Chapter 52: From the Railing

The Forum settled once Golden State got the ball back, and the game moved on.

Kobe got another look from the left wing on the Lakers’ next possession. Fisher found him off the reversal, and Kobe caught squared to the basket with enough room to go straight up. The shot felt clean leaving his hand but caught the back rim and bounced long.

Golden State secured it and pushed.

The Warriors ran through two quick actions, but neither opened anything. Fisher chased the first outside, Ben showed on the second, and the ball came back to the point with the shot clock already working against them. The guard tried to turn the corner anyway, but Ben held his ground and Knight dropped early enough to kill the seam. Kobe took one step off his man to discourage the swing, then recovered when the ball went weak side.

The shooter had nowhere to go. He put it on the floor once, pulled up with Bowen closing, and missed from just inside the arc.

Ben secured the rebound with both hands and held it high until Fisher came back for the ball.

The scoreboard above the floor showed Lakers 92, Warriors 84. The fourth-quarter clock had dropped under six minutes.

Fisher let everyone get organized before walking it across half court. Kobe drifted toward the corner, looked toward Harris for the call, then turned back toward the floor.

That was when he noticed someone waiting at the scorer’s table.

Blue warmup. Hands resting on the table. Waiting for the next horn.

Kobe glanced at the clock.

5:18.

Then he found his man.

Fisher called the set and Kobe started from the corner. He came up hard off Knight’s screen as though he wanted the ball, pulling his defender with him. The help defender took a step toward the action too.

Knight slipped behind both of them.

Fisher saw it.

The pass came through the opening, and Knight caught underneath before finishing with two hands.

94–84.

The crowd popped as Knight dropped from the rim, but Golden State had the ball inbounded before the noise settled.

“Get back!”

The Lakers bench was up behind the play.

Kobe picked up his assignment near half court and shaded him toward the help. Golden State tried to free a shooter with off-ball action on the opposite side, but Ben and Bowen handled the switch cleanly. The guard held the ball too long looking for the opening, finally drove with the clock running down, and threw up a runner from around the free-throw line.

Kobe found a body on defense.

The shot missed its mark.

Knight grabbed the rebound.

Harris called the set from the sideline as Fisher came back for the ball, and the unit flowed into it without needing anything repeated. Three passes moved Golden State from side to side. Ben screened for Fisher, Kobe cleared through, and Knight turned to catch at the elbow before finding Bowen curling toward the arc.

Bowen rose.

The three came off long.

Golden State secured it, and the whistle came from the scorer’s table.

Subs.

Kobe looked over once. Same blue warmup.

He jogged toward the sideline and slapped hands with the player replacing him as they crossed. The scoreboard showed 4:31 remaining in the fourth.

His night was done.

Kobe headed toward the bench, but Harris caught him before he passed.

“Good hustle out there.”

Kobe nodded.

Harris had already turned back toward the floor. “Match up! Match up!”

Kobe continued down the bench.

A trainer had a supply kit sitting in front of one of the open seats, so Kobe stepped around it and took the next one. He sat forward with his forearms resting against his thighs, eyes following Golden State as they brought the ball across half court.

A towel appeared beside him.

Kobe didn’t notice.

The trainer pushed it lightly against his arm.

He looked over, took it, and gave her a quick nod. “Thanks.”

Then his eyes went back to the floor.

The bench moved around him. A player two seats down asked for water. Someone farther along wanted his ankle retaped. One of Harris’s assistants crouched near the end of the row with a clipboard balanced against his thigh while another called out the shot clock. When Golden State got an offensive rebound, three Lakers rose at once, shouting for somebody to find the corner.

Kobe wiped his face and watched over the top of the towel.

Golden State ran a high screen. The ballhandler went left, but Kobe’s eyes followed the weak-side defender instead. He watched him sink toward the lane before scrambling back when the pass went outside.

The shot missed.

Shaq shifted at the far end of the bench and leaned toward him.

“Guess you didn’t use up all your makes in warmups after all.”

Kobe wiped his hands with the towel as his mouth twitched.

Shaq turned back to the game.

Golden State scored on the next trip, cutting the lead to eight, but with less than four minutes remaining Harris stayed with the group on the floor. He called something to the point guard, then stepped back toward his assistants.

This was preseason. There were still players on both benches who needed minutes.

Kobe settled deeper into his seat.

At the next timeout, Fisher and Ben returned to the bench. Fisher dropped into the chair beside Kobe, still carrying the energy of the run with him. Ben took the next seat over and reached immediately for a cup of water.

Fisher leaned forward.

“You see that screen they tried on the last trip? Almost broke your ankles, man.”

Kobe looked at him.

“Man was made out of concrete,” he continued.

Ben lowered the cup.

“Didn’t even touch him.”

Fisher turned toward him. “You never let me have anything, do you?”

Ben shrugged, but there was a trace of a grin.

The horn brought the next group back onto the floor. Fisher shifted his chair around so he could see past one of the assistants standing near the sideline. Ben leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

The game resumed.

Golden State had gone farther down its bench now, and the Lakers had done the same. The basketball changed with it. A pass went through a cutter’s hands. Golden State gave it back on a travel. One of the Lakers’ deeper reserves forced a drive and missed badly off the glass.

A minute disappeared from the clock.

The Lakers still led.

Fisher glanced toward Kobe.

“You think the dunk or the block was better?”

“Block,” Ben answered before Kobe could.

Fisher pointed at him. “I didn’t ask you.”

Kobe kept his eyes on the floor, but the corner of his mouth moved.

Fisher looked back toward the court. “I think it was the dunk, but the block was meaner.”

Ben shook his head. “He shouldn’t have tried you.”

Fisher nodded. “He really shouldn’t have.”

Kobe nodded along appreciatively.

Ben laughed under his breath.

Fisher kept talking, something about where Ben should have been on one of their earlier rotations, and Ben immediately disagreed. Kobe listened at first.

Then Golden State crossed half court.

Their guard raised his hand.

The big man came toward him to set the screen, but the guard waved him away.

Kobe leaned forward.

The big man rotated to the side.

The guard waited for the screen this time, attacked the opposite shoulder, and pulled the weak-side defender toward the lane. The pass went toward the corner.

Beside him, Fisher and Ben were still arguing.

Kobe barely heard them.

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With 3:42 left in the fourth and the Lakers ahead 94–86, Harris went farther down the bench.

Golden State did the same. The players who had carried most of the night were done, and the final minutes belonged to the guys still trying to earn another look. Trainers moved along the Lakers’ bench collecting empty cups and towels. A few veterans had pulled their warmups back on. Shaq sat with one leg stretched into the aisle, talking his way through a possession as it developed.

“Corner,” he said.

The Golden State guard drove the middle.

“Corner.”

The pass went outside.

Shaq pointed. “See?”

The shooter missed.

A couple of players laughed, and Shaq leaned back again.

Kobe stayed forward in his seat.

Golden State came down on the next trip and ran a high screen. Their guard waved it away, called the big back, then drove before the screen could be reset. The corner had been open from the beginning, but he never looked at it. He tried to finish over two defenders instead and sent the ball hard off the backboard.

The Lakers pushed the other way.

At this point, the basketball had changed. The sets were still being called, but they didn’t always survive first contact. One Lakers possession ended with a pass thrown behind a cutter. Golden State gave it back when a forward shuffled his feet trying to attack a closeout. A minute later, one of the Lakers’ deeper reserves hit a jumper from the right elbow and slapped hands with Fisher as he ran past the bench.

The scoreboard moved to 96–86.

Harris spent most of the stretch near his assistants. He still called out a coverage when he needed one and stepped toward the sideline when someone missed an assignment, but otherwise he watched. A clipboard changed hands beside him. Rambis pointed toward something happening on the weak side. Harris answered without taking his eyes from the floor.

Kobe watched too.

The next Golden State possession started with another ball screen. The guard turned the corner, and Kobe’s eyes went to the low man. He was late getting across. The pass reached the big underneath, and the Warriors got two.

96–88.

“Too late,” Fisher said beside him.

Kobe nodded.

Golden State pressed after the basket, but the Lakers broke it easily and got the ball across half court. The possession ended with a three from the corner.

It rattled in.

99–88.

The clock slipped under two minutes.

More people were standing now, but not because of anything happening on the floor. Jackets went on. Parents gathered children. People farther up the lower bowl had already started toward the aisles. An usher opened a rope near one of the exits, and a line formed almost immediately.

Kobe noticed more of it now.

During his minutes, the Forum had mostly been the court, Harris’s voice, nine other players, and whatever the defense put in front of him. From the bench, there was room for everything else to come back into view.

The photographers along the baseline were lowering cameras between possessions. Arena workers waited near the tunnels. The lights over the court were brighter than everything beyond them, leaving the upper seats darker by comparison.

Golden State scored again with a little over a minute left.

99–90.

The Lakers used most of the shot clock on the next possession before getting into the lane. The first attempt missed, but the rebound was tipped twice before dropping to another Laker underneath.

Two more.

101–90.

Shaq stood and pulled his warmup top straight.

“That’ll do it.”

Fisher looked up at the scoreboard. “You calling it?”

“I called it ten minutes ago.”

Ben laughed from the next seat.

Kobe looked back toward the floor.

Golden State got one final basket before the Lakers brought the ball across with the outcome settled. The scoreboard showed 101–92. Players on both benches were already standing. Harris didn’t call anything. The Lakers let the remaining seconds disappear.

The horn sounded.

Lakers 101, Warriors 92.

Kobe stood with everyone else.

There was no rush onto the floor. Players crossed toward one another and exchanged quick handshakes. Fisher found the guard he’d spent most of his minutes against. Ben stopped near midcourt when one of Golden State’s bigs reached for him. Kobe shook the hands that came his way and kept moving.

Around them, the night was already being taken apart. Trainers gathered towels from the bench. Assistants collected clipboards. Arena workers moved toward the court while photographers repositioned near the players they wanted.

Shaq made it only a few steps before the cameras found him.

One photographer became three. A reporter moved in from the sideline, followed by another. Shaq stopped near the edge of the floor, smiling as someone called his name, and within seconds there were enough bodies around him that Kobe could barely see the top of his shoulders.

Kobe kept walking.

Ben was a few feet ahead. Fisher fell into step beside Kobe, already peeling the tape from his wrist.

They headed toward the tunnel.

The court lights remained bright behind them while sections of the lower bowl emptied into the aisles. A few fans stayed near the railing, reaching down toward players as they passed. Some called for autographs. Others held out hands.

Kobe glanced up.

A handful of kids had pressed themselves against the railing near the tunnel. One wore a Lakers shirt and leaned far enough over the metal bar that he had to hold himself there with one hand.

Kobe kept moving.

Ben reached the ramp first. Fisher followed.

Kobe was about to pass underneath the first overhang when a voice carried down from behind him.

“Kobe!”

He turned.

The kid at the railing was looking directly at him now.

For a second, Kobe just looked back.

Then another voice came from beside the first.

“Kobe!”

A shorter kid had squeezed his way to the railing. Someone behind them called it too, not quite as loud.

There was no chant. Most of the Forum was already emptying toward the exits. A few people nearby didn’t even turn around.

Kobe raised one hand.

The first kid immediately raised his back.

Kobe nodded and continued toward the tunnel.

Fisher didn’t say anything. Ben kept walking ahead of them.

Their shoes struck the concrete differently once they were inside. The noise from the Forum remained behind them, but each turn took a little more out of it. Somewhere farther down the corridor, an equipment cart rattled over the floor.

Kobe walked beside Fisher.

Behind them, faint now—

“Kobe!”

A small smile caught at the corner of his mouth.