asks.

I think for a minute, because I know that if Bill Walton had been half as effective after an injury as Larry Johnson is now, he’d be more worshipped by “some people” than he already is today.

“No, Brandon he’s not,” I say, looking at his eyes as they wait on what’s next out of my mouth. “He’s better.”

Brandon looks at me strangely. Shakes his head and goes back to flipping pages in other issues.

Later on that day, the Knicks played Utah. They lost in double overtime. LJ had one of the worst games of his career, but Kentucky beat Duke to go to the Final Four. 

Today was a good day.