When Magic Johnson announced his retirement from the NBA in November 1991 after testing positive for HIV, the basketball world was stunned. Earvin “Magic” Johnson wasn’t just a player; he was the face of basketball, a five-time champion, a Finals MVP, a smile that lit up arenas, and a transcendent talent who, alongside Larry Bird, carried the league into a new era.
But in the early 1990s, HIV/AIDS was cloaked in fear, misunderstanding, and stigma. The announcement didn’t just end a career, it exposed the ignorance of an entire society, including many within the NBA.
Former NBA center Rony Seikaly, who played for the Golden State Warriors among other teams, recently opened up in an interview with Peter Alonso Padel about that turbulent time and how players responded to Magic’s diagnosis. And he didn’t sugarcoat it.
“So basically, when Magic retired because of HIV, a lot of players and people just didn’t understand the disease. Nobody knew how it was transmitted, whether you could get infected by touch or sweat, so everyone just kept their distance. Most of the players pushed away from him.”
“For me, growing up, Magic Johnson was the NBA. Him and Larry Bird. So watching players distance themselves from Magic, it wasn’t something I was proud of.”
“I could see he was still working out, still trying to stay close to the game, and I just wanted to give him a hug. I mean, this wasn’t something he chose. The reaction from people was what hurt; it was just bad.”
“One day in LA, he was shooting before a game. Obviously, he wasn’t playing, but he was so addicted to basketball that he just had to be out there.”
“He was playing by himself in the arena. So I got there way before tip-off and said, ‘I’m here. I want to play with you. You can go as hard as you want. I’m going to push you. I’m going to shove you. Let’s play one-on-one.’”
“And the look he gave me, it was like no one had done that for him before. It meant the world to him. Just to have a player who didn’t treat him like he was contagious. Who just wanted to play with him. That moment meant so much.”
Back then, the fear was visceral. HIV was wrongly associated solely with specific communities. Misinformation ruled the day, and even physical contact was viewed as potentially dangerous. For Magic, the disease not only ended his full-time NBA career but alienated him from the very brotherhood he helped elevate.
But unlike many of his peers, Seikaly didn’t let fear win. In fact, one gesture of human compassion still resonates with him decades later.
Seikaly’s quiet gesture went against the grain of the league’s cautious, and sometimes cruel, reaction. Even during Magic’s celebrated return at the 1992 NBA All-Star Game, a powerful moment in NBA history, some players privately expressed reservations about playing against him.
Seikaly, however, saw something else. He saw the man who brought joy to the game. The leader who turned Showtime into a dynasty. And the human being who didn’t choose the cards he was dealt.
In hindsight, Seikaly’s response has aged like gold. As medical understanding evolved and public perception caught up, Magic became a symbol of strength, not fear. He returned for a brief stint with the Lakers in 1996 and has since built a business empire while becoming a champion for HIV/AIDS awareness.
Yet it’s worth remembering moments like the one Seikaly described, when compassion cut through ignorance. When a one-on-one pickup game became a lifeline of solidarity. And when a player chose dignity over distance.
Magic Johnson may have been avoided by many in 1991. But he was never alone.
