LOS ANGELES – 1987: The 1986-87 World Champions of basketball Los Angeles Lakers pose for a team portrait at the Forum in Los Angeles, California in 1987. Front row (L-R): Owner Jerry Buss, Kurt Rambis, James Worthy, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Michael Cooper, Byron Scott, Earvin (Magic) Johnson, Assistant Coach Bill Bertka. Back Row: Head Coach Pat Riley, Wes Matthews, Billy Thompson, A. C. Green, Mike Smrek, Mychal Thompson, Adrian Branch, Assistant Coach Randy Pfund, Trainer Gary Vitti. (Photo by NBAE/Getty Images)
I’m not saying the Los Angeles Lakers should hand out roster spots based on melanin levels. And yes, Black folks need sunscreen too. But there’s something worth examining about how a franchise built on the backs of the coolest Black men in sports history ended up looking like the NBA’s first squad sponsored by Vermont.
White players aren’t the problem. The difference is that Black stars defined what the Lakers meant. They weren’t just a basketball team—they were a cultural force. In 1987, I got into a legitimate fistfight with my cousin Ken over the Celtics versus Magic and Showtime. We tussled. Everybody Black was riding with the Lakers. Ken was a contrarian, so I punched him. It was unwise since he was ten years older, but he’d upset my Black sensibilities. Nearly 40 years later, I’m left asking: What exactly is JJ Redick, Josh Kushner, and Bob Iger putting on the court?
Luka Dončić, Austin Reaves, and Jake LaRavia. These are the whitest white dudes that ever did white. They don’t even have a player who goes to a Black barber.
Look, no shade. These guys can play. Luka is a certified bucket-getter on the court. But cultural connection to Black fans? That’s a different conversation entirely.
The Lakers became Black America’s darling because the team represented melanated excellence. Magic Johnson and the Showtime Lakers put Black men at the center of the NBA’s biggest spectacle. Then came Shaq and Kobe, giving us another generation of unapologetic Black greatness. You didn’t have to live in Los Angeles to love them. They were a cultural institution, a reminder that Black men could command the spotlight and be the biggest stars in the world.
The team that once dripped with swag and showcased Black excellence now looks like it was assembled by a committee that thinks diversity means putting hot sauce on a turkey sandwich.
The Lakers can win games, sell jerseys, and hang another banner. But the team that once made Black America feel like it owned a piece of Hollywood has some explaining to do. The only thing Showtime about these Lakers is how quickly they’re showing Black fans the exit.
★TR★
