Does Disease Win With Morrison?

Almost five years to the day that Magic Johnson stunned the nation by announcing that he was retiring from the Lakers because he had tested HIV-positive, an HIV-positive boxer stepped into a ring in Tokyo and knocked out his opponent in less than two minutes.

Left to be decided now is whether Tommy Morrison’s victory over Marcus Rhode is also a triumph for the doctors and researchers who have made great strides in battling the disease and educating the public about it since Johnson’s announcement on Nov. 7, 1991.

Certainly, Morrison’s return proves how much the attitudes about the illness have changed in five years. When Johnson retired, the only questions centered on whether he would live, not whether he would compete again.

But effective new drugs have prolonged and improved the lives of many HIV and AIDS sufferers and the number of people in the United States who died from complications of AIDS in 1995 was the lowest since 1990.

Fears that the disease would spread through the athletic community proved unfounded. Only nine former or current professional athletes, including Morrison, have announced that they had contracted HIV or AIDS over the last five years, although others could be suffering in silence.

Five sports figures are known to have died from the disease since Johnson’s announcement, the most prominent being former Wimbledon and U.S. Open tennis champion Arthur Ashe, who died Feb. 6, 1993, at 49 after contracting the disease in 1983 during heart surgery.

Into this improved scenario stepped Morrison, who announced that he was HIV positive in February, retired briefly, then returned to the ring to raise money by donating his purses to his K.O. AIDS Foundation, which helps children with AIDS.

Johnson was among the first to oppose the move, saying last week that Morrison threatens “all the good work” of the last five years by risking infecting an opponent or a spectator during a bout.

Said Dr. Jeffrey Laurence, director of the AIDS laboratory at New York Hospital, of the Morrison fight: “This is a risk we don’t need to take.”

After winning Sunday, Morrison said his “sole motivation for having the fight at all was to fund the K.O. AIDS Foundation. . . . I miss the competition but I don’t miss boxing that much. My style is I get beat up a lot and it’s not fun.”

The “good work” Johnson referred to includes professional leagues adopting safety precautions for dealing with bleeding athletes. And a more educated public is now aware of the improbability of the virus being transmitted through athletic competition.

“I think people are more aware of the whole concept,” Laurence said. “We don’t hear anything like the numbers of complaints or fears we heard expressed five years ago.”

Johnson, 37, allayed many of those fears when he returned to play for the Lakers last season. Perhaps, most important, he has shown no signs of deterioration.

“What we in the NBA, the media and people all over the world have learned in the last five years is monumental,” said Terry Lyons, an NBA vice president. “And Magic Johnson is the reason, hands down. He put the news about the virus on the front page all over the world. He probably saved a lot of lives, when you think about it. Until then, the medical community had been 10 years ahead of the rest of us in terms of knowledge. . . . Magic brought the two sides together.”

Still, Laurence said, few athletes are ready to acknowledge they have the disease. Acquired immune deficiency syndrome is a progressive weakening of the immune system, which makes a person vulnerable to life-threatening infections and is caused by infection with human immunodeficiency virus.

“You don’t have people coming out, saying, ‘I’m an athlete. I have HIV,’ ” Laurence said. “And they must be out there based on the statistics.”

Statistics for athletes are difficult to come by. Only boxers are required to be tested for HIV. The Nevada State Athletic Commission has tested 2,500 boxers since 1988 and only two have been HIV-positive, Morrison and a fighter commission officials cannot legally identify. A boxer is known to have tested positive in Florida.

“Considering all the fighters there are,” said Marc Ratner, executive director of the Nevada State Athletic Commission, “the number testing positive is minuscule.”

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For a landmark moment in sports medicine, Morrison’s bout was at best anticlimactic. The Tokyo Bay N.K. Hall near Disneyland was about 90% empty and tickets, which ranged in price from $88 and $850, were being sold outside by scalpers for half that.

The fight was over in one minute 38 seconds as Morrison dispatched Rhode, an unknown from St. Joseph, Mo., with a 15-2 record, by landing three solid punches. Special rules to guard against Morrison’s blood contaminating anyone were not needed as Rhode never landed a punch of consequence. Referee Frank Garza, who had considered wearing goggles but didn’t, had no need for the latex gloves he wore.

Reactions at ringside were mixed.

Timekeeper Toshiyasu Ishimaki agreed to work the fight without knowing Morrison was HIV-positive.

“If he bleeds, the judge is supposed to stop it within one minute,” he said. “But during that minute if blood splashes around, what if your mouth happens to be open? It’s scary.”

Said Masako Imai, a spectator in the first row about 10 feet from the ring: “I can’t say I wasn’t worried but I thought I could run [if blood started to fly].”

But the only qualm second-row spectator Kayo Sunaga had with the bout was its brevity. “[Morrison] is courageous for continuing to fight and I respect him for that. I wanted the challenger to try so hard that he wouldn’t care even if he did get covered in blood. I want the challenger to want to fight so badly that he wouldn’t care if he did get sick.”

HIV-positive boxers are not allowed to fight in the United States, but the Japanese Health Ministry allowed the match because AIDS prevention law in Japan does not say anything about boxing.

Jon Robinson, president of the World Boxing Union, which sanctioned the main event featuring George Foreman but not the Morrison bout, blasted that decision.

“That is like being an ostrich isn’t it? Putting your head in the ground,” Robinson said.

The only bloody fight of the evening occurred on the undercard. Valerie Wiet of France and Mary Ann Almager of Midland, Texas, were covered in blood by the time their women’s bout was stopped with Wiet winning a ninth-round technical knockout.

“Even if they offered me a lot of money I would not box [an HIV-positive fighter],” Wiet said. “If it is a match like ours, it is very dangerous. I had my opponents blood all over me.”

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The high improbability of contracting the virus through athletic competition has been well documented, and there is no firm evidence that it has ever happened.

But Laker trainer Gary Vitti says some Lakers were concerned about the risk of infection when Johnson made his first comeback four years ago, and some of those same concerns were voiced when he made another comeback earlier this year.

“It’s one thing to play against a guy a few times a year,” Vitti said. “It’s another to have to practice against him every day.”

The fears first surfaced in an exhibition game in Chapel Hill, N.C., between the Lakers and the Cleveland Cavaliers in the fall of 1992. Johnson suffered a scratch on his right arm. He immediately went to the bench, where Vitti prepared to treat him with all eyes on the pair.

Vitti started to reach for protective gloves. Then, he stopped.

“I realized that if I put those gloves on,” Vitti said, “I’d be giving my players a mixed message. Here I am, telling them there is no danger. And now this happens with a scratch. There’s not even any blood, the other players are thinking, and he’s putting gloves on. So what’s he been saying?”

Vitti treated Johnson without gloves, using a cotton swab and a bandage.

Message sent, even though Johnson, tired of all the scrutiny and concern, re-retired three days after the incident.

Vitti said the reason to wear gloves was not to protect himself and other players from Johnson, but to keep Johnson from getting an infection.

But Vitti doesn’t minimize the power of fear to overshadow all the gains of the last five years.

“If you take universal precautions, it should take all the fear out of it,” Vitti said. “But sometimes fear can be greater than understanding. Some people live in fear their whole lives.

“AIDS is a 100% fatal disease. But it is also 100% preventable.”

Measures now taken in the Laker trainer’s room against infection resemble those taken in a hospital. There are specific areas where dirty uniforms, towels and hypodermic needles must be placed. For example, needles are disposed in a solid container rather than a soft bag where the needle could protrude and possibly prick someone.

“As long as you follow the guidelines, you’ll be all right,” Vitti said. “HIV is a tough disease to get. You have to work to go out and get it.”

While all the HIV focus in the NBA has been on Johnson, Vitti takes a broader view.

“I don’t know if any of these guys have it,” he said, looking out into the Laker locker room. “But I have no fear. That doesn’t mean I’m not conscious of it. But I take precautions.”

Vitti said when it comes to infection, there is more to worry about than HIV.

“Your chances are 40 times greater of getting hepatitis B, “ he said.

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Besides Magic and Morrison, there are three other sports figures living with AIDS.

Greg Louganis, 36, an Olympic diver who has won four gold medals, learned he was HIV-positive six months before competing in the 1988 Games in Seoul, South Korea. Louganis retired from Olympic competition after those Games, but didn’t reveal his condition publicly until February 1995, by which time he said he had AIDS.

Today, he remains active, having written an autobiography, served as an unofficial coach at the 1996 Olympic Games in Atlanta and is now planning to play himself in the diving scenes of an upcoming movie about his life.

Louganis, who lives in Malibu, was unavailable for comment for this story.

Paul Banke, 32, a former World Boxing Council super-bantamweight champion now retired from boxing, learned in August 1995 that he had AIDS. He had learned he was HIV-positive a month earlier.

Banke now lives in Venice and works as a volunteer on a project to erect a memorial wall in Lincoln Park for Latino victims of the disease. He lifts weights and in-line skates 10 miles three or four times a week.

Asked if he would fight Morrison if he himself did not have the disease, Banke replied, “No way.”

“Why would you want to fight Tommy Morrison?” Banke said. “It’s like playing Russian roulette.”

Banke feels fine, but refuses to travel to cold-weather areas for fear of catching a cold his immune system would be unable to fight.

“I’d love to go snowboarding,” Banke said, “but I’m afraid. My brother lives in Utah and he has told me to visit him, but I won’t go in the winter.”

Ruben Palacio, 33, a former World Boxing Organization featherweight champion, was stripped of his title after testing HIV-positive in April 1993. He is now in prison for importing heroin.

Then there is the case of Jim Howley, who wasn’t an athlete at all until he learned that he had AIDS on Aug. 22, 1989. At that point, he began training and he now runs marathons and competes in triathlons.

The 35-year-old resident of Carpinteria, Calif., who had tested HIV-positive in 1983, plans to run in today’s New York marathon. He has competed in more than 30 triathlons, including the Ironman triathlon Oct. 26, finishing 1,208th.

“[It’s] like Aug. 22, 1989, is my birthday,” he says. “My life has been perfect ever since.”

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How do athletes deal with the fear of HIV and AIDS? Judging by the reaction of hockey players, who compete in perhaps the second-bloodiest professional sport behind boxing, they don’t.

“It’s almost like you feel you’re invincible on the ice,” King defenseman Rob Blake said. “You feel like in your sport, this [HIV and AIDS] is not supposed to happen.

“If it was on your mind, you would not be able to play the game. When I’m out there, I don’t think that I can’t go into this corner or that corner because something might happen. I can’t play that way. When I’m in a fight, I don’t think, ‘Wow. He hit me and I’ve got his blood on my hand. And because I’ve got an open cut here, I might get the virus.’ That is the farthest thing from my mind.”

When Jay Miller, a renowned fighter when he was with the Kings a few years ago, was asked by a reporter if he was ever afraid of getting HIV or AIDS on the ice, he shrugged off the question, saying it had never crossed his mind.

But when he ran across the same reporter a few days ago, there was concern on Miller’s face.

“I wish you hadn’t asked me that question,” Miller said. “Now, you’ve really got me thinking about it.”

The feelings of invincibility extend into the boxing ring, where the chance of getting the disease, however remote, is the greatest for competitors.

When Anthony Cooks, Morrison’s first opponent for Sunday’s bout, was forced to drop out because of legal problems, promoter Ron Weathers wasn’t concerned about finding a substitute.

“I have 50 fighters who want to fight Tommy Morrison,” he said. “He’s a credible fighter. If they knock him out, it’s instant money. With the business they are in, these fighters are not concerned with HIV. In this sport, they put themselves on the line every day.”

Tommy Virgets, Morrison’s trainer, said he hired many sparring partners in preparation for Sunday’s bout, and he has yet to have one turn him down. Virgets said two corner men were the only people who refused to work with Morrison.

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So where does the HIV-AIDS saga go in the next five years?

Unless a more prominent athlete becomes infected, Morrison figures to replace Johnson as the AIDS symbol in the public’s eye. Morrison said Sunday a fight with two-time world champion George Foreman is possible, maybe in February in Australia.

He is also stretching the limits in another direction. While Johnson has followed the advice of some of the nation’s most prominent AIDS physicians, Morrison is trying to treat himself through a program of self-help, spiritual enlightenment, exercise and a diet of natural foods and juices.

“I feel fine,” Morrison said. “I believe, if it ain’t broke, don’t try to fix it. I don’t have faith in all that medicine.”

When he first learned he had the disease, Morrison, on the advice of Johnson, went to Dr. David Ho of the Aaron Diamond AIDS Research Center in New York.

But Morrison declined to take the drugs recommended by Johnson’s physician.

“He [Ho] is a little disappointed in my approach,” Morrison said. “He wishes I would take the medicine. But it has been impressed on my heart that I must deal with a higher power. I’m not ready to take any medicine and, right now, that’s where it stands.”

Ho would not characterize his reaction to Morrison’s approach as being one of disappointment.

“I hope that, in a short time, he will change his mind and go on the proven drug regime,” Ho said. “I hope he will use what is working.”

Springer reported from Los Angeles, Efron from Tokyo. Staff writer Scott Howard-Cooper also contributed to this story from Los Angeles.