Chapter 53: Preseason Game 2: Stay Out There

The film room always ran cold, no matter what month it was. The AC was already going when Kobe walked in, though most of the chairs were still empty. He was ten minutes early. By his old standard, that was cutting it closer than he liked.

On the center table sat Harris’s coffee, a box of doughnuts already down two, and a stack of printouts from the night before.

The top page, in bold ink, read: LAL 101, GSW 92.

Next line: BRYANT—17 min, 13 pts, 2 reb, 4 ast, 2 stl, 1 blk.

He looked at it just long enough to confirm what he already knew, then slid it aside and focused on the tape already cued on the VCR, paused at the start of the second quarter.

Fisher came in next, dropped his bag with a thud, and sat in the nearest chair without ceremony. He glanced at the stack, then at Kobe, then at the frozen image on the television.

“You sleep?”

“Little bit.”

Fisher grinned. “You see the clip of the block yet?”

“No.”

“Probably the best highlight.”

From across the aisle, Ben said, “He had it on repeat like three times,” and reached for the only apple in the snack pile.

They let that hang until Harris entered, coffee in one hand and a stack of papers tucked under the other arm.

“Let’s start the recap.”

He set his coffee down and hit play.

Golden State swung the ball around the perimeter, attacked the lane, then kicked it to the corner when the defense collapsed. The shot went in.

Harris let the possession continue until the next whistle, then rewound.

He pointed, pencil tapping the screen just above Kobe’s own jersey. “Coverage?”

“Zone shift, X-out on the wing.”

“And?”

“Stay home unless the ball’s in the paint.”

Harris flicked the pencil toward the freeze frame, which showed Kobe two steps too deep, the corner shooter already loading up.

“Then why are you standing there?”

“I went in too far.”

“Yeah.” Harris rewound and let the sequence play again. “You did.”

The rest of the film went the same way. Harris stopped on a late rotation, a missed box-out, and Fisher going under a screen he should’ve chased, then let several possessions run untouched when the defense got everything right. Nothing about the box score. No replay of Kobe’s chase-down block or the dunk that had brought the Forum out of its seats.

When the session ended, Harris set the remote down and started passing out the Phoenix prep packets.

“We play Phoenix tomorrow. Get to know them.”

Kobe flipped through Kevin Johnson, Sam Cassell, Michael Finley, Danny Manning, A.C. Green, and Robert Horry. He scanned each, found nothing surprising, and kept going.

Then Steve Nash.

His thumb stopped at the corner of the page.

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The plane out of LAX wasn’t full, but it felt that way. There were plenty of empty rows behind the training staff and PR guys, but Shaq’s voice still carried from the front of the cabin. Up ahead, a few of the veterans played cards, their laughter broken by the slap of plastic chips against the tray tables whenever somebody lost a hand. A seat or two back, Eddie Jones dozed with his hood pulled over his eyes, shoes off and legs stretched into the empty seat beside him.

Fisher sat with the Phoenix scouting report open across his lap. Ben had the aisle seat next to him and had spent most of the flight trying to find somewhere to put his knees.

Kobe sat a row behind them, window-side, with his own packet open. He passed Kevin Johnson, Sam Cassell, Michael Finley, Danny Manning, A.C. Green, and Robert Horry before reaching Steve Nash.

The report mentioned his outside shooting and pick-and-roll play, along with a note from one of the assistants: excellent vision and clever with the dribble.

None of it surprised Kobe.

Kobe turned the page. “They’ve got too many guards who can turn the corner. Johnson gets downhill. Cassell can score. Nash keeps his dribble alive.” He tapped the page. “He’s patient. He’ll wait for a mistake.”

“Nash?”

“Yeah.”

“You watched him?”

Kobe waited half a second. “Enough for it to matter.”

Ben shifted again, finally giving up and letting one knee stick into the aisle. “He’s not that fast.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

Ben looked back at him. “I’ll make the switch.”

Fisher lowered the packet. “You just want to hit somebody when they drive to the paint.”

Ben grinned. “That too.”

Kobe went back to the scouting report.

Phoenix liked to get Johnson moving early, before the defense could load up. Manning could handle enough to initiate after a rebound, and Cassell gave them another guard who could create when the first action broke down. Kobe worked through the sets Harris had given them, then went back through them again.

The card game continued farther up the cabin. Shaq argued about something Kobe couldn’t make out. Fisher turned another page.

By the time they landed, Ben had changed positions four more times.

The heat hit them as soon as they stepped outside in Phoenix.

The hotel was a short drive away. A few of the younger players debated whether to hit the pool or find somewhere to eat before curfew.

Kobe dropped his bag upstairs, got his work in downstairs, then spent the rest of the night with the Phoenix packet.

The next morning, Harris gathered them during shootaround and drew Phoenix’s early offense on the board.

“They love to push the ball.” He underlined it twice. “If you don’t get matched, you’re giving up a three or a backdoor. Guards, when the shot goes up, somebody gets back on defense. Don’t stand around watching the rebound.”

He drew Johnson coming off an early screen.

“This starts before he crosses half court. And communicate the double teams.”

They walked through it.

Later that evening, trainers taped ankles in the visitors’ locker room while Fisher and Bowen argued quietly about the lighting on the court. Somewhere behind them, Shaq laughed loud enough to cut through the room.

Kobe dressed, tied his shoes, and headed through the tunnel.

Phoenix was already warming up.

He picked Nash out immediately. He was younger than the version fixed in most of Kobe’s memories, with longer hair and a lighter frame, but the dribble was familiar.

Nash worked through a short zigzag near the top of the floor, switching hands without looking down. He pulled up from the top of the key, followed the shot, caught the rebound in stride, and moved into the next one. Even during warmups, his eyes kept leaving the ball, checking the lane or the opposite side of the floor.

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Shaq won the opening tip, knocking it back toward Van Exel.

Van Exel brought the ball across half court while Kevin Johnson picked him up high, chest low and hands active. Shaq buried his man on the left block, but Phoenix fronted the entry. Van Exel looked inside, pulled the ball back, then swung it to Eddie, who curled around a screen for a jumper.

It caught the back rim.

Phoenix secured the rebound and Johnson was moving before the Lakers could get matched. He pushed up the middle, waited until Campbell committed toward the lane, then found Manning slipping along the baseline. The pass arrived just ahead of the rotation, and Manning finished left-handed off the glass.

The Lakers came back down and looked inside again. Phoenix fronted Shaq with help waiting behind him, so Van Exel reversed the ball to Ceballos. Ceballos attacked the middle, drew another defender and kicked it back out to Eddie. His jumper missed, and Phoenix ran again.

Twice over the next few possessions, Shaq buried his defender and raised a hand for the entry. Both times the opportunity disappeared before the ball arrived. The second time, Shaq held the seal another second before dropping his arm and running back.

Johnson came off an early screen, saw the lane before Campbell could close it and accelerated through the gap. Campbell stepped across. Johnson took the contact, flipped the ball off the glass and heard the whistle before it dropped through.

He got up and walked to the line.

Two possessions later, Harris called timeout. He met the players at the edge of the huddle with the dry-erase board in one hand.

“Get the ball inside.”

He pointed at Shaq.

“We have him. Use him.”

Shaq sat with a cup in one hand. “Just send them all my way.”

Van Exel nodded beside him. “We got you.”

The next possession, Van Exel got Shaq the ball early. Shaq caught on the left block, and Phoenix sent the second defender almost immediately. He waited for the help to commit, then kicked the ball back outside. Eddie caught it, moved it once more, and Ceballos buried the three.

Phoenix answered through Johnson. He pushed after the make, got the Lakers moving backward, then pulled the ball out when the lane closed. The Suns worked it around until Green caught on the block, took two hard dribbles, and banked it in.

The Lakers were better after the timeout. Shaq touched the ball earlier, and Phoenix had to decide whether to leave him alone or send help before he got into his move. When the double came, the ball came back out. When it didn’t, Shaq went to work.

Phoenix kept its lead.

Johnson pushed after makes and misses, forcing the Lakers to identify matchups while retreating. Manning ran with him. Cassell gave Phoenix another ball handler when Johnson gave it up. Los Angeles slowed them more often as the quarter went on, but never enough to take away the pace completely.

With a little over a minute left, Shaq established deep position before Phoenix could get set. Van Exel saw him immediately and threw the entry.

Shaq caught, drop-stepped before the help could arrive and hammered it through with both hands. He turned and ran back.

Phoenix put the ball in Johnson’s hands again. He used a screen near the top, got his defender trailing and pulled up before Campbell could step high enough. The jumper dropped.

The horn sounded a possession later, with Phoenix ahead 24–17.

Harris turned toward the bench.

“Fisher. Bryant. Bowen. Wallace. Knight.”

Kobe was already pulling off his warmup.

“You five start the second.”

Fisher stood beside him, tucking his jersey into his shorts while Harris went through the matchups. Ben rolled his shoulders once.

Across the floor, Phoenix began making its own changes.

Kobe saw number thirteen before the PA announcer said the name.

Nash came away from the Suns’ bench while an assistant spoke to him, then took the ball from a teammate and bounced it once against the floor.

The buzzer sounded for the end of the break, and the five Lakers walked onto the floor. Nash stayed near the baseline waiting for the official to hand him the ball.

Fisher picked him up before half court. Kobe pointed Bowen toward the weak side and found his own man.

The second quarter started.

Nash brought the ball up without much hurry. Fisher picked him up high, but Nash kept his dribble and waited for the screen.

He came off it with Fisher trailing, then snaked back instead of accelerating toward the rim. Ben showed high. Nash kept Fisher on his back for another step, drawing Ben farther from Horry before firing the pass over the top.

Horry caught it in his shooting pocket and buried the three.

Fisher looked at Kobe as they set for the inbound but didn’t say anything.

At the next dead ball, they stood near the arc while an official retrieved the ball from behind the stanchion.

“Hey, Steve.”

Nash turned.

“You still play soccer?”

Nash’s eyebrows came together. “What?”

The referee tossed Fisher the ball, ending the conversation.

Fisher called the set and used Knight at the elbow. Bowen cut through, Kobe came behind him, and Phoenix shifted with both. Fisher fed Knight, who turned and found Bowen coming back toward the ball. His jumper missed, but Ben pulled down the rebound and kicked it out.

Kobe caught, attacked the closeout along the baseline and drew Knight’s defender down with him. He dropped the ball back to Knight for the short finish.

Phoenix came right back.

Nash approached the screen, gave Fisher enough of a shoulder fake to send him toward it, then doubled back the other way. Fisher recovered and stayed on his hip. Nash kept the dribble alive until the help stepped toward him, then threaded a bounce pass between two defenders for a layup.

On the run back, Kobe glanced at him. “Nice dime.”

“Thanks.” Nash kept looking at him.

“That’ll be the last one of the night.”

Nash gave him a challenging look before turning upcourt.

Fisher brought the ball across, called for motion, and used a high screen from Ben. Phoenix went under, so Fisher stopped behind the screen and knocked down the jumper.

Phoenix and Los Angeles traded baskets over the next few trips. Nash kept probing off the screen without giving up his dribble, while Fisher stayed attached, and Ben adjusted the height of his show.

On the next trip, Nash tried to split them. Kobe had already dropped off his man from the weak-side wing and reached as Nash came through the gap, knocking the ball loose toward Fisher.

“Push.”

Fisher pushed it ahead to Kobe on the wing. Kobe caught, hesi’d the shot, and drove middle. The low defender stepped across, and Kobe kicked to Bowen in the corner.

Bowen buried the three.

Phoenix called timeout.

Kobe jogged toward the bench. Harris had the board ready before the five of them reached him.

“Fisher, stay attached. Ben, don’t chase him all the way out. Make him come back toward you.” Harris drew the screen with two quick strokes. “Weak side, quit staring at them and play some defense.”

He looked around the huddle.

“Defense on three! One, two, three—DEFENSE!”

Phoenix came out in Horns, both bigs high. Fisher stayed with Nash over the first screen, but the second caught enough of his hip to give Nash a step. Nash turned the corner and got into the paint.

Ben came over with both arms high, but Nash floated the ball over him and off the glass.

The Lakers went back the other way. Kobe came off Knight’s screen and caught on the wing. His defender chased over and arrived too high. Kobe ripped through, got to the elbow and knocked down the pull-up.

Nash brought the ball across more slowly on the next trip. He gave a small hand signal and moved it to the wing, then relocated as Phoenix reversed the ball. When it came back to him, he hesitated once and skipped it across the court to the open corner.

The shot missed.

Knight put a body on his man underneath, and Ben came down with the rebound in traffic.

“Numbers!”

Kobe was already up the floor.

Ben got it to Fisher, and Fisher took one dribble before hitting Kobe in stride. Phoenix hadn’t gotten anybody back. Kobe took one more dribble, gathered and hammered it through with both hands.

A few cheers broke through the groans from the Phoenix crowd.

Bowen denied his man on the wing on the next trip and forced a bad pass. Ben grabbed two defensive rebounds in traffic. Fisher hit another jumper when Phoenix went under. Nash answered with a floater, then tried to go behind his back in traffic the next time down. Ben got a hand on it, and Bowen beat his man to the loose ball.

Phoenix called timeout.

Kobe looked up at the scoreboard.

31–31.

He followed Fisher toward the bench and waited for Harris to call for somebody else.

Harris didn’t. He pointed back toward the floor.

“Same group”

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Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! We’re moving through preseason a little faster from here since I don’t want every game taking an entire chapter, but I still want the important matchups, chemistry, and progression to get their moments.

Kobe and the young guys are starting to earn more trust, and things should get interesting as the competition gets better.

Shoutout to some of the top supporters (much love y’all):

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