How My Buddy and I Snuck into a Laker Game to See a Historic Moment

Friendship forged on whimsical, wild adventure, starting at Dodger Stadium

My college buddy Darryl peered at me with a strange look as if he was about to solve a Rubic’s cube, then said, “I have a kinda crazy idea.”

We were sitting in the top deck seats at Dodger Stadium. Mike Marshall had just smacked a two-run, blast— his second of the night — to give the Dodgers a 6–2 lead over the Montreal Expos on May 12, 1986.

The Dodgers’ crowd erupted again in cheers as the Lakers 87, Rockets 85 NBA playoff score flashed on the scoreboard.

“Um, ok,” I responded. “Let’s hear this crazy idea.”

“Well, brace yourself,” he started. “We are around 15 miles from the Forum. What if we zip out of here and dash over to the Laker-Rockets game, and maybe catch the last five minutes.”

“How do we get in?” I asked. “Secret passageway? Do you know Dr. Buss or at least one of the security guards?”

“Nope. Neither. It’s all about adventure, spontaneity, and living in the moment. We won’t know if we don’t try. What’s the worst that can happen? They don’t let us in? We can catch the end at a pizza parlor or on the radio?” -Darryl Howerton

Daytona 500 run

We jogged out of Dodger Stadium, then raced like Usain Bolt to Darryl’s black 1980 Chevrolet Chevette, thankful it’s the seventh inning, so we avoid even the typical eighth-inning Dodger early leavers as we jump on the 110 Freeway.

Ratt’s “Round and Round” is blaring from the Pioneer car stereo, right as we are pulling into the Great Western Forum. Legendary Chick Hearn announces both Houston’s Hakeem Olajuwon and Laker reserve Mitch Kupchak have been ejected for throwing punches.

“Yes!” Darryl yelled and displayed a giant gleeful smile, as he launches his right hand into the air, then awaits a high five from his co-pilot. “That’s a huge advantage to the Lakers, baby.”

The first obstacle is averted — and the good news — there is not a single soul in sight to ask for the parking fee. The bad news? We had to park against the back fence, and couldn’t have been further away from the famous Forum.

Approaching Oz, er, the Forum

We sprinted like our pants were on fire, weaving in and out of expensive, luxurious cars of all sorts. Finally, closing in on the final 50-yard dash to the welcoming and grand purple door.

Though out of breath, we took a deep breath. And exhaled. Darryl put his hand out like a parent preventing a kid from crossing a street, then said, “Wait.”

He clasped his hands together, closed his hands for, oh, roughly three seconds, then looked over my way and asked, “Ready?”

Darryl grabbed the Forum’s intimidating metal door handle and gave it a gigantic tug and viola. It opened. We felt like bank robbers in a giant heist. I looked around for security guards, policemen, or any other officials that might kick us out, or worst arrest us.

“Just blend in,” I mumbled to Darryl.

“We’re in bro, relax,” Daring Darryl said and just shook his head and chuckled:

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” -Franklin D. Roosevelt

No, Franklin Roosevelt, the only thing we have to fear is seven-foot-four Rocket center Ralph Sampson.

“Time out, Rockets,” we hear Laker announcer Lawrence Tanter’s voice bellowing throughout the Forum.

The smell of beer and pretzels filled the air as we weaseled our way to Section C. An usher was mesmerized by the excitement both on the court and off and couldn’t care less about a bunch of plain-looking 19-year-olds sneaking in the lower seats. For all he knew, we were the kids of some famous movie star, athlete, or rocker.

One second left in the game

The scoreboard read Lakers 112, Rockets 112. Fourth quarter. Time remaining: 00:01. Yes, there was one single second of action left in the game. The Rockets lead the defending champions in the series, 3–1. If the Lakers lost, their season would be over.

We rushed all the way from Dodger Stadium to the Forum to watch one second of basketball. One second. One very important second, however. We were hopeful for overtime to extend the second to five more minutes.

Kenny Loggins’ “Danger Zone” blared throughout the arena as both team’s players return to the court for the climactic ending.

Shockingly, Abdul-Jabbar isn’t challenging the inbounds throw from Rocket Rodney McCray. Abdul-Jabbar is instead locked up on Ralph Sampson.

“Why wouldn’t Pat Riley stick Jabbar on Sampson?” Darryl quizically asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders, shook my head, and responded, “Dunno. Strange.”

The referee hands McCray the ball. McCray nonchalantly slaps it, Sampson cuts from the three-point line, straight down past the right elbow of the free-throw line.

Sampson catches the inbounds pass in mid-air, turns, and flicks up an awkward shot that hits the rim once, twice, and then drops through the bottom of the hoop. The entire arena goes silent. Sampson stuns the Forum crowd with his contorted, miraculous shot.

All the Houston players, coaches, and staff swarm Sampson, dance around him celebrating and shouting, having punched their ticket to play the Celtics in the NBA finals (Boston would go on to win the Series, 4–2).

The last image of the Lakers is Michael Cooper, lying in the free-throw lane on his back with his arms extended, and his hands covering his eyes. Unable to look or fathom what just occurred.

As for Darryl and me?

We’re shocked on several different levels. We shared the Forum fans’ disappointment and surprise at the Sampson stunner, and we’re still in awe that we were able to see history being made — though not the warm fuzzy kind.

I made sure to grab a forgotten, wrinkled souvenir program and a few dingy souvenir cups of a truly unforgettable night.

Unlike the exhausting sprints through both the Dodger and Laker parking lot, this time we sauntered to our nose-bleed car. We could care less that the parking lot was a bottled-up nightmare with restless fans honking impatiently.

We cracked open more than a few Coors Lights that night back at my parents’ place in Torrance. We relived the memory again on ESPN’s Sportscenter, then turned over to MTV where Heart’s “These Dreams” was playing.

“What a night,” Darryl said.

“This is the kind of night any teenager would dream of achieving. We made history.”

We stayed up until 3 a.m, talking about dorm life, chicks we had crushes on, our favorite MTV videos, Darryl’s obsession with the show “Moonlighting,” who we thought we would win the NBA finals (certainly not the Celtics!), and, of course, our next big adventure.

“Hey, Big D, what’s our next conquest a Warrior-Giants doubleheader in the Bay, or maybe Cubs-Bulls in ChiTown?” I laughed.

“I don’t know,” Darryl replied. “I was thinking bigger maybe sneaking into a huger venue. The Super Bowl or bust!”

Thank you for reading.

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