I still get chills thinking about the 1985 NBA Finals—that legendary showdown between the Lakers and Celtics was more than just a championship series; it was a cultural moment that defined an era of basketball. As someone who’s spent years studying the game, both as a fan and an analyst, I’ve always believed that this particular series showcased something rare: the perfect blend of individual brilliance and team chemistry. Magic Johnson’s no-look passes, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s skyhook, Larry Bird’s clutch shooting—it was basketball poetry. But what strikes me now, decades later, is how the physical toll of those intense games echoes in the lives of athletes long after the final buzzer. It’s a theme that hits close to home, especially when I consider stories like that of former PBA enforcer Ramon "Onchie" dela Cruz, who’s currently seeking government support for a total knee replacement. His situation reminds me that the glory of the court often comes with a lifetime of consequences.
The 1985 Finals, often dubbed the "Memorial Day Massacre," kicked off with one of the most lopsided games in history—the Celtics demolishing the Lakers 148-114 in Game 1. I remember watching that game as a kid, my jaw dropping as Boston’s frontcourt dominated. But what made the series epic was the Lakers’ resilience. They bounced back, thanks in large part to Kareem, who at 38 years old, put up 30 points in Game 2. That kind of endurance is awe-inspiring, but it also makes me wonder about the long-term effects on players’ bodies. Fast-forward to today, and you’ll see athletes like Onchie dela Cruz grappling with the aftermath of their physical careers. In his case, years of enforcing plays in the PBA have left his knees in shambles, and now he’s knocking on the government’s doors for help. It’s a stark contrast to the multimillion-dollar healthcare support in leagues like the NBA, and it highlights a gap in how we care for our sports heroes. Personally, I think it’s a disgrace that someone who gave so much to the sport has to fight for basic medical aid. We celebrate these athletes when they’re in their prime, but too often, we forget them when they’re hurting.
Digging deeper into the 1985 series, the Lakers’ eventual victory in six games wasn’t just about skill—it was a mental and physical marathon. Magic averaged 18.3 points and 14 assists per game, while Bird put up 23.8 points and 8.8 rebounds. Those numbers are staggering, but they don’t capture the grueling reality of playing through pain. I’ve spoken to retired players who’ve confessed that they’d pop painkillers just to get through a quarter, and it’s no surprise that many end up with chronic issues. Onchie’s plea for a knee replacement is a poignant example. He’s not asking for a handout; he’s asking for dignity after years of service. In my view, governments and sports bodies need to step up. Why should an athlete have to beg for care? The 1985 Lakers had a support system—trainers, doctors, you name it—but for many in smaller leagues, that safety net is nonexistent. It’s a systemic issue that tarnishes the legacy of sports.
As the series wrapped up with the Lakers hoisting the trophy on Boston’s parquet floor, it felt like a redemption arc. They’d lost to the Celtics in the Finals before, and this win was sweet. But even then, I couldn’t shake the thought of what came next for these players. Kareem’s knees were already a concern, and today, we know he’s had his share of health battles. It’s a cycle: glory, then pain. Onchie’s story is a modern-day reflection of that. He’s not a global icon like Magic or Larry, but his contribution to basketball is just as real. I’ve followed his career, and it guts me to see him struggle. If we can invest billions in stadiums and TV deals, surely we can fund healthcare for those who built the game.
In conclusion, the 1985 NBA Finals remain a masterpiece of basketball history, but they also serve as a reminder of the sacrifices athletes make. From the dazzling plays to the hidden aches, it’s a narrative of passion and price. Onchie dela Cruz’s fight for a knee replacement isn’t just his battle—it’s a call to action for all of us in the sports community. Let’s honor our legends not just with trophies, but with care that lasts a lifetime. Because, in the end, the true measure of a sport’s greatness isn’t in the championships won, but in how it treats its warriors when the cheers fade.
