Chapter 39: Summer League Speedrun

Four games were enough for the atmosphere around the Lakers to change.

The difference was noticeable the morning after Kobe’s triple-double against Detroit.

Long Beach Arena had not suddenly become packed, and nobody was confusing the Summer League with the NBA playoffs, but there were more people in the bleachers when the Lakers came out to warm up.

Scouts who had spent the first game drifting between courts were already in their seats.

A few reporters stood near the baseline with handheld recorders, while kids gathered near the tunnel carrying basketballs, programs, and anything else they could convince a player to sign.

Fisher bounced a ball between his legs near half court and glanced toward the bleachers.

“That’s cuz of you.” Kobe caught the pass Fisher fired at him and stepped into a jumper.

“What is?” “All these people.

Yesterday, I could hear myself think.” Bowen jogged past them toward the corner.

“You can always hear yourself think, Mr.

Lonely.” Fisher stared after him.

“See, that shit was unnecessary.” Kobe laughed and sent the ball back.

The thirty-five points had gotten attention.

The ten rebounds had surprised people.

The ten assists had probably caused more conversations than either of them.

Kobe had expected teams to react.

Sacramento gave him the answer almost immediately.

They changed the timing of their pressure from possession to possession.

Sometimes the second defender came as Kobe crossed half-court.

Sometimes he waited until Kobe used a screen.

On other possessions, the weak-side guard dropped halfway into the lane and dared somebody else to shoot.

They denied Kobe clean catches, bumped him whenever he cut through the paint, and kept rotating bigger defenders onto him.

For the first few minutes, Kobe barely shot.

Fisher benefited first.

Sacramento’s point guard leaned too far toward Kobe on the wing, and Kobe fired the ball back to Fisher at the top.

Three.

Two possessions later, the same rotation came from the opposite side.

Fisher hit another.

By the time he buried his third open three of the quarter, Sacramento’s coach was screaming at his guards to play man to man.

Fisher backpedaled with a grin.

“Keep the pressure on Kobe!” Kobe ran past him.

“You make three shots and start talking crazy?” Sacramento’s problem only grew when Bowen started punishing them from the corners.

His first three came when Kobe drew help off a drive.

Fisher created the second with penetration.

When Bowen caught another pass with nobody within six feet of him, the nearest defender finally sprinted at him instead of staying attached to Kobe.

Bowen put the ball on the floor once and slipped a pass underneath to Wallace.

Wallace finished through contact and slapped the padding beneath the basket as he turned upcourt.

“Finally, I get a look.” Bowen pointed at him.

“You’re welcome.” Wallace made his presence felt even more at the other end.

Sacramento tried dragging him away from the basket and attacking him in space, but Wallace was quicker than they seemed prepared for.

A guard got the switch he wanted, crossed left, and accelerated toward the lane before stepping back near the elbow.

Wallace blocked the jumper before it reached its highest point.

A few possessions later, he switched onto another guard and forced a bad pass.

Then he rotated from the weak side and altered a layup.

Knight collected the miss, gave the ball to Fisher, and caught up on offense.

Kobe filled the right lane and watched Fisher read the floor.

Instead of forcing the ball ahead, Fisher slowed just enough to draw the last defender toward him before dropping the pass behind his body.

Knight caught it in stride and dunked with both hands.

Kobe pointed at Fisher as they turned back.

“Nice pass, Fish.” At the quarter break, Fisher dropped onto the chair beside him and grabbed a drink.

“They’re giving you the Jordan Rules already.” Kobe nearly laughed into his cup.

“I get double teamed, and now it’s the Jordan Rules?” “You know what I mean.” “I know you’re dramatic.” Bowen leaned forward from the next chair.

“He’s got you there.” Fisher pointed at both of them.

“I hate this team.” By halftime, Sacramento had started staying closer to Fisher and Bowen.

That widened the driving lanes and delayed the second defender whenever Kobe turned the corner.

Half a second was plenty.

Kobe got into the lane for a short jumper, drew contact on another drive, then caught Sacramento switching a slower forward onto him near the top of the key.

One hesitation froze the man long enough for Kobe to reach the elbow and rise before the help arrived.

Sacramento tightened everything again in the third, so Kobe let Fisher organize more of the offense.

Bowen kept moving the ball, Wallace controlled the defensive glass, and Knight gave them useful minutes around the rim.

When Sacramento eventually loosened its coverage late, Kobe went back to work.

He finished with thirty-three points, five rebounds, six assists, two steals, and a block.

Fisher added sixteen, Bowen scored twelve while spending most of the afternoon attached to Sacramento’s best perimeter scorer, and Wallace finished with ten points and eleven rebounds.

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The third game gave them a different problem.

Denver did not chase Kobe with two defenders or deny him forty feet from the basket.

They put size on him, stayed physical, and trusted one defender to make every catch uncomfortable.

For the first six minutes, it worked.

Kobe missed his first jumper short.

The next one caught the back rim.

He got a cleaner look from the left elbow and missed that too.

When his fourth attempt rolled off, someone on Denver’s bench finally decided to remind him that the previous two games no longer mattered.

“Long way from high school now, rook.” Kobe jogged back without looking over.

The next possession, he got the same defender leaning into him twenty feet from the basket.

Instead of trying another jumper, Kobe drove directly at his chest, forced the help defender across, and fired the ball to Bowen in the corner.

Bowen buried it.

The next time Denver loaded the lane, Kobe found Wallace underneath.

Two possessions later, he waited for the double and hit Fisher, cutting along the baseline.

Denver had prepared for Kobe to keep shooting.

All he had to do was not give them what they wanted.

So Fisher took over more of the organization as the half progressed.

He waved Knight into a high screen, rejected it when Denver shaded toward the middle, and found Wallace slipping behind the coverage.

On the next trip, he drove deep enough to pull Bowen’s defender toward the lane before kicking the ball back to the corner.

When Denver scored and tried to press, Fisher took the inbound himself and waved Kobe away.

“I got it,” Fisher said.

Kobe moved to the wing and watched Fisher bring the ball across, call Knight up, use the screen, and hit Wallace near the rim when the help rotated.

Wallace was causing his own problems at the other end.

Denver tried pulling him away from the rim, but he stayed in front of guards, recovered on slips, and made the paint increasingly unpleasant.

Late in the second quarter, Denver’s guard beat Fisher off the dribble and appeared to have a clear path to the basket.

Wallace came from the opposite side and erased the shot at the glass.

Bowen saved the ball near the baseline and threw it ahead to Kobe, who immediately found Fisher running the opposite lane for the finish.

Wallace pointed at them as they ran back.

“Y’all enjoying yourselves?

I’m the one who blocked the damn shot.” Fisher glanced back.

“You want us to stop the game and clap for you?” “I wouldn’t mind.” Kobe laughed.

“Don’t encourage him.” Wallace shook his head.

“Next one I’m sending into the stands.

You two can go get it.” By halftime, Kobe had only nine points, but he also had five rebounds and four assists, and the Lakers were winning.

Bowen dropped into his chair, shaking his head.

“Their number seven’s been crying to the ref about me all half.” Fisher looked over.

“Bruce, you’ve been holding him since the first quarter; I’m surprised you haven’t fouled out.” “I haven’t held shit.” Kobe grinned.

“You grabbed his jersey on the last possession.” “I was fighting through the screen.” Knight’s mouth twitched, then shrugged.

“I ain’t see nothing.” Bowen pointed at him.

“Thank you.” Knight took a drink.

“I’m just saying, if the refs ain’t calling it, keep doing it.” Fisher stared at both of them.

“This is why that man’s losing his damn mind.” Bowen reached for his water.

“Sounds like his problem.” Wallace snorted from across the room.

Kobe’s jumper came alive in the third.

He buried two from the elbow, then attacked the rim when the Nugget pressed up.

Their help only opened the floor for Fisher and Bowen, while Wallace dominated inside with fifteen rebounds and four blocks.

Knight battled around the rim, and Bowen hounded Denver’s leading scorer throughout the second half.

Late in the quarter, Bowen spent nearly the entire possession denying his man the ball.

By the time the guard finally caught it, he’d had enough.

He threw a forearm into Bowen’s chest to create space.

The whistle came immediately.

The guard spun toward the official.

“Are you fucking serious?

He’s been grabbing me all game!” Bowen raised his hands, looking genuinely confused.

“I ain’t touched you.” The guard stared at him.

“Man, fuck outta here.” Bowen turned and headed upcourt like the conversation was over.

“Tell it to the ref.” Kobe couldn’t help laughing.

Bruce had been getting away with murder all afternoon, and somehow he looked more offended than the guy he’d been guarding.

The Nuggets’ frustration never became a run.

Kobe finished with thirty points, eight rebounds, and six assists despite the ugly start.

Fisher had played his best floor game of the week, Wallace controlled the paint, and Bowen had turned another scorer’s afternoon into an argument with the officials.

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The fourth game, against Phoenix, was the first time nothing the defense tried seemed to last for more than a few possessions.

Kobe knew early that his shot was there.

His first jumper dropped cleanly from the right elbow.

The second came off a curl and barely touched the net.

When Phoenix went under Knight’s screen on the next possession, Kobe stopped behind it and knocked down a three.

The Suns changed the matchup almost immediately.

A quicker guard crowded him higher, so Kobe put the ball on the floor and went by him.

They tried a bigger wing next, hoping the extra length would bother him, but Kobe dragged him away from the basket and beat him off the dribble.

When Phoenix finally switched a smaller guard onto him, Kobe backed him down and scored over his shoulder.

The Suns could not load everything toward Kobe anymore, either.

Fisher was running the offense comfortably whenever Kobe worked away from the ball, and Bowen had hit enough open threes over the previous three games that defenders were starting to think twice before leaving him.

Wallace kept freeing people with hard screens and cleaning up around the basket, while Knight had settled into his role without needing the ball.

Phoenix could send help at Kobe, but doing it meant leaving someone who had already shown he could punish them.

Late in the second quarter, Kobe caught the ball on the right wing with the bigger defender back on him.

The man crowded him, clearly expecting another jumper.

Kobe jabbed left, crossed underneath his reach, and got a step toward the middle.

The help came early, cutting off the lane, so Kobe planted and spun back toward the baseline.

He slipped between both defenders and finished on the other side of the rim.

A whistle stopped play a few seconds later, and Kobe headed toward the bench for the timeout.

Fisher was already grinning when he got there.

“They’re on number four.” Kobe grabbed a cup of water.

“What?” “Defenders.

That’s four.” Bowen looked toward the Phoenix huddle.

“Nah, three.

First dude came back.” “Why the hell are y’all counting?” Wallace asked.

Fisher looked at him like the answer was obvious.

“Because I wanna know what happens when they run out.” Knight leaned forward.

“They put you on him.” Fisher’s smile disappeared.

“Why the fuck would you even say that?” Kobe nearly choked on his water.

Even Rambis looked up from his clipboard before shaking his head.

“You idiots done?” “Yeah, Coach,” Fisher said.

Rambis looked directly at him.

“I was mostly asking you.” That sent Bowen into another laugh as the horn called them back onto the floor.

Phoenix stopped searching for the right individual matchup in the third quarter and started sending two defenders instead.

The first trap came near the sideline.

Kobe got rid of the ball before it could close, and Fisher attacked the opening before dropping it to Wallace near the rim.

The next time Phoenix trapped higher, Kobe passed out, kept moving, and got the ball back from Fisher for an open three.

Another double left Bowen alone in the corner, and he buried it.

When Phoenix tried trapping off Knight’s screen, Knight slipped toward the basket, caught Fisher’s pass, and finished with both hands.

The Suns backed off.

Kobe went right back at them.

He never had to force much.

Phoenix went underneath a screen, and he pulled up.

The next defender pressed into him, so Kobe turned the corner and got to the rim.

When the bigger wing returned, Kobe made him change directions until his feet crossed and rose from the elbow.

The smaller guard got another chance and lasted one possession before Kobe took him down to the block again.

Phoenix called timeout late in the third after Kobe knocked down another jumper.

He headed toward the bench and found Wallace staring at Knight.

“That shit was a shot.” Knight shook his head.

“It was a pass.” “Off the backboard?” “I saw you.” Wallace stared at him.

“You saw the rim.” Knight started laughing.

“Same area.” “Hell no.” Kobe sat down beside them, already smiling.

Rambis came over with his clipboard.

“You two finished?” Wallace pointed at Knight.

“Ask him what that was.” “I don’t care what it was.

It worked.” Rambis looked around.

“Now listen.” That ended it.

Phoenix stayed with the trap after the timeout, but the Lakers were ready for it.

Kobe moved the ball early, Fisher attacked the opening, and Wallace got an easy finish.

The next double left Bowen open in the corner.

When Phoenix finally stopped sending the extra defender, Kobe went back to work.

The Suns made one last push in the fourth, but it never became much.

Late in the quarter, Kobe came off Knight’s screen and caught his defender hesitating.

He stopped at the right elbow and knocked down the jumper.

Rambis whistled from the sideline.

“Kobe.

Come on.” Kobe looked over.

“You’re done.” Kobe checked the clock and jogged off.

The applause followed him toward the bench, louder than he expected.

People throughout the bleachers were standing now, and several kids near the tunnel yelled his name.

An assistant handed him a towel.

“Forty-six.” Kobe glanced once at the scoreboard, then wiped the sweat from his face.

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Not bad.

The final few minutes belonged to the bench.

By the time the horn sounded, Kobe was already on his feet.

He went through the handshake line, exchanged a few words with the Phoenix players, then headed for the locker room with the rest of the team.

The hallway outside was busier when they came back out.

Scouts lingered near the arena entrance, Lakers staff pulled Wallace and Bowen aside, and reporters waited for anyone willing to stop.

Kobe almost made it through before one of them stepped into his path.

“Kobe, forty-six tonight, a thirty-six average over four games.

Did you expect to score like this coming in?” “I expected to play well.” The reporter glanced at his notes.

“You think you’re ready for the NBA?” Kobe paused.

“We’ll see.” The reporter blinked.

“You’re not sure?” “I know I can play here.

The NBA’s different.” “So what’s next?” Kobe adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

“Right now?

Go home, eat something, and knock the hell out.” The reporters laughed.

Outside, the Long Beach parking lot was still cracked and crowded with aging cars, but considerably more people were waiting near the exit now.

Kobe signed a basketball for one kid and a program for another before making his way toward the car.

Kobe tossed his bag into the backseat as Fisher stopped beside the open door.

“Hey.” Kobe looked back.

“What?” Fisher pointed at him.

“Tomorrow, when your ugly ass is on the front of every sports page in L.A., remember I knew you before you got famous.” Kobe laughed.

“We got drafted two weeks ago.” “Exactly.

Day one, bros.” “You weren’t even in the green room.” “I was there in spirit.” Kobe shook his head and started to get in.

“I’m serious,” Fisher said.

“Nobody’s talking about anything else tomorrow.” That stopped Kobe.

He looked at Fisher for a second.

Fisher noticed.

“What?” “Nothing.” “Nah.

What was that look?” Kobe fought the smile.

“You’re pretty confident.” “About this?

Hell yeah.” Fisher spread his arms.

“What could possibly be bigger?” Kobe almost laughed.

A seven-foot-one, three-hundred-pound answer came to mind immediately.

“Nothing,” Kobe said.

Fisher narrowed his eyes.

“You’re doing that weird shit again.” “What weird shit?” “That little smile like you know something.” Kobe climbed into the car.

“Good night, Fish.” “See?

That shit right there.” Kobe pulled the door toward him.

“Wait, what do you know?” “Good night.” “Kobe—” The door shut.

Through the window, Fisher threw up both hands.

Kobe leaned back in his seat, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Fish had picked one hell of a night to be confident.

By morning, who in Los Angeles was going to give a damn about forty-six points?

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As promised, we hit 100+ Power Stones, so you already know what that means.

🏀 TWO chapters dropping tomorrow!

GIF, and all the support you guys continue to show the story.

Every milestone means more chapters, and I’m going to keep holding up my end of the deal.

And with Summer League officially behind us…

Tomorrow, things get a little more interesting in Los Angeles.

👀🐍🏆 See you guys for the double drop.