Reliving the 1987 NBA Champions' Epic Journey to Basketball Glory

I still remember the day the Los Angeles Lakers announced their championship celebration plans—it was a Wednesday morning when the official press release hit my desk. As someone who has studied basketball history for over two decades, that announcement felt like reopening a time capsule from one of the most remarkable seasons in NBA history. The 1987 Lakers weren't just champions; they represented basketball perfection at a time when the league was undergoing its most significant transformation since the merger era.

What made that team special wasn't just their 65-17 regular season record or their eventual championship banner. It was how they played the game. Having watched countless hours of game footage from that era, I've always believed Pat Riley's squad perfected the concept of "Showtime" basketball better than any team before or since. Magic Johnson's court vision was simply supernatural—I'd argue we haven't seen a passer with his combination of size and creativity since he retired. His 23.9 points and 12.2 assists per game during the regular season don't even tell the full story of his impact. When you watch those old tapes, what strikes you is how he controlled the tempo like a conductor leading an orchestra, always finding the exact right moment to push the pace or slow things down.

The Western Conference playoffs that year demonstrated why this team deserved its place among basketball's elite. They swept Denver in the first round, then handled Golden State in five games before facing their toughest test against the Seattle SuperSonics. That conference finals series went the full distance, with Game 4 standing out in my memory as particularly emblematic of their championship DNA. Down by 12 points in the fourth quarter, Magic simply decided the Lakers weren't losing that game. He took over in ways that statistics can't fully capture, making the right pass every single time down the floor while also hitting clutch shots when the defense sagged off.

What often gets overlooked about that team was their defensive versatility. When people talk about Showtime, they focus on the fast breaks and flashy passes, but Michael Cooper's defensive presence was absolutely vital. I'd put his perimeter defense against any wing player in league history—his ability to disrupt passing lanes while staying in front of quicker guards was something special. He averaged just 1.3 steals per game that season, but his impact went far beyond the box score. Opposing teams had to completely redesign their offensive sets just to account for where he was on the floor.

The NBA Finals against the Boston Celtics created what I consider the most compelling rivalry in basketball history. These weren't just two teams competing for a trophy; they represented completely different philosophies about how the game should be played. The Celtics with their methodical, physical style against the Lakers' fluid, uptempo approach made for must-see television even before that term became popular. Game 4 at the Boston Garden remains one of the most iconic moments in NBA lore—Magic's junior sky hook over Kevin McHale and Robert Parish with seconds remaining essentially sealed the series. I've spoken with players from both teams about that shot, and what stands out is how everyone knew exactly what was coming, yet nobody could stop it.

Statistics from that championship run still impress me every time I revisit them. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, at 40 years old, averaged 19.2 points while playing 32 minutes per game in the finals. James Worthy's 23-6-4 stat line throughout the playoffs demonstrated why he was the perfect wing complement to Magic's playmaking. But beyond the numbers, what made this team extraordinary was their chemistry. Having interviewed several players from that squad over the years, I'm convinced their off-court relationships translated directly to their on-court success. They genuinely enjoyed playing together in a way that's rare among championship teams.

The legacy of the 1987 Lakers extends far beyond their single championship season. They set the standard for how modern basketball could be played at the highest level, blending individual brilliance with collective purpose in ways that influenced generations of teams that followed. When the organization announced those anniversary celebrations last Wednesday, it wasn't just about honoring a championship team—it was about recognizing a group that fundamentally changed how basketball is played and perceived. Their fast-break philosophy directly inspired today's pace-and-space era, and their star-driven yet unselfish approach became the blueprint for building superteams in subsequent decades.

Looking back now, what strikes me most about that team is how they managed to be both dominant and entertaining simultaneously—a combination that's much rarer than people realize. Too often, championship teams sacrifice aesthetic appeal for pragmatic success, or vice versa. The 1987 Lakers proved you could achieve both at the highest level. Their games weren't just competitions; they were events that transcended sports. When Magic pushed the ball upcourt with that trademark smile, or Kareem released his unstoppable skyhook, you weren't just watching basketball—you were witnessing artistry in motion.

The Wednesday announcement about commemorating their achievement feels particularly timely in today's NBA landscape. As the league continues to evolve toward positionless basketball and three-point dominance, there's something refreshing about revisiting a team that excelled through ball movement, interior scoring, and transition excellence. The 1987 Lakers demonstrated that beautiful basketball and winning basketball could be the same thing, a lesson that remains relevant for today's teams chasing championship glory. Their journey wasn't just about winning a title—it was about perfecting an approach to the game that continues to influence how basketball is played nearly four decades later.