When Earvin “Magic” Johnson made his debut for the Los Angeles Lakers in 1979, pro basketball was foundering, the league beset by recreational drug use, lack of star power, and an ailing box office. Arguably the greatest point guard ever, he brought Hollywood to bear on a team that became known as Showtime, his rivalry with Larry Bird and the Boston Celtics elevated the sport into the entertainment business, and he is often credited with reviving the modern NBA. Just the opening chapter of an extraordinary life.
In 1991, Johnson told the world that he was HIV positive. In an era of such spectacular ignorance that Ronald Reagan refused to even acknowledge the epidemic for much of the 1980s, many then still believed the Aids virus could be contracted from contact with a toilet seat. He educated America about the issue. Not only did he inspire many to get tested – the dignified way in which he shouldered his burden turned him into an emblem of how somebody could live with rather than die from the disease. A public health hero across generations. Quite the second act.
In the decades since, Johnson has won nine national championships as part-owner of the Washington Commanders (NFL), the Washington Spirit (NWSL), the Los Angeles Dodgers (MLB), Los Angeles FC (MLS) and the Los Angeles Sparks (WNBA). But his business career will be best remembered for the way in which he used his celebrity to convince corporations such as Starbucks and Sony to partner with him in opening coffee shops and cinemas in under-served African American neighbourhoods. An icon leveraging his status to try to improve the lives of others. A noble third stanza.
All of the above are the reasons why, last Saturday, President Joe Biden hung a Presidential Medal of Freedom around a beaming Johnson’s neck at a ceremony in the White House. The highest civilian honour in America, it is, according to the government, “presented to individuals who have made exemplary contributions to the prosperity, values, or security of the United States, world peace, or other significant societal, public or private endeavours.” If those are the criteria, it seems perhaps timely to ask why Johnson hasn’t received this award before now.
Of course, that question wasn’t posed because everybody was too busy looking at the other 18 people honoured that day and sourcing their own peculiar umbrage. In Ireland, Bono’s recognition, like everything he touches, divided people. Here in America, Hillary Clinton’s presence triggered the dementors in the Republican Party. And in the most Stygian recesses of social media, Elon Musk railed against George Soros making the cut. Even amid all that hand-wringing and caterwauling, surely the most bizarre name on the list was Lionel Messi.
Given the reign of legislative terror about to emanate from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue over the coming weeks, Biden choosing to give the Argentinian genius this accolade shouldn’t be such a big deal. That doesn’t make it any less odd and inexplicable. Previous recipients of this award include Tiger Woods, Michael Jordan, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Mariano Rivera, John Wooden and Arnold Palmer – iconic figures on the national sporting landscape who dominated their respective arenas for decades. Men who transformed the games they played and the country itself in different and enduring ways.
Messi did all that on a global scale, but this is an American prize. Aside from the fact there are dozens of men and women across the US more deserving of this bauble, he only made his debut in Major League Soccer 18 months ago. He has togged out 39 times for Inter Miami, playing less games than Youri Djorkaeff (New York Metrostars), Hristo Stoichkov (Chicago Fire) and the insufferable Zlatan Ibrahimovic (LA Galaxy) managed during their stints here.
His own attitude towards this ceremony captured the strangeness of the whole business. He didn’t turn up to collect it, sending a very polite letter citing scheduling conflicts. Instead, he attended a reunion of his childhood team at Newell’s Old Boys in his hometown of Rosario. Getting together with a bunch of lads he last played with at the age of eight took precedence over receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom. And so it should have. One very obviously meant something dear to him. The other didn’t. And couldn’t possibly have.
The worst part about the entire farrago is the Biden administration tried to justify his inclusion for non-sporting reasons, citing his work supporting “healthcare and education programmes for children around the world through the Leo Messi Foundation, and serving as a Unicef goodwill ambassador”. Obviously, nobody in the White House bothered to Google the Leo Messi Foundation. In 2018, Der Spiegel ran a very detailed investigative piece that trawled through the murky tax affairs and highly irregular carry-on of that so-called charitable institution.
They’d obviously not heard either about his controversial visit to Gabon in 2015, when he earned €3.5 million for hanging with Ali Bongo, the central African nation’s then “president” – an odious dictator renowned for not caring about his citizens in general and children in particular. Or that Messi has trousered multiples of that sum for agreeing to use his brand to promote the charms of Saudi Arabia, a contract specifically preventing him from ever criticising that delightful regime.
Questionable charity bearing his name. Dodgy taxes. Taking easy money from a country trying to sportswash its reputation. Put like that, he does sound kind of presidential after all.
