Chapter 98: The Measure of Greatness

The final notes of Sirius faded beneath the roar of twenty thousand people as the United Center’s lights returned to full brightness.

Michael Jordan stood near the Bulls’ bench, exchanging a few words with Scottie Pippen. He adjusted his shorts, rolled his shoulders, and continued chewing his gum, looking more like a man preparing for another day at work than someone who had just received an ovation capable of shaking the building.

Kobe watched from the Lakers’ bench.

Nearby, Derek Fisher was turning a black Sharpie between his fingers.

Shaq noticed immediately.

“Fish. Put the pen away.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“Then why are you holding it?”

“I was writing something.”

Eddie burst out laughing as Fisher hurriedly shoved the marker into his bag.

“Forget it.”

“Just keeping you professional,” Shaq replied.

The officials began calling the starters toward center court. Kobe removed his warmup and followed his teammates onto the floor.

Then Jordan approached.

He crossed the midcourt line without hurry, his eyes briefly examining the Lakers’ formation before settling on Kobe.

Up close, he looked exactly as Kobe remembered. The shaved head, broad shoulders, and gum moving slowly from one side of his mouth to the other.

For a moment, Kobe felt the strange sensation of meeting an old acquaintance who had no reason to recognize him.

When he noticed Kobe watching him, he gave the rookie a brief nod.

Kobe returned it.

For a moment, their eyes held. Jordan’s expression was relaxed, almost indifferent, but Kobe recognized the competitive edge beneath it.

Jordan stepped closer.

“Ready, rookie?”

Kobe smiled. “Always.”

Jordan chuckled and shook his head.

“We’ll see.”

Kobe watched him go, his smile lingering.

Some things never changed.

“Kob!”

Eddie’s voice pulled him back toward the jump circle.

“You planning on playing tonight, or you two gonna keep talking until halftime?”

“Just getting acquainted.”

“Well, get acquainted with your man on defense. We got a game to win.”

Kobe laughed and moved into position.

The referee raised the basketball.

And the game began.

Shaq won the opening tip.

Kobe collected the ball near midcourt and immediately spotted Eddie Jones sprinting toward the basket. Harper had reacted a fraction too late, giving Eddie the step he needed.

Kobe didn’t dribble.

He planted his foot and launched a one-handed pass downcourt, dropping it perfectly into Eddie’s path.

Rodman came flying across from the weak side, but Eddie adjusted in midair, switched the ball to his left hand, and finished high off the glass.

Six seconds.

2–0, Lakers.

Eddie pointed toward Kobe as they retreated.

Chicago answered with its familiar triangle offense.

Harper passed to Pippen on the left wing while Jordan cut along the baseline and established position on the right block. Kobe followed, pressing his forearm against Jordan’s back as the entry pass arrived.

Jordan dribbled once.

Then he leaned.

Kobe had expected the contact, but knowing it was coming didn’t make absorbing it any easier. Jordan’s shoulder forced him backward, and a second bump created another few inches of space.

Kobe reset his feet.

He recognized the movement developing: the subtle shift of Jordan’s left foot, the shoulder dipping toward the baseline.

When Jordan turned toward the middle, Kobe rose with him.

His hand was there.

The contest was nearly perfect.

Jordan released the turnaround anyway.

The ball struck the front rim, touched the back iron, and dropped through.

2–2.

Jordan gave him a brief look as he retreated, an acknowledgment that the rookie had defended the possession better than expected.

Kobe took the inbound.

I knew exactly what he was going to do.

And Jordan had scored anyway.

There was no time to dwell on it.

Kobe crossed half court, raised a fist, and called Shaq toward the top of the key.

The screen swallowed Harper.

Longley stepped up to contain the drive, leaving the paint momentarily unprotected. Shaq rolled behind him, and Kobe lifted a soft lob toward the rim.

Shaq caught it with both hands and hammered it home.

4–2.

Their palms met as they ran back.

“Good shit,” Shaq said, grinning.

“Keep rolling.”

“Keep throwing it.”

Chicago returned to Jordan on the right block.

This time, Kobe recognized the fake toward the middle and refused to follow. Jordan spun baseline, expecting the defender to be leaning the wrong way.

Kobe was already moving.

He slid into position, squared his shoulders, and established himself before Jordan committed to the drive.

The collision sent him sprawling.

Beep.

Offensive foul.

The United Center erupted in protest.

Shaq reached down and pulled Kobe upright.

“That was tough.”

Across the lane, Jordan disputed the call with the official before turning toward Kobe.

The amusement was gone.

Kobe met his stare.

One basket and one defensive stop.

And already he understood that the tape had been honest about everything except Jordan’s strength.

Pippen picked him up on the next possession.

Harper shifted onto Eddie, while Jordan moved toward Bowen on the weak side.

Kobe attacked with a crossover, but Pippen’s long strides erased the opening almost immediately. Even Shaq’s screen couldn’t free him. With the shot clock running down, Kobe forced an eighteen-footer over Pippen’s outstretched hand.

It hit the front rim.

Rodman secured the rebound, and Chicago went the other way.

Pippen caught Harper’s pass on the right wing and buried a three.

5–4, Bulls.

The next Lakers possession was worse. Pippen denied Kobe every useful angle, forcing the ball around the perimeter until Bowen attempted a hurried jumper.

It missed.

Chicago worked the ball inside, where Longley turned over Campbell and dropped in a short hook.

7–4.

Del Harris called timeout.

He took the clipboard from an assistant and drew two circles near the right wing, then an arrow curling from the opposite corner between them.

“We’re going back to that double-screen action we worked on in practice,” he said, drawing two circles near the right wing.

Kobe immediately recognized the play. He had suggested it during their preparation for Chicago, knowing Pippen’s length and quickness would make ordinary screens difficult to exploit.

“Shaq, Elden, set up here,” Harris continued. “Leave enough room for Kobe to cut between you. Once he’s through, close the gap and get your feet set. Eddie, hit him as soon as he comes free.”

He looked around the huddle.

“We ran this a dozen times in practice. You know your assignments.”

The whistle called the players back onto the floor.

Kobe started in the left corner with Pippen guarding him.

Shaq and Campbell positioned themselves near the opposite wing, leaving a narrow opening between them.

Kobe took two casual steps toward the top.

Then he planted and exploded along the baseline.

Pippen followed, but Kobe already had a step. He slipped between the two Lakers big men, who closed the opening and planted their feet as Pippen tried to recover.

Eddie had already released the pass.

Kobe caught it beyond the right-wing arc, gathered, and fired.

Swish.

7–7.

Pippen immediately complained about the screens, but the official waved him away.

Along Chicago’s bench, Phil Jackson watched silently.

The Lakers returned to the action two possessions later with a variation. Kobe faked the cut through the screens, then curled toward the elbow as Shaq slipped toward the basket.

Kobe caught Eddie’s pass and bounced it through the defense.

Shaq finished with a gentle layup.

9–7.

“See?” Shaq said. “I got a soft touch too.”

Jordan answered with a pull-up from the right elbow, rising over the recovering defender.

9–9.

Harris called for the double screen again.

This time, Pippen ducked beneath it, anticipating Kobe’s route. Kobe adjusted, widening his cut and catching Eddie’s pass a step farther beyond the arc.

Pippen lunged.

Too late.

Another three.

12–9.

The Lakers’ bench erupted.

But Kobe made a mistake on the next possession, attempting a skip pass toward Bowen that hung in the air too long.

Harper intercepted it and finished an uncontested layup.

12–11.

The Lakers answered by reversing the action. Kobe served as the decoy while Eddie came around a screen from Bowen on the weak side.

The ball swung across the floor.

Eddie caught it on the left wing and buried the three.

15–11.

Rodman answered with an offensive rebound and putback after Longley’s missed hook.

15–13.

Campbell shook his head.

“Somebody put a body on him.”

Shaq laughed. “That’s your man.”

“Then help me out.”

The Lakers came back downcourt.

Harris held up two fingers.

Same action.

Kobe sprinted along the baseline, slipped through Shaq and Campbell’s screens, and caught Eddie’s pass on the right wing.

Pippen fought over the top.

A heartbeat late.

Kobe fired.

The ball snapped through the net.

18–13.

His third three-pointer of the quarter.

Nine points, all from beyond the arc.

The Lakers’ bench rose again, but Kobe noticed Phil Jackson watching from the opposite sideline.

Chicago’s next possession ended with a missed Pippen jumper, and Campbell secured the rebound.

Kobe took the outlet.

Then he noticed who was waiting near half court.

Michael Jordan.

Pippen had shifted toward Bowen.

Jordan lowered himself into a defensive stance, one hand extended toward the ball.

The crowd recognized the matchup immediately.

Kobe smiled faintly.

He had expected this eventually.

He attacked with a hard crossover, testing Jordan’s balance.

Jordan slid with him.

Kobe hesitated, briefly rising out of his dribble before accelerating again.

Jordan didn’t bite.

His eyes remained fixed on Kobe’s waist, his feet moving only as much as necessary.

Kobe changed direction once more, then planted and pushed backward into a step-back jumper.

Jordan followed.

The separation Kobe expected never appeared.

He released the shot with Jordan’s hand rising beside it.

Too strong.

The ball struck the back rim, and Longley collected the rebound.

Jordan turned toward the opposite end without saying a word.

He didn’t need to.

Kobe felt the temptation to attack him again.

Same move. Different angle. Make the adjustment.

But Eddie’s words from the hotel room returned to him.

If this became a contest between the two of them, Chicago would have exactly what it wanted.

Kobe slowed, called the set, and let Shaq work.

The big man had Longley sealed on the left block. Kobe delivered the entry pass, and Shaq turned over his shoulder for a short hook.

20–13.

“Barbecue chicken,” Shaq announced.

Chicago answered through Jordan.

Kobe prepared for another fake, watching Jordan’s feet as he established position on the right block.

But Jordan didn’t bother with the deception.

He simply turned toward the middle and rose.

Kobe reacted a fraction late.

The jumper dropped.

20–15.

Chicago’s adjustment came quickly.

The double-screen action that had freed Kobe for three open looks stopped working almost immediately.

Jordan recognized the setup before Kobe could begin his cut, calling out the screens and directing Pippen into the passing lane while taking away the catch himself.

The Lakers were forced into a hurried jumper, and Kobe realized that the Bulls had already found an answer to their most effective play.

From there, Chicago began chipping away at the lead. Pippen’s passing created an easy basket for Longley, while Jordan’s defensive pressure forced the Lakers to work harder for every opportunity. Eddie Jones kept Los Angeles moving with a clever backdoor cut that ended in another Shaq dunk, but the Bulls refused to let the deficit grow. Jordan drew help on a drive and found Pippen open in the corner for three, bringing Chicago within two.

With less than a minute remaining, the Lakers were clinging to a 22–20 lead.

Kobe resisted the urge to force another shot against Jordan. Instead, he moved the ball to Eddie, who attacked off Campbell’s screen and drew a foul on Rodman. Campbell made one of his two free throws, extending the lead to three with eighteen seconds left.

Chicago held for the final shot.

Everyone in the United Center knew where the ball was going.

Harper found Jordan on the right wing, and Kobe moved into position as the clock approached ten seconds. He had seen this situation countless times before. Jordan liked to attack right, stop suddenly, and rise into that familiar pull-up near the elbow. Kobe shaded toward his preferred hand, prepared to challenge the shot.

Jordan went left.

The move caught Kobe leaning just enough to create separation. Jordan drove toward the baseline, planted, and rose into a fading jumper from twelve feet. Kobe recovered and extended his arm, but the ball was already leaving Jordan’s fingertips.

The horn sounded.

The shot dropped through as the backboard lit up red.

23–22, Lakers.

The United Center erupted, but Jordan barely reacted. He glanced toward the scoreboard before walking to the Bulls’ bench, accepting a towel and settling into his seat as though the shot had been nothing unusual.

Kobe watched him for a moment before joining his teammates.

The first quarter had been productive. He had scored nine points on three three-pointers, collected a rebound, and handed out four assists. Shaq had established himself inside, and the Lakers had shown they could create good looks against Chicago’s defense.

Yet they led by only one.

Jordan had eight points of his own, and the Bulls had already begun adjusting to everything Los Angeles threw at them. Pippen had disrupted Kobe’s drives, Jordan had recognized their double-screen action, and Chicago had erased most of a seven-point deficit without ever appearing particularly rattled.

Shaq dropped into the chair beside him, stretching his legs.

“Longley’s gonna have a long night,” he said.

Kobe glanced over with a smile. “Keep killing him in the paint.”

Shaq grinned. “You know it.”

Kobe took another drink of water and looked across the court. Jordan was talking casually with Harper, laughing at something his teammate said. He looked completely at ease, as though the first twelve minutes had been little more than a warmup.

Kobe understood what the quarter had been.

An introduction.

He had tested Jordan, and Jordan had tested him. Both had found weaknesses worth remembering, but neither had shown everything.

The Lakers were ahead, and Kobe intended to keep them there.

Still, as he watched Jordan rise from the opposite bench, he knew the defending champions were only getting started.