Chapter 99: The Price of a Lead

Del Harris stopped Kobe before he could leave the bench, pressing a hand against his shoulder. “Take a seat. Fisher, Knight, you’re in.”

Kobe glanced at the scoreboard. The Lakers led Chicago 23–22 after the first quarter, hardly a comfortable advantage, but Harris wanted his starters rested before the game became a battle of endurance.

Across the court, Michael Jordan settled beside Phil Jackson while Robert Parish approached the scorer’s table. Forty-three years old, four championship rings, and more than two decades of professional basketball behind him.

The Chief had been playing in the NBA before Kobe was born.

Shaq stretched his legs into the aisle. “Coach knows greatness needs maintenance.”

Eddie Jones shook his head. “Then you must be overdue for an oil change.”

“Premium equipment, Eddie. Premium.”

Kobe laughed as Derek Fisher and Travis Knight headed onto the floor. Parish, meanwhile, wasted little time demonstrating why he had survived so long in the league.

On Chicago’s first possession, he leaned patiently into Knight, established position, and received an entry pass from Toni Kukoč.

The younger center raised both arms, expecting a physical battle, but Parish simply turned over his shoulder and released a soft hook that dropped through the net.

No explosive movement or unnecessary effort.

Just decades of experience condensed into a few perfectly timed steps.

Kobe smiled despite himself. There was something satisfying about watching an old master remind a younger opponent that athleticism wasn’t everything.

Unfortunately, the lesson was coming at the Lakers’ expense.

Chicago’s reserves began picking apart Los Angeles. Kukoč moved the ball before defenders could recover, Steve Kerr punished an unnecessary rotation, and Pippen intercepted a careless pass that became an easy basket.

Fisher answered with a driving layup, but the Lakers’ offense lacked its earlier rhythm. When Kerr buried a three from the corner to put Chicago ahead 29–25, Harris called timeout.

Shaq leaned toward Knight as the rookie returned to the bench. “Travis, that man’s old enough to have taught your father basketball.”

Knight grimaced. “He’s not moving that fast.”

“That’s the problem,” Shaq replied. “He’s making you do all the moving.”

Harris interrupted. “Shaq, get in there. Kobe, another minute.”

Shaq rose, pulling off his warmup. “Time to introduce the Chief to modern technology.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Me.”

The bench cracked up, and even Harris couldn’t entirely suppress his smile as Shaq headed toward the scorer’s table.

Parish met him on the left block. The veteran tried the same patient lean that had worked against Knight, but Shaq planted his feet and refused to surrender an inch. By the time Fisher delivered the entry pass, Shaq had established position so deep that Parish could do little more than brace himself.

One dribble, a powerful turn, and the ball kissed the glass.

Two points.

Chicago responded by sending Pippen toward the paint. Shaq recognized the help, turned away from the pressure, and found Horry on the perimeter. The shot missed, but the decision forced Chicago’s defenders to reconsider how aggressively they could collapse.

Kobe returned shortly afterward, checking in as Jordan rose from the opposite bench.

Their eyes met at the scorer’s table.

The first thing Kobe noticed was how completely Chicago’s defense had begun organizing itself around Shaq. Parish fought for position behind him, Pippen hovered near the foul line, and Rodman repeatedly glanced away from his assignment to watch the block. Even Harper was turning his head whenever Shaq received the ball.

Four defenders were thinking about one man.

Kobe knew exactly what that meant.

Someone else was open.

He began exploiting it immediately.

Instead of challenging Jordan off the dribble, Kobe moved the ball early, directing Eddie and Bowen into the spaces Chicago’s help defenders abandoned. Shaq caught on the right block, drew Rodman toward him, and fired a pass across the court to Bowen for an uncontested three.

As they retreated, Shaq pointed toward the corner.

“You see that pass? I got better court vision than half the guards in this league.”

Kobe grinned.

Chicago’s defensive problems multiplied. Whenever Rodman helped against Shaq, Campbell found room near the basket. When Pippen drifted toward the paint, Bowen became available outside. Eddie repeatedly slipped behind Harper whenever the guard turned his attention toward the post.

Shaq was doing more than scoring. His presence was forcing the Bulls to defend areas of the floor they would normally have ignored.

Jordan tried disrupting the rhythm by pressuring Kobe near half court.

“You always this generous with the ball, kid?” Jordan asked, staying close enough to deny the return pass.

Kobe glanced toward Shaq, who had Longley pinned beneath the basket. “Only when somebody is eating.”

Jordan followed his gaze. “You think he’s going to carry you all night?”

Kobe smiled. “You think Longley’s going to survive another quarter?”

Kobe bounced the ball to Eddie before Jordan could reach for it.

Jordan’s expression tightened, but the response came from Shaq, who finished through Longley’s contact and earned another trip to the line.

The Lakers gradually extended their advantage. Horry knocked down a three, Eddie finished a backdoor cut, and Shaq continued punishing Chicago inside. By the next timeout, Los Angeles led 46–39.

Kobe had barely looked for his own shot.

He didn’t need to.

Jordan, however, was far from finished.

Coming out of the timeout, Chicago began moving with greater purpose. Jordan drew Shaq away from the basket before finding Kukoč for an open jumper. Pippen attacked in transition, while Harper pressured the Lakers’ guards into hurried decisions. The Bulls cut into the deficit without any single spectacular play, simply taking advantage of mistakes that Los Angeles had avoided earlier.

Kobe recognized the familiar pattern. Chicago was too experienced to become discouraged by a seven-point deficit, particularly with Jordan directing the offense.

Shaq demanded the ball again.

Kobe delivered.

Longley fouled him on the catch, and Rodman arrived a moment later to make the next possession even more physical. Shaq absorbed the contact, finished another difficult attempt, and slapped Kobe’s hand as they ran back.

“Keep feeding me!”

Kobe laughed, but he noticed that Shaq’s breathing had grown heavier. Chicago was making every catch difficult, forcing him to establish position against one defender before fighting through another.

With less than a minute remaining, Jordan shaded toward the paint, anticipating another entry pass.

Kobe recognized the opening and rose from seventeen feet.

The jumper dropped cleanly.

The final possessions passed quickly. Shaq continued drawing contact, Jordan answered with another controlled jumper, and Chicago fought to prevent the Lakers from extending their advantage.

When the halftime horn sounded, Los Angeles led 54–47.

Shaq had twenty-three points, eight rebounds, and three assists. Kobe had eleven points and nine assists, while Jordan had seventeen points, four rebounds, and three assists.

Shaq walked beside Kobe toward the tunnel, wiping his face with his jersey.

“Three assists,” he announced. “I might ask Del to put me in as point guard.”

Kobe glanced at him. “You know you actually have to run up the floor for that?”

Seven points separated the teams.

Against most opponents, Kobe would have been satisfied.

Against the defending champions, he knew better.

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The Lakers’ locker room was considerably louder than the hallway outside.

Shaq entered first, already complaining about Chicago’s defensive strategy.

“I’m telling you, they held a meeting about me. Longley, Rodman, Pippen, the whole organization. Probably invited the mayor.”

Eddie dropped onto the bench and began removing the tape from his fingers.

Campbell lowered himself onto the bench beside Horry and rubbed his ribs. “Longley’s elbows are going to leave bruises.”

Shaq nodded sympathetically. “Big Australian. Friendly guy.”

“Friendly?”

“Sure. He fouls you, then apologizes.”

“Next time he can apologize from the bench.”

The laughter continued until Harris entered with his clipboard.

“Enjoy yourselves for another ten seconds.”

The room quieted.

“That was a good first half. We moved the ball, made the right reads, and forced them to defend the entire floor. But seven points against this team means nothing.”

He circled the turnover total.

“Too many mistakes. And Dennis Rodman is getting second chances because we’re watching the ball instead of finding a body.”

Kobe had been studying Chicago’s defense since the second quarter, and one adjustment kept returning to him.

“Coach, what if we put Robert at the four?”

Harris stopped writing and turned around. “What are you thinking?”

“Rodman’s cheating off Elden every time Shaq gets the ball. He’s not even looking at him anymore.” Kobe glanced toward Horry. “Put Rob on the perimeter, and Dennis has to follow him. If he stays outside, Shaq gets Longley one-on-one. If he comes down to help, Rob gets an open three.”

Horry nodded slowly. “I’ll take that shot.”

Campbell looked between them. “So I’m the one sitting?”

Kobe turned toward him. “It’s not about you, E. Dennis knows he can leave the paint and still get back to you. He can’t do that with Rob standing twenty-five feet out.”

Harris studied the board. “And who’s keeping Rodman off the glass?”

“Robert’s got to put a body on him before the shot goes up,” Kobe answered. “Make Dennis work his way back inside instead of letting him camp under the basket.”

Harris looked toward Horry. “You comfortable with that?”

“Absolutely.”

For another moment, Harris considered the lineup before turning toward Campbell.

“Elden, you’re first off the bench. Robert, you’re starting the third.”

Kobe leaned back against his locker, satisfied. He had made his case. Now they had to make it work.

Shaq grinned.

“Excellent. More room for my delicate footwork.”

“Delicate?” Eddie repeated.

“Like a ballerina.”

Eddie looked him up and down. “Three hundred pounds. Ugliest ballerina I’ve ever seen.”

Shaq grinned. “Still got better footwork than you.”

Kobe smiled, but his attention drifted toward Shaq as the conversation resumed. The big man had lowered himself onto the bench and was breathing through his mouth. Sweat still covered his shoulders, and when trainer Gary Vitti handed him an ice bag, Shaq accepted it without a joke.

That concerned Kobe more than anything he had seen on the court.

Shaq had dominated the first half, but Chicago had made him work for every point.

And Jordan hadn’t even begun taking over.

Rodman noticed the lineup change immediately.

Instead of finding Campbell near the paint, he discovered Horry waiting beyond the three-point line. Rodman glanced toward Chicago’s bench, but Phil Jackson offered no visible reaction.

Kobe almost laughed.

Rodman looked personally offended by the arrangement.

The Lakers opened the third quarter by feeding Shaq on the left block. With Rodman occupied by Horry, Longley received no immediate help. Shaq turned and scored, then pointed toward the perimeter as though reminding Chicago why the basket had been so easy.

On the next possession, Rodman abandoned Horry to double-team.

Kobe spotted the movement before the pass arrived and swung the ball to the wing.

Horry caught, set his feet, and buried the three.

As they ran back, Horry brushed past Kobe.

“That’s one.”

Kobe laughed. “Make another and I’ll be happy.”

Horry obliged a few possessions later.

Chicago’s defense began stretching in uncomfortable directions. When Rodman stayed outside, Shaq attacked Longley. When he helped, Horry found room to shoot. Eddie cut through openings, and Bowen benefited from Pippen’s divided attention.

Kobe orchestrated everything, calling sets and directing teammates into position. Jordan occasionally pressured him, but Kobe refused to be drawn into unnecessary isolation plays.

The scoreboard climbed.

67–55. Lakers.

Twelve points.

The United Center fell into an uneasy murmur.

Shaq threw down another dunk and pounded his chest.

“Y’all better send somebody bigger! This fool can’t guard me. Fucking honeybun.”

Kobe pointed toward the defensive end.

“Get back, big man!”

“Can’t celebrate nothing around you!”

“Celebrate after we win!”

Shaq laughed as he turned.

Kobe didn’t.

Across the floor, Jordan was speaking to Pippen and Rodman. His gestures were controlled, pointing toward Horry’s position and the passing lanes around Shaq.

Nobody looked particularly worried.

That was what bothered Kobe.

The Bulls were studying them.

When Chicago called timeout, Kobe knew the comfortable portion of the evening was probably over.

The adjustment was immediate.

Pippen pushed the ball upcourt before Los Angeles could establish its defense. Longley received an early entry pass and missed, but Rodman charged in from the weak side for the putback.

On the following possession, Chicago ran again.

Shaq arrived late to protect the paint, forcing him to recover toward Longley. Kukoč slipped into open space and knocked down a jumper.

Kobe looked toward the Bulls’ bench.

Jackson remained seated.

Of course.

Chicago wasn’t trying to stop Shaq with strength anymore.

It was making him run.

Pippen accelerated after every rebound. Rodman attacked the offensive glass. Longley fought for position early, forcing Shaq to wrestle before the ball even crossed half court.

And when Los Angeles finally reached its offensive end, the Bulls made him work all over again.

Kobe saw the difference in Shaq’s movements. The explosive first step became a heavy second step. He started receiving passes farther from the basket, and his shoulders rose and fell between possessions.

Still, he scored.

A hook over Longley. Two free throws. Another finish through contact.

But each basket demanded more effort than the last.

Kobe called for a slower possession and motioned Campbell into position. He wanted to give Shaq an easier catch.

Chicago anticipated the play.

Pippen stepped into the passing lane, stole the ball, and sent Harper racing toward the basket.

Layup.

The crowd erupted.

Jordan followed with a turnaround over Kobe, then drew a defender and found Pippen cutting behind the defense.

Chicago had recovered much of the deficit.

Kobe clenched his jaw.

He recognized the pattern. The Bulls weren’t rushing their comeback. They were dismantling the advantages Los Angeles had spent the first half creating, and they were doing it without Jordan needing to score on every possession.

Shaq caught another entry pass with Longley pressing against his back. Rodman arrived from the opposite side, but Shaq powered between them and finished anyway.

The whistle remained silent.

He landed, paused, and bent forward with his hands on his knees.

Kobe approached him as Chicago prepared to inbound.

“You good?”

Shaq straightened. “Do I look bad?”

“You look like you ran here from Los Angeles.”

“That’s because I’ve been carrying half of it.”

Kobe smiled briefly.

There was humor in his voice, but Kobe could hear the exhaustion beneath it.

Chicago continued pressing. Harper disrupted the passing lanes, Pippen anticipated the skip passes that had worked earlier, and Rodman collected rebounds that seemed physically impossible to reach.

The Lakers’ offense slowed. Shots came later in the clock, often from uncomfortable positions.

By the time Harris called timeout, Los Angeles led only 73–68.

He waited until everyone gathered.

“Look at me.”

Kobe raised his head.

“We’re playing like the scoreboard is counting backward. Stop watching it. Run the offense, finish the possession, and make them earn everything.”

He turned toward Shaq.

“Shaq, I need you getting back earlier. Don’t wait to see whether the shot falls.”

Shaq nodded. “Got it.”

Harris looked at the others.

“And somebody put a body on Rodman before he gets another rebound.”

That earned a few tired smiles.

As the players returned to the court, Kobe fell into step beside Shaq.

“I’m going through Eddie for a couple possessions,” he said. “Get you closer to the basket before the catch.”

Shaq glanced down.

“You giving me instructions now?”

“Suggestions.”

On the next possession, Eddie attacked the lane and drew Pippen toward him. Kobe slipped the ball to Shaq near the basket.

Easy layup.

Shaq pointed at Kobe while running back.

“See? Excellent suggestion!”

But Chicago answered before Los Angeles could celebrate.

Pippen pushed the pace, Longley beat Shaq downcourt, and another basket disappeared from the Lakers’ advantage.

Harris watched the next two possessions before making his decision.

With just over two minutes remaining, he sent Knight to the scorer’s table.

Shaq saw him.

For a moment, Kobe expected an argument.

Instead, Shaq walked toward the bench when the whistle sounded.

That silence told Kobe everything.

The crowd offered a mocking cheer.

Shaq raised one hand without looking back.

Jordan immediately attacked the smaller lineup. He forced a switch, drew help, and found Kerr in the corner.

Three.

The United Center exploded.

Kobe answered by driving hard toward the basket, drawing Rodman’s foul, and making both free throws.

Chicago had one final opportunity before the quarter ended.

Jordan isolated against Eddie on the right side, backed him down, and turned for a baseline fadeaway.

Kobe watched the release.

He knew that shot.

He had watched it thousands of times.

The ball struck the back rim and bounced away.

Knight secured the rebound as the horn sounded.

LOS ANGELES 77 — CHICAGO 73

The Lakers still led.

But the atmosphere had changed completely.