For Earvin Johnson, the Magic continues

Magic Johnson is making the media rounds this week as NBA All-Star Weekend approaches, the 20th anniversary of his emotional return after his HIV diagnosis. He seems to have more than usual to talk about, even by his standards.

So much that he managed to slide one topic out there almost unobtrusively, on Twitter Tuesday afternoon, while the basketball world was still buzzing about Jeremy Lin, inappropriate headlines, All-Star snubs and anonymous dunkers:

He’s launching his own television network.

— MAGIC'S ADVICE FOR KOBE AND JIM BUSS

Airing on Comcast systems this summer, it’s named “Aspire”—and it fits him perfectly. Of all the superstars this country has seen, Magic might be having the greatest post-playing career of them all.

If you are, or were, a big-time athlete in his time or this one, and you aren’t following in his footsteps and yearning to make the absolute most out of the peak of your ability, fame and earning power … then why aren’t you?

He’s 52 years old, he last dribbled a ball in a game that mattered 16 years ago—and that in a short, ill-advised comeback—and he seems busier now than during any of his nine trips to the Finals. Once Magic, the Maestro of Showtime, he’s now Earvin, the Entrepreneur.

There’s Magic Johnson Enterprises, whose stamp is on places like Starbucks, TGIFriday’s, Best Buy and, of course, Magic Johnson Theatres. There’s the Magic Johnson Foundation, tying him in with charities all over the world.

When Don Cornelius died earlier this month, Magic was all over the air, print and cyberspace, because he bought the Soul Train brand last year. If you live out west and want to get started working out, you have the option of joining a 24-Hour Fitness branch operated by him. He oversaw the Fatburger franchise for a time.

Yes, he’s owned a burger joint and a chain of gyms. What’s your point?

There’s lots more. Johnson is part of Los Angeles’ campaign to get an NFL franchise. He is deeply engaged in NASCAR’s diversity program. He is the public face of one of the ownership groups trying to buy the Dodgers.

In a conference call Wednesday, he told reporters that he was not just a famous name to slap onto the bid. “Will I be involved? You bet. Will it be day-to-day? Yes,” he said.

Of course. While he owned part of the Lakers (until selling it before last season), he was far from the silent partner; he spoke his mind, often through his network TV pulpit. That pulpit has gotten bigger over the years—once a (deservedly) maligned game analyst and then in-studio straight man for Charles Barkley, he’s now the centerpiece of the ABC/ESPN studio show.

Allen Iverson, he’s not.

Or Mark Brunell, or Antoine Walker or Lenny Dykstra or anyone else on the list of athletes who either carelessly waste or catastrophically mismanage their fortunes. Such lists seem to grow constantly, serving as cautionary tales to some and sources of amusement to others. Either way, the question raised is: How?

Magic—Earvin—must ask the same thing.

Yet … he also isn’t Michael Jordan. Or Larry Bird. Or Isiah Thomas, his onetime closest friend. Or Wayne Gretzky, Joe Montana, Arnold Palmer, Joe DiMaggio, Cal Ripken, or any of the other athletes held up as the standard for handling the money they made, and the long post-retirement life it had to sustain.

Not to belittle any of them. But … your own TV network? Like Oprah?

As principal owner of an NBA team—even a bad one—it would seem hard to put Jordan behind anybody on any list. It’s tempting to throw all that Nike money, power and influence onto that to vault him to the top. But no matter how much Jordan generates—and how much it put him in position to buy the Bobcats—it’s still Phil Knight’s company.

And his roots are still planted deep in the game he played. Magic—if you’ll excuse the pun—has branched far, far from basketball. Again, revel in the dichotomy: Soul Train and NASCAR.

Also, can you knock Bird, Magic’s great rival and friend, for his success as an NBA coach who reached the Finals, then as an executive who tore a franchise down and rebuilt it into a contender? Not at all.

Magic is just in another league.

One that, it’s worth reminding, few thought he’d be around to play in 20 years ago.

“I think the biggest joy,” he said, “is that I’m still here, and (not just) the work that we’ve been able to do, both in the HIV and AIDS world, but in the work in urban America. I think those two have been the biggest joys.”

Magic Johnson has a post-career life that, on every conceivable level, exceeds expectations.

Then again, maybe the rest of the sports world—including his fellow superstars—should adjust those expectations.