Chapter 60: Preseason Game 8: With the First Five

Two lockers down, Ben ripped another strip of tape from the roll and pulled it tight around his ankle, the sharp sound carrying across the locker room. The air smelled of liniment and fresh-washed mesh, with the chemical bite of the training table underneath it.

A trainer moved through with a basket of water bottles rattling against his hip while Fisher sat on the bench closest to the training table, working a blunt thumbnail through the laces of his shoes until he had stripped out every last knot.

Kobe set his shoes flat on the floor, toes aligned, and rolled each ankle before sliding his feet into them. The music was low enough to disappear beneath the room’s conversation. Bowen sat on the other side of the room studying a stat sheet, while Shaq stood half-dressed at his locker, his voice carrying as he argued with one of the backup big men about where they should eat after the game.

It was the same routine Kobe had followed before every game of the preseason.

He was tightening the laces on his right shoe when the locker-room door opened. Kobe didn’t look up. Coaches moved through often enough that the sound barely registered.

Del Harris stepped inside and stopped first near Van Exel, who was flipping through channels on the television mounted above the lockers. Harris said something Kobe couldn’t hear. Van Exel glanced at the clipboard in Harris’s hand, nodded once, and turned his attention back to the television.

Harris moved on.

He stopped in front of Kobe’s locker.

Kobe noticed the black dress shoes first, polished enough to catch the overhead lights. His hands kept working the laces.

“Kobe.”

Kobe looked up.

“You’ll be starting tonight.”

His fingers stopped against the lace for half a second.

Then he pulled it tight.

“At the two?”

Harris nodded. “Van Exel, you, Ceballos, Campbell, O’Neal.” He glanced down at the clipboard. “Dumars is yours.”

“I’ve got him.”

Harris tapped the clipboard once against his leg and moved on, already calling something toward Campbell about Detroit’s frontcourt coverage.

Kobe watched him for a moment before looking back down at his shoes.

That was it.

No explanation. No speech about earning anything. Harris hadn’t even changed his tone.

Kobe finished tying the shoe and tested the fit. One preseason start didn’t guarantee another one. It didn’t guarantee anything once the games started counting. But Harris had spent the last several weeks moving him through different lineups, different responsibilities, different matchups.

Tonight he wanted to see this one.

Kobe stood and rolled his shoulders.

A minute later, Fisher came over with one shoe in his hand and dropped onto the bench beside him.

“Wait. You’re starting?”

“That’s what the big boss said.”

Fisher studied him. “You’re sitting here like Harris just told you what time the bus leaves.”

Kobe looked over. “What do you want me to do?”

Fisher stared at him another second, then shook his head and started pulling on his shoe. “At least celebrate a bit.”

Across the room, Bowen looked up from the paper in his hands.

“Who you got?”

“Dumars.”

Bowen’s mouth tightened slightly. “Have fun with that.”

He went back to the stat sheet.

Ben passed behind them on his way toward the training table. Kobe lifted his fist when he came close. Ben bumped it once and kept moving.

Shaq caught enough of the conversation to turn around.

“You starting?”

Kobe nodded.

Shaq pointed at him. “Welcome to the important people, rookie. Try not to mess it up for the rest of us.”

Kobe reached for his jersey.

Fisher looked down at his shoe, hiding the beginning of a smile.

Shaq went back to his conversation before Kobe could answer, and within seconds his voice was carrying across the room again.

Kobe pulled his jersey over his head and smoothed it down. Harris didn’t circle back. Nobody came over to congratulate him. Van Exel, who had apparently heard the lineup before Kobe did, eventually caught Kobe’s eye from across the room and gave him a small nod.

Kobe returned it.

Nick went back to the television.

That suited Kobe fine.

He slid on his wristbands and headed toward the whiteboard. Eddie Jones was already dressed when Kobe passed his locker. Eddie looked up.

“Make it count.”

Kobe slowed just enough to meet his eyes.

“I will.”

Eddie held the look for another second before reaching back into his locker.

Kobe continued toward the board.

The room gradually changed as game time approached. Trainers collected loose tape and towels. Players finished dressing. Conversations shortened. The television went off. Somebody near the door called for the team to bring it in.

Harris went through Detroit’s personnel and the opening coverages. Kobe listened when Dumars’s name came up, then again when Harris moved to Grant Hill. There was nothing in the instructions Kobe hadn’t expected. Detroit had too many experienced players to defend carelessly, and Hill could create problems from too many places on the floor to let him get comfortable early.

When Harris finished, the group broke.

For every other preseason game, Kobe had fallen back toward Fisher and the rest of the reserves while the starters gathered near the door.

This time, Van Exel stood, and Kobe went with him.

Ceballos was a few steps ahead. Campbell moved alongside him. Shaq’s head rose above everyone as the group made its way toward the tunnel.

Kobe fell into line behind them.

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The first time they called his name, Kobe almost missed it.

The crowd was still filling in, but the building had already taken on the restless hum that came before a game. Kobe walked the sideline in his warm-up top while the public-address announcer worked through Detroit’s starters first—Grant Hill, Joe Dumars, Terry Mills, Otis Thorpe, Don Reid—before turning to the Lakers.

Ceballos. Campbell. Van Exel. O’Neal.

Then his.

“Starting at guard, number eight, Kobe Bryant.”

Kobe stepped onto the court as the noise rose around him. There were no cameras rushing toward him, no reaction from the Lakers’ bench beyond Fisher lifting two fingers in his direction. Kobe answered with a small nod and continued toward the circle.

Shaq stood across from Detroit’s center, loose through the shoulders as he waited for the officials. Van Exel moved into position nearby. Ceballos was already looking toward the other end of the floor.

Dumars took his place across from Kobe.

Their eyes met briefly.

Then the official stepped into the circle.

The ball went up.

Shaq got the first touch and knocked it back toward Van Exel. Nick collected it and immediately started the Lakers into their opening set.

Kobe ran the right wing and spaced wide. Ceballos came up from the baseline while Campbell trailed toward the elbow. Shaq went directly to the block, leaned into his defender, and put out a hand.

Van Exel didn’t hesitate.

The entry reached Shaq before Detroit could completely settle. The second defender came immediately, digging down from the wing as Shaq turned toward the middle. Shaq held the ball long enough to draw him, then kicked it back out.

Ceballos received the first pass and moved it along.

Kobe caught on the wing.

Dumars was already closing.

There was nothing frantic about it. He didn’t lunge or leave his feet. He simply took a direct line toward Kobe’s shooting hand and stopped where he needed to stop.

Kobe saw it and moved the ball back to Van Exel.

Then he cut.

Dumars went with him.

Kobe crossed the lane and cleared the side while Shaq tried to establish position again, but Detroit’s help had already recovered. Van Exel kept the possession moving and eventually found Campbell near the top of the key.

Campbell’s jumper came off the rim.

Detroit rebounded.

Nothing had been wrong with the possession.

On the next trip, Kobe screened for Ceballos and popped toward the perimeter, expecting the reversal. Van Exel looked toward him for a fraction of a second before turning away.

Shaq had his man pinned.

Nick had seen it first.

The pass was already leaving his hands when Kobe changed direction. He cut behind Dumars instead, but Dumars stayed connected and took away the direct route to the rim. Kobe cleared through and came back out the other side.

The first few possessions continued that way. Van Exel controlled the ball. Shaq demanded Detroit’s attention every time he crossed the lane. Ceballos moved through spaces he had been using with the starting group throughout camp, and Campbell settled into the areas he knew would be available around Shaq.

Kobe knew the actions.

The timing was different.

Dumars wasn’t making it any easier.

There were no forearms across Kobe’s ribs or hands pulling at his jersey. Dumars didn’t need them. He denied the easiest catch, shaded Kobe toward Detroit’s help and rarely committed himself far enough in one direction for Kobe to use his momentum against him.

Kobe tried to flare off a screen.

Dumars cut the angle instead of following him.

Kobe started baseline on the next possession. Dumars opened enough to give him the first step, then stayed on Kobe’s inside hip and let the baseline shrink the floor.

Kobe pulled the ball back out.

He recognized what Dumars was doing immediately. Dumars wasn’t trying to beat him to every spot. He was making sure Kobe never reached one cleanly.

So Kobe stopped trying to win the same route twice.

Shaq caught on the block again. Detroit leaned toward him before the double arrived, and Kobe watched Dumars turn just enough to see the ball.

Kobe drifted away from the original action.

Not far.

Just enough.

The second defender committed to Shaq. Kobe slid into the space he had left behind.

Shaq saw him.

The pass came hard across the floor. Kobe caught it in rhythm, set his feet and released before Dumars could recover.

Swish.

Detroit took the ball out and came right back.

Dumars didn’t respond by calling for an isolation. He brought Kobe through one action, reversed the ball and continued moving. Kobe stayed with him through the next screen and recovered to his hip.

Dumars never forced the shot.

The ball reached Terry Mills instead. Mills rose from the middle and knocked down the jumper over Campbell’s contest.

Kobe was already turning toward the inbound.

Detroit’s next possession went through Grant Hill.

Hill caught on the move with Ceballos retreating. One hesitation got Ceballos leaning, but Hill didn’t attack immediately. He changed pace again, waited until Campbell stepped away from the paint, and then slipped the ball underneath to Thorpe.

Two points.

Kobe looked toward Campbell as they turned upcourt, then found Dumars again.

Hill hadn’t needed much room.

The problem was what happened when Los Angeles gave him any.

Van Exel brought the ball across and signaled the next action. Kobe received it on the wing, jabbed once and watched Dumars hold his ground. Campbell came up to screen.

Kobe used it.

Dumars went underneath and was waiting when Kobe came around the other side.

Kobe kept the dribble alive, gave the ball back to Van Exel and moved.

The next time they ran something similar, Kobe showed baseline first before curling back toward the top. Van Exel met him with the handoff.

For the first time, Dumars was half a step behind.

Kobe turned the corner and rose.

Dumars recovered quickly enough to get a hand up.

The jumper still went in.

Kobe ran back.

Detroit began leaning harder toward Shaq as the quarter went on. Campbell got an open jumper and made it. Van Exel used the extra room to get into the lane for a floater. Ceballos disappeared behind the defense once and came out on the other side with a layup.

Kobe took what came.

On one possession Shaq’s defender edged too high while Dumars looked toward the ball. Kobe relocated toward the open side, caught the reversal and knocked down another jumper before Detroit could close.

Hill answered before the Lakers had fully set their defense.

He crossed half court with the ball, attacked Ceballos and changed direction hard enough to get his shoulder past him. Campbell stepped over late. Hill extended around him and finished off the glass.

Harris watched from the sideline.

The Lakers played on.

At the first timeout, the score was even.

Lakers 18 – Pistons 18.

Kobe walked toward the bench and took the towel a trainer handed him. Harris was already at the board by the time the five starters gathered around.

“They’re sitting on the entry pass to the post,” Van Exel said.

Shaq took a drink. “Because they know where it’s going.”

Harris looked at the board, then drew a line across the lane. “Then quit giving them the same picture. Shaq, start on the opposite side and come across late. Nick, don’t wait for him. If it’s not there, get us into the next set.”

He looked toward Ceballos and Kobe.

“You two stay out of each other’s space. If one cuts, the other clears.”

Ceballos nodded. Kobe wiped his face with the towel.

Harris pointed at Campbell. “And Elden, get Thorpe out of the lane. He’s standing there waiting on everything.”

The horn sounded.

“Let’s go.”

They went back out.

Van Exel called the next set. Kobe started toward the same space he had used earlier, saw Dumars preparing to cut him off and stopped before reaching it.

Dumars stopped too.

Shaq established himself inside.

Kobe waited.

Dumars’s attention shifted toward the post for barely a second.

That was enough.

Kobe slipped behind his line of sight and received the pass. Detroit’s help took one step toward him.

Instead of shooting, Kobe put the ball straight back inside.

Shaq caught it above his shoulder.

The rim creaked a second later.

Kobe was already retreating on defense when Shaq came down.

Dumars continued running Detroit’s offense without giving Kobe much to attack. Kobe stayed attached through the first screen, switched his angle on the second and waited for Dumars to expose the ball.

Dumars gave it up and kept moving.

At the other end, Ceballos took the outlet and tried to push before Detroit’s defense could settle. The Pistons got back, forcing Los Angeles into the half court.

Van Exel called the next set. Kobe started through the lane, but Ceballos cut first.

Kobe immediately cleared toward the corner.

Van Exel drove into the space they had opened and kicked the ball back to Campbell.

The jumper missed.

The next time down, Kobe saw Shaq beginning to move toward a screening angle he liked. Kobe started to signal for it, but Ceballos cut across the lane first, bringing his defender directly through the space.

Kobe dropped his hand.

Shaq saw it too and went back toward the block.

Van Exel reset them.

Neither read had been wrong.

They just hadn’t made the same one.

Dumars stayed close enough that Kobe couldn’t spend much time thinking about it. On the next possession he took away Kobe’s first catch, then shaded him toward help when Kobe finally got the ball.

Kobe attacked anyway.

Dumars gave him the first step without surrendering the angle. By the time Kobe reached the lane, another Detroit jersey was waiting.

Kobe planted, stopped short of the help, and rose for the pull-up.

Dumars recovered quickly enough to get a hand up.

The jumper dropped.

“KO-BE! KO-BE!”

Kobe turned and sprinted back.

At the next dead ball, Harris looked down his bench.

“Fisher. Bowen. Wallace.”

The three of them got up.

Van Exel headed toward the sideline when the substitutions came through. Ceballos followed him, with Campbell coming out behind them. Ben went straight toward the paint, already looking for somebody to put a body on, while Bowen drifted toward the weak side.

Kobe stayed on the floor.