Chapter 77: Pull Up a Chair, Wilt. We Need to Talk.

They came out of halftime with Phoenix already showing its adjustment. On the Lakers’ first possession, Shaq set a hard screen for Kobe, and both defenders met him above the foul line. Person was already sliding over from the weak side before Kobe could turn the corner.

Kobe gave the ball up immediately.

Eddie caught it on the wing and fired inside to Shaq before Phoenix could recover. Kleine tried to hold his ground, but Shaq spun baseline and hammered the ball through with both hands.

Phoenix answered with a jumper from Person, then changed the coverage again on the next trip.

This time Cassell went underneath Campbell’s screen, giving Kobe enough room to stop behind it and bury the three.

That became the rhythm of the quarter. Phoenix changed the look, and Kobe took what it gave him. When they crowded him, he moved the ball toward Shaq. When they switched, he attacked the mismatch.

Phoenix was resilient, though. Manning scored over Campbell, Finley got loose in transition, and Cassell kept probing until he found an opening.

The lead stayed within a few possessions.

Midway through the quarter, Cassell called for a high screen. He waited until Kobe leaned toward it, walked him directly into the screener, and then burst around the other side. Kobe was caught for a moment, and Cassell gathered with enough room for what should have been a clean jumper.

His explosiveness erased the mistake.

Kobe turned, covered the space in two long strides, and came over Cassell’s shoulder just as the ball left his hand. His fingertips caught it cleanly enough to knock it forward into open court, where Eddie collected it and raced the other way for the layup.

Joe was already standing when the replay appeared overhead. He watched Kobe get caught on the screen, recover from behind, and erase the shot anyway, then laughed loudly enough that Pamela turned toward him.

“You told me you were going to sit here and watch like a former professional,” she said, smiling as Joe finally lowered himself back into his seat.

“I thought I could,” Joe said. He looked back toward the replay and shook his head. “Then he started doing things like that.”

Pamela laughed. “At least you made it until the third quarter.”

Phoenix refused to disappear. Horry knocked down consecutive jumpers, Cassell drew a foul on the next trip, and before long the Lakers’ advantage was gone.

Del called timeout. After a few adjustments, the game resumed.

Kobe drew two defenders and moved the ball to Fisher, who swung it through Eddie before Shaq finished inside. Kobe picked up points when Phoenix gave him openings, following his own miss for a putback and later earning two free throws after attacking a switch.

Late in the quarter, Phoenix started denying him the ball more aggressively. Kobe worked himself free once, caught above the arc, and buried the three before the defender could recover. After that, he didn’t force another shot but contributed to the game through assists and positioning.

When the horn sounded, Kobe headed toward the bench with the Forum roaring around him. Del caught him briefly by the elbow before he could sit.

“That was a good quarter,” Harris said. “They have tried just about everything they have, and you are still making the right read. Do not change anything now.”

“I won’t,” Kobe said. “If they keep sending help, I will keep finding the open man.”

“We still have twelve minutes to win.”

Kobe sat and pulled a towel around his shoulders as the television broadcast returned from break. A graphic appeared beneath his name.

35 PTS — 9 REB — 11 AST — 2 BLK

“Thirty-five points through three quarters for Kobe Bryant,” the announcer said. “He is eighteen years old, this is his first NBA game, and somehow the numbers still do not tell you everything he has done tonight.”

His partner gave a short laugh. “And he still has another quarter to play.”

Kobe never heard them. He took a drink and watched Phoenix gather across the floor, already thinking about what they might try next. His legs were beginning to feel the minutes, but the game was still close.

It was about time to activate the Mamba.

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The fourth quarter started with the Forum louder than it had been all night. Phoenix made it worse almost immediately, moving the ball around the perimeter until Horry found enough room on the wing to knock down a three that barely disturbed the net.

Shaq took the inbound and glanced toward Kobe as they came up the floor. There was still a trace of a smile on his face, but the message underneath it was clear. The Suns were close, and neither of them could afford to get caught up in anything except finishing the game.

Phoenix had changed its coverage again.

Person stayed attached to Kobe away from the ball while help shaded toward his side whenever he came around a screen. They weren’t sending two defenders at him every time he touched it, but there was always another body close enough to take away the first opening.

Kobe started in the corner while Eddie worked near the top. As the defense shifted toward the ball, Kobe cut behind Person and took the pass low, almost below his knees.

He gathered without breaking stride, slipped underneath the rotating defender and finished the reverse off the glass.

Thirty-seven.

Phoenix answered through Manning, who cleaned up a Cassell miss with a short floater. On the next Lakers possession, Person fought Kobe through two screens and pushed him farther from the basket than he wanted. Kobe gave the ball up instead of fighting the possession, and three passes later Shaq caught it deep enough to finish through Kleine.

The next time Kobe attacked, he got Person on his hip and drove toward the middle. Finley rotated over and caught him across the arm before he could get the ball onto the glass.

Kobe went to the line and made the first free throw. The second caught the back rim and bounced away, leaving him at thirty-eight as Phoenix secured the rebound.

A timeout came less than a minute later.

Kobe walked toward the bench and reached for a towel while the television broadcast returned with his numbers stretched across the bottom of the screen.

38 PTS—9 REB—12 AST—2 BLK

The announcer began to comment on Kobe’s performance, then stopped. There was a brief silence before papers shifted near one of the microphones.

“Hold on. We just got something from our research crew,” he said. “Wilt Chamberlain scored 43 points in his NBA debut in 1959. That remains the highest-scoring debut in league history.”

His partner gave a quiet laugh. “And Kobe Bryant has thirty-eight.”

“He is five points away.”

The information started moving through press row. Reporters leaned toward one another, checking notes and passing the number down the table. It took longer to reach the seats, but soon enough the same name started moving through the crowd.

Wilt.

Pamela heard it from somewhere behind them and leaned toward Joe. “Did they just say something about Wilt Chamberlain?”

Joe listened for another moment before nodding. “Forty-three points in his first game. That is the record.”

Pamela looked toward the Lakers’ bench. “And Kobe has thirty-eight?”

“He does.” Joe stared at his son for another second and shook his head. “Five more would tie it.”

Sharia leaned forward between them. “Did you know he was that close?”

“No,” Joe said, smiling.

Pamela looked at him. “That’s a first.”

Joe laughed and turned his attention back toward the floor.

On the Lakers’ bench, Kobe had heard enough.

Forty-three. Wilt Chamberlain.

The number came back immediately. Of course Kobe knew the record. He knew Wilt’s career and knew the stories and numbers that had survived decades after the games themselves were gone. He simply hadn’t walked into the Forum tonight aiming for it, but now he was five away.

For a few seconds, Kobe let himself enjoy it.

Iverson had scored forty earlier that night, ten more than Kobe remembered from the first time he’d lived through 1996.

Now Kobe was sitting at thirty-eight, five points from Wilt, in a debut that was already nothing like the one he remembered.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then Del stepped into the huddle, and it disappeared.

There was still a game to win.

“Phoenix is bringing help toward Kobe before he even gets around the screen,” Harris said. “We are going to use that. Kobe, I want the ball in your hands and I want you making the decision.”

Phoenix made the decision for him on the first possession. Kobe came around Campbell’s screen and saw Horry step toward him before he had even turned the corner. He moved the ball immediately. Fisher swung it to Eddie, Eddie found Shaq inside, and Shaq powered through Kleine for the finish.

The Suns answered.

On the next Lakers possession, Kobe worked off a double screen and finally created enough separation from Person to catch near the elbow. He turned, took one dribble and rose before the help could arrive.

The jumper dropped.

Forty.

The Forum erupted, but Kobe was already running back.

“M-V-P! M-V-P!”

CLAP! CLAP CLAP!

“M-V-P! M-V-P!”

CLAP! CLAP CLAP!

Phoenix kept coming. Cassell worked deep into the possession before finding Finley cutting toward the basket, then Horry helped force Shaq into a difficult hook at the other end. The Lakers couldn’t create more than a few points of separation, and every Phoenix answer kept the pressure where it had been all night.

The crowd had changed, though.

Every time Kobe touched the ball, people rose. Every time he came around a screen, the noise climbed with him. Kobe heard it and knew exactly why.

Three points.

He pushed the number out of his mind.

A few possessions later, Person crowded him outside the three-point line. Kobe gave him a hard hesitation, got his shoulder past him and attacked the lane. Horry stepped across from the weak side, but Kobe changed direction before he could establish himself and extended the ball high off the glass.

It dropped.

Forty-two.

The Forum exploded.

Kobe landed and turned toward the other end without so much as looking at the scoreboard. He knew the number. He knew whose name was sitting one point above his.

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The timeout did little to calm the Forum. Most of the lower bowl was still standing when the Lakers reached the bench, and forty-three seemed to be on everyone’s mind.

Del waited until the players gathered around him. “All right, relax. I know what everybody out there is waiting for, but we still have a game to win. Don’t let the noise change how we’re playing.”

Kobe nodded. “It won’t.”

“Stay composed and finish it.”

Shaq stood and tapped Kobe on the shoulder. “Come on man.”

Kobe got up with him. “Let’s go.”

The noise followed them back onto the floor.

Eddie brought the ball up while Kobe worked toward the wing. Shaq stepped up to screen Person, and Eddie delivered the pass as Kobe came free.

The Forum rose with him.

Kobe caught with forty-two points and drove toward the middle. Person stayed on his shoulder while Horry stepped out of the lane to help. There was enough room for Kobe to try to split them, and he knew exactly what one point would mean.

Then Kleine left Shaq.

Kobe bounced the pass between the defenders without hesitation.

Shaq caught it under the basket and hammered it through with his right hand. The Forum erupted, but another roar followed when the scoreboard changed above the floor.

NBA DEBUT ASSIST RECORD

ERNIE DIGREGORIO — 14 (1973)

KOBE BRYANT — 15

The broadcast crew was on it almost immediately.

“That’s assist number fifteen for Kobe Bryant, and that is a new NBA debut record. Ernie DiGregorio had fourteen in his first game for the Buffalo Braves back in 1973.”

“The Braves were Buffalo’s NBA team in the seventies. That franchise eventually became the Clippers, but DiGregorio’s record has stood for more than twenty years.”

The PA announcement followed. “With his 15th assist tonight, Kobe Bryant has set a new NBA record for assists in a debut!”

Kobe glanced at the scoreboard as he headed back on defense. Forty-two points. Fifteen assists. He’d passed up the shot that could have tied Wilt, and somehow made history with the pass instead.

On the next Lakers possession, Person denied Kobe’s first cut, so Kobe kept moving. The ball went through Fisher and Eddie before finding him on the opposite wing.

This time Person was late.

Kobe attacked immediately, beat him off the dribble and got into the lane. Finley rotated across and caught Kobe on both arms as he went up.

The whistle sent him to the line.

Kobe pushed himself off the floor while the Forum stayed on its feet. Above him, the scoreboard showed what everyone had been waiting for.

KOBE BRYANT — 42

NBA DEBUT RECORD: WILT CHAMBERLAIN — 43

Kobe looked up once.

He knew the number. He’d known it since the last timeout. Still, seeing his name beneath Wilt’s sent a quick jolt through him.

He smiled, then turned back toward the rim.

The official handed him the ball. Kobe bounced it twice and released.

Back rim.

The Forum groaned.

Shaq looked over from the lane. “You had to miss that one?”

Kobe rubbed his hands against his shorts. “You think I wanted to?”

Shaq laughed.

Kobe stepped back to the line.

The noise started to fade around him. He’d taken bigger free throws than this before, even if nobody else in the building knew it. The pressure was real, but the basket was still ten feet away.

The official gave him the ball.

Two dribbles.

Kobe released.

The shot dropped cleanly through.

Forty-three.

For half a second, Kobe heard nothing.

Then the Forum came apart.

Joe shot out of his seat with both arms raised. Pamela was beside him just as quickly, one hand covering her mouth, while Sharia grabbed her father’s arm and screamed something neither of them could hear.

Above the floor, the scoreboard changed.

WILT CHAMBERLAIN — 43

KOBE BRYANT — 43

The PA announcer had to wait for the crowd before he could even be heard. “With 43 points tonight, Kobe Bryant has tied Wilt Chamberlain for the highest-scoring debut in NBA history!”

Kobe stared at the scoreboard.

He had spent one lifetime chasing names like that.

Wilt. Michael. Magic. Kareem.

He knew how difficult it was to put your name beside theirs. He knew how many years, injuries, failures, championships, and nights nobody remembered it took to earn a place in those conversations.

And now, in the first game of his second life, there it was.

KOBE BRYANT — 43.

Shaq’s hand came down hard across his back. “You see that?”

Kobe smiled. “I see it.”

“You planning on leaving it tied?”

Kobe looked at the game clock.

There was still time.

His smile slowly disappeared.

“No.”

Shaq stared at him for a second, then started laughing as they turned upcourt.

Phoenix inbounded the ball.

Kobe dropped into his stance and looked across the floor. Then, just before Phoenix inbounded, his eyes lifted toward the scoreboard one last time.

The two names were still even.

For now.