Magic Johnson is fat. Not Yo MTV Raps, That joint is phat, man, but Lap-Band fat. When I see Magic on TV, I think of the velvet rope that cordoned off his bedroom from the rest of his life, and how his wife must feel knowing of the thousands of groupies he’s had. I think of triple-doubles and championship rings. But I mostly remember when I was a lifelong Laker devotee watching his press conference. Because of the HIV virus that I have attained… And my initial feeling wasn’t when one of sadness, but of questioning for his redundancy: HIV virus, and for his awkward word choice. One attains fame. One hopes to attain a sense of Nirvana. A deadly disease, not so much. But I wonder if during my scrutiny of superstar Ebonics, that’s the moment words slipped into my bloodstream and infected me the rest of my life. Did I attain the need to write that day, or was it living in me all along? Magic stood at the podium declaring he had to leave the game, but would still be around. And here I am twenty years later, sitting on my couch writing about a fat black man dying(?) of almost AIDS.