Chapter 90: The Kid Who Got Away

The Lakers responded to their Spurs’ loss by playing against the Clippers. Kobe attacked when opportunities appeared but made a conscious effort to involve his teammates.

The victories continued, though not every game came easily. Against Denver, Kobe resisted the temptation to answer every difficult shot with one of his own. Instead, he found Fisher cutting through the defense, fed Shaq in the paint, and watched Eddie Jones knock down an open jumper.

Nothing spectacular. Just good basketball.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Harris told him during a timeout.

Their second loss eventually arrived, another reminder that an eighty-two-game season offered little room for perfection.

Kobe hated losing, but he no longer allowed one defeat to consume the days that followed. In his previous life, he’d wasted enough energy dwelling on mistakes he couldn’t change. This time, he intended to learn from them and move forward.

By late November, the Lakers were beginning to understand one another. His partnership with Shaq was improving, too. There were still arguments about touches and occasional complaints when someone missed an opening, but their chemistry was becoming more instinctive. Kobe was learning when Shaq wanted the ball, how he positioned himself before sealing a defender, and which movements signaled that the defense was about to collapse. Shaq, in turn, was growing accustomed to Kobe attacking before the defense had finished organizing itself.

Their latest test came against Houston.

The Lakers had already beaten the Rockets once, and the rematch was every bit as physical. Hakeem Olajuwon challenged Shaq on every possession, Charles Barkley battled Wallace beneath the basket, and Clyde Drexler remained dangerous whenever Los Angeles lost track of him. Houston remembered their first meeting just as clearly as the Lakers did, and the Rockets had no intention of making the second one any easier.

The game remained close, but the Lakers gradually found their rhythm.

Los Angeles protected its advantage through the final possessions, securing its second victory over Houston.

By November 24, the Lakers stood at 11–2.

Their next challenge was a three-game road trip: Philadelphia on November 26, Boston on the 27th, and Detroit on the 29th. But Kobe’s thoughts rarely traveled beyond the first destination.

Philadelphia.

The city where he’d spent his teenage years, where he’d practiced until his arms ached, and where he’d first begun attracting the attention of scouts who wondered whether a high school kid could make the leap directly to the NBA.

And Allen Iverson.

The first overall pick had already become Philadelphia’s most exciting young player.

Kobe remembered facing him in another life, including their battles in the 2001 NBA Finals. He remembered the crossovers, the impossible finishes, and the way Allen attacked defenders twice his size without hesitation.

But that history hadn’t happened here.

And Kobe was looking forward to discovering how their first meeting would unfold.

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That morning, Rob Pelinka stopped by to confirm the Philadelphia arrangements. He arrived carrying a slim folder, already looking as though he’d spent several hours on the telephone.

“Your parents’ flights are set,” Rob said. “They’ll travel separately and meet you there. I’ve also arranged tickets for Coach Downer and the people you mentioned.”

“How are the seats?”

“The team got them good seats.”

Rob closed his folder. “One more thing. The media’s going to make this all about you and Iverson. Try not to give them anything over the top.”

Kobe smiled. “I’ll keep it just basketball.”

Before leaving the facility, Kobe called home. Joe answered immediately, his voice booming through the receiver.

“There’s my superstar! My boy, we are going back to Philly!”

Kobe laughed. “Dad, we just moved like two months ago.”

“Two months too long! You know how much I miss that city? The people, the food, the cheesesteaks!”

“You can get cheesesteaks in L.A.”

“Boy, don’t disrespect Philadelphia like that!”

Kobe shook his head, smiling. In the background, Pamela laughed.

“He’s been talking about cheesesteaks all morning,” she said.

“Because I haven’t had a real one since we left!” Joe protested. “Already called a few old friends, too. We’re gonna catch up, grab some food, maybe visit a couple places.”

“Joe, we’re only there for two days!”

“Plenty of time!”

Kobe laughed. “Sounds like you two are going on vacation.”

“That’s the plan! See some friends, eat good, and watch my son give Iverson fifty.”

“Fifty?”

“Somebody told me Iverson’s gonna score forty. What was I supposed to say?”

“Maybe that it’s a team game?”

Joe burst out laughing. “Listen to this kid! Now he’s teaching me teamwork!”

Pamela eventually took the phone.

“Hi, sweetheart. Don’t listen to your father. He’s acting like we haven’t been back in ten years.”

Kobe chuckled. “Sounds like he’s got the whole trip planned.”

“He does. Just make sure you’re resting. And don’t let all the hype and comparisons get to you.”

“I won’t, Mom.”

“We’ll see you there. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

After hanging up, Kobe remained beside the telephone for a moment.

Only months earlier, his family had still lived in the Philadelphia area. Now they were together in Los Angeles, building a different life. He was glad he’d made that decision.

In his previous life, basketball had taken so much of his time that ordinary family moments had sometimes become difficult to find.

From the locker room came Fisher’s voice, apparently arguing about the amount of luggage Shaq intended to bring.

Kobe shook his head.

They hadn’t even left California, and somehow, the road trip had already begun.

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The Lakers departed Los Angeles that afternoon.

Shaq spent the opening stretch of the flight arguing with Eddie Jones about the game, insisting that his screens were responsible for half the team’s offense.

Eventually, the cabin grew quiet. Kobe retrieved Philadelphia’s scouting report and studied Iverson’s tendencies.

He remembered how difficult Allen had been to defend in his previous life, but he couldn’t assume the rookie version would behave exactly like the veteran he remembered.

He turned another page.

Jerry Stackhouse.

Kobe smiled at the name, remembering their encounter during the summer. Philadelphia had more than one player capable of making the evening interesting.

When they landed, the cold November air reminded Kobe how different the East Coast felt from California.

Fisher pulled his coat tighter as they made their way toward the waiting bus.

“It’s fucking freezing.”

“This isn’t even bad,” Kobe replied.

From behind them, Shaq laughed. “Fish complaining already?”

The team boarded its bus and headed toward Center City. Kobe watched familiar streets pass outside the window.

Only a few months earlier, he’d been a high school student preparing for the draft. Now he was returning with the Lakers.

“Hey, Kobe,” Fisher asked. “You gonna show us around?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you can behave yourself.”

Shaq began humming the theme from Rocky.

Kobe closed his eyes. “Please don’t.”

Shaq got louder.

Eddie laughed. “Welcome home, Kobe.”

That evening, Kobe met his parents at a familiar restaurant where the family had celebrated after some of his high school games. Joe greeted him with a hug, stepping back to inspect him as though something significant had changed since they’d last seen each other.

“Look at you. NBA player coming back home.”

“Dad, you saw me before I left.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Now we’re in Philadelphia.”

Pamela laughed as she embraced him. They settled into their booth, and soon Joe was telling stories about old acquaintances who claimed they’d always known Kobe would become a star.

“Funny,” Kobe said. “Everybody remembers knowing that now.”

Joe grinned.

As dinner continued, Pamela spoke about visiting old friends and how strange it felt to return now that their home was in Los Angeles. Joe listened, nodding occasionally, before glancing around the restaurant with a thoughtful expression.

“You know, we used to sit here after your games, and I’d spend the whole dinner telling you what you did wrong.”

Kobe smiled. “You still do that.”

They laughed, but Joe’s expression eventually softened.

“I always knew you’d make it, son. Saw how hard you worked. But sitting here now, knowing you’re playing in the NBA…” He shook his head. “Still feels like it happened fast.”

Kobe looked at his father. “Yeah.”

“One minute I’m rebounding for you after school. Next minute I’m watching you play against Hakeem Olajuwon.”

“You make it sound like you’re getting old.”

Joe laughed. “Your old man could still give you a few buckets.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Pamela smiled. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Kobe laughed, but the moment stayed with him. His father had spent years helping him chase a dream most people considered impossible.

Joe had been there for the early practices, the difficult games, and the nights when Kobe refused to leave the gym until he’d made one more shot.

In his previous life, he hadn’t always appreciated those ordinary moments as much as he should have.

He appreciated them now.

Later, Joe mentioned that Gregg Downer and several familiar faces from Lower Merion would be attending the game.

“Coach says he’s looking forward to seeing you.”

“Hope he doesn’t start yelling instructions from the stands.”

“You know he will.”

Pamela reached across the table and touched Kobe’s hand. “Just enjoy being back, sweetheart.”

Kobe nodded. “I will.”

When dinner ended, he hugged both parents and watched their car disappear into the evening traffic. Only months earlier, nights like this had been ordinary.

Now Philadelphia was somewhere they returned to visit, a place filled with familiar streets and memories rather than the home they would return to at the end of the evening.

Back at the hotel, Kobe found a message from Downer wishing him luck. He smiled, set it beside the telephone, and opened his scouting report one last time.

Tomorrow, he’d see those familiar faces again.

Tonight, he still had work to do.

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By six o’clock on November 26, traffic was crawling toward the CoreStates Center. Kobe watched the new arena appear through the team bus window, its glass exterior glowing beneath the evening lights.

It wasn’t the Spectrum. He’d grown up imagining himself playing professional basketball in Philadelphia, but now he was returning as an NBA player in a uniform many hometown fans might never have expected him to wear.

“Look at this place,” Fisher said. “They got the whole city out here for you.”

“Pretty sure they’re here for the Sixers.”

Shaq grinned from behind them. “Don’t worry, little man. I’ll let you have your moment.”

“That’s mighty generous of you,” Eddie remarked.

Inside, reporters called Kobe’s name as the Lakers made their way toward the visiting locker room.

They asked how it felt to be back, whether facing Iverson was personal, and who deserved to be considered the better rookie.

Kobe smiled politely and kept walking. He had a game to prepare for.

After reviewing the matchup with Harris, the Lakers took the court for warmups. The arena was already filling, and Kobe spotted a small section of Lower Merion supporters behind the Lakers’ bench. Some waved when they recognized him, drawing cheers from nearby fans and a few boos from Philadelphia loyalists.

Then he heard a familiar voice.

“Kob!”

Joe Bryant stood near the front of the section, waving both arms. Pamela was beside him, along with Gregg Downer and several familiar faces. Kobe jogged toward them, smiling as his father leaned forward.

“Look at this crowd!”

“Yeah. It’s pretty packed.”

“Half of Philadelphia is here!”

“Thought they were coming to watch Iverson.”

“They’re coming to see the prince return home.”

Pamela squeezed Kobe’s hand.

“Prince?”

“Well you sure ain’t the king if I am here.” Joe laughed.

Downer stepped forward and shook Kobe’s hand.

“Good to see you, Kob. Been watching all your games. You’re doing well.”

“Appreciate it, Coach.”

He returned to his shooting routine, starting close to the basket before moving toward the elbows and eventually beyond the three-point line. The familiar repetition settled him, allowing his body to find its rhythm while the crowd continued growing around him.

Across the court, Jerry Stackhouse was working along the perimeter. Their eyes briefly met, and Kobe remembered their encounter during the summer.

Then he noticed Allen Iverson.

The Philadelphia rookie moved through a series of crossovers and hesitation dribbles, changing direction with extraordinary balance before rising into a jumper. Kobe watched him shift his weight, hesitate just long enough to freeze an imaginary defender, and explode toward the basket.

A few minutes later, Kobe was retrieving a rebound near midcourt when someone spoke behind him.

“Look who came back to Philly.”

He turned. Iverson stood nearby, a basketball tucked against his hip.

Kobe smiled. “What’s up, Allen?”

They shook hands.

“They’ve been talking about you all week,” Iverson said. “Everywhere I go, somebody asking me about Kobe Bryant.”

“Funny. Been hearing your name a lot out west, too.”

Iverson grinned and glanced toward the stands. “Your people came out.”

“Yeah. Family, friends, even my high school coach.”

“That’s what’s up.” His grin widened. “Damn, now I’m gonna feel bad when I cook your ass in front of everybody.

Kobe laughed. “Nah, I’m the one feeling bad for Philly. They took an L not drafting me, now I got kill their number one pick in my own city.”

Iverson burst out laughing. “Keep talking crazy! We gon’ see.”

They separated, each returning to his team’s side of the court. Near the Lakers’ basket, Shaq caught a rebound and glanced toward Philadelphia.

“What’d the little man want?”

“Nothing much.”

“Nothing?”

“Said he’s not gonna embarrass me in front of my folks.”

Shaq’s grin disappeared. “Man, that shit ain’t happening. Not on my watch.”

A few minutes later, the announcer called for the players to clear the floor. Kobe made his final free throw and handed the ball to an attendant.

Across the arena, Joe caught his eye and raised a fist. Kobe returned the gesture before joining Fisher, Eddie, Shaq, and the rest of the Lakers near their bench, where Harris was preparing his final instructions.

Philadelphia had come to watch its new number one pick. Kobe intended to remind them about the kid who got away.