Magic Johnson's impromptu press conference in the halls of the Staples Center was the shockwave that hit the NBA, only minutes before 6 p.m. PST, an hour-and-a-half before the Los Angeles Lakers took on the Portland Trail Blazers for a season finale.

Before the Lakers were devastated by a last-second buzzer beater from Maurice Harkless, effectively ending their 2018-19 season, Magic had put their season in flames, tossing that last container of kerosene into the trash can fire this year had been.

Johnson's resignation was cowardly, in a way any other front office executive would have been absolutely lambasted for daring to do in front of the press.

But he got away with it.

Why? Because he's Magic f***ing Johnson.

And there is no single executive in the entire NBA with more charisma than the dime wizard himself.

Johnson spoke for approximately 50 minutes all on his lonesome, responding to questions about his decision and extending into his future plans, now that he has shaken the proverbial monkey off his back.

In fact, Magic's speech was a “Dobby is free!” GIF short of a classic Oscar-worthy performance — one that ranged from tears when speaking of his tight-knit relationship with controlling-owner Jeanie Buss, to laughter when delving onto his post-Lakers endeavors as an ambassador to the game.

So what was so nausea-inducing from Magic Johnson's impromptu press conference?

Let's start with the honest, yet appalling admission that he had not told Buss of his decision to step down.

“Somebody is going to have to tell my boss, because I know she’s going to be sick,” Johnson admitted to ESPN's Rachel Nichols in the midst of a media scrum. “But I know I couldn’t face her face to face and tell her, even though I was just with her yesterday and we had a three-hour meeting about the direction of this great organization. So today, Rachel, I’m free my love. Ooooof”

Nichols quickly followed up to make him repeat himself: “Have you really not told Jeanie yet?”

“No, I haven't,” said Johnson. “I couldn't, I couldn't stand to tell her. But the one thing she had in me is someone that she can trust and that is loyal to her and that I will be that as well.”

Let's talk about the irony in the room — Johnson says he is someone Buss can trust, yet he repays that trust by going behind her back and leaving her with no choice but to accept his resignation, given that he's now done so publicly.

In a way, the media is a thousand times more forgiving — due to Magic's on-camera charm — than Buss would ever be if the two were to sit down in her office and discuss parting ways.

After the scrum was over, Nichols chased down Johnson to ask him about why he had yet to tell her boss about his resignation, to which he claimed he did not do in fear of being convinced to change his mind.

Given the tight-knit nature of their relationship, telling a “family member” that he intends to quit can be daunting — and that is understandable to a degree. But if Jeanie Buss has enough cojones to oust her own blood from a power position within the Lakers, the Hall of Famer must at least summon the courage to face her and state his case for resignation.

Another contradictory moment comes only seconds after the first, as Johnson quickly reveals this wasn't a spur of the moment decision, but one coldly calculated from prior days.

“I've been talking people walking here, we've been talking about next year and I'm sitting there saying (shakes head vigorously) ‘I'm not gonna be here.'”

According to ESPN's Ramona Shelburne, none of his close friends had any idea he would quit, yet he did, even asking for hugs after his near-hour-long presser at the bowels of Staples Center.

While many have viewed this as a white lie, good riddance, or simply just a Hollywood-type of way to bring this partnership to an end, let's make one thing clear — Magic Johnson didn't just quit on the team he claims to love so much, but he quit on Jeanie Buss, a lifelong friend he deems as a sister.

Johnson quitting without notice is the same as a brother bolting from his sister's place before paying the due rent, or a son walking out on his father's diner job because it's not fun, or your best friend failing to pick you up from the airport at night because getting drunk was a lot more fun.

It was despicable in every sense of the word.

Yet to peel the onion for another layer is to quickly find out that this is part of a systemic issue that has plagued the Lakers in recent years, a lack of stability and the lack of a culture appropriate of the franchise that has won the second-most titles in NBA history.

Johnson's sudden resignation only brings questions to its origin with his initial hiring. Magic was a great player in his day and an ambassador for the game, but failed as a coach, failed as an on-air talent, and now failed as an executive — quitting all of the last three rather soon into his venture.

Magic had the charm and the right pull to bring the stars to L.A., but he knew nothing about how to properly do so, or the tireless preparation that involves lining out trades, pitching players into coming to work for him or maintaining a locker room that is in dire need of damage control.

His front office partner, Rob Pelinka, also a rookie executive after years as a player agent — needless to say, this was no Bob Myers-type transition into his job.

So the Lakers entered their new era in true Bird Box-style — with the blind leading the blind — soon realizing there was more to this front office business than charming their way to success and using the Lakers' 16 championships and the city's natural allure as reasons to play for the renowned franchise.

One could argue Buss dug her own grave by making these hires, but she in no way deserved to have one of her dearest friends and closest allies quit on her the way he did.

Buss didn't make it to the Lakers' season finale against the Blazers, but soon released a statement acknowledging Johnson's resignation, leaving her with plenty more questions to address than what to do with coach Luke Walton, considering the front office is now in shambles after a public s**t-show Magic put on for Lakers faithful prior to the final whistle of a dumpster-like season.