Chapter 85: Kobe Watches the Game

The Clippers’ starting lineup featured Cassell, He Xinghui, Maggette, Brand, and Kaman—currently their strongest possible combination. On the SuperSonics’ side, the point guard was Luke Ridnour, a guy with a notoriously awkward shooting form.

When a player’s impression on fans boils down to his shooting form, it says a lot about his lackluster abilities—nothing worth mentioning. The shooting guard was Ronald Murray, a journeyman who changed teams eight times in his nine-year career—a drifter, you might say. Being constantly discarded shows he’s not very good, but the fact that teams keep picking him up means he’s not hopeless either. In short, he’s one of the many nameless faces in the league.

Small forward Damien Wilkins—both names, Damien and Wilkins, are big in the league. Put together, though, they sound utterly ordinary, reminiscent of a name like Jordan Hill. Some names just can’t live up to the legacy. The power forward was Rashard Lewis, a genuine star player, a template for Durant, and destined for a nine-figure contract someday. Yet after he got that contract, his reputation would nosedive, proving you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

At center was Petro, a starter who averaged just five points and four rebounds per game. Yes, a starting center with only four rebounds—a mystery that remains unsolved. That’s how bad the current SuperSonics were. Even with the twin stars Ray Allen and Lewis, they managed just thirty-five wins that season. Now, without Ray Allen, their talent level was so low that even Barkley switched allegiances and stopped his banter with Smith.

“I’m picking the Clippers for this game,” Barkley declared, unwilling to get embarrassed again.

“Aren’t you always betting against the Clippers?” Smith teased.

“No, I’m rooting for them now. At least for this game, I really am. Why don’t you back the SuperSonics instead?” Barkley coaxed.

“No, no, you know I’m a Clippers fan,” Smith quickly refused.

The game began. Kaman outjumped his opponent to win the tip-off. The ball made its way to He Xinghui past half court. Murray, assigned to guard him, was serious but also anxious—after all, the man before him was in the spotlight, even putting up a terrifying sixty-five point game. Murray didn’t hope for victory; he just wanted He Xinghui to score less and avoid becoming a background prop in someone else’s highlight reel.

“Buddy, you don’t have to try so hard—after all, you’re about to get traded anyway,” He Xinghui said. Murray showed no reaction, but the system’s anger prompt told He Xinghui that the guy was fuming inside.

Then He Xinghui drove to the basket. Murray, worried about the three-point shot, played him tight, only to be beaten off the dribble. Damien rotated over to help, but He Xinghui flicked the ball to Maggette, who slashed in for an unstoppable finish at the rim. Maggette on the attack bore a striking resemblance to LeBron, and he’d always been good at drawing fouls—last season he averaged nine free throws per game, and nearly seven this season too.

Tonight, He Xinghui wasn’t chasing personal stats; he only wanted to beat the SuperSonics by a wide margin—to show Kobe what winning the right way looked like. If Kobe changed his style as a result, that would be truly interesting—though the odds were slim.

The SuperSonics came on offense. He Xinghui kept chattering in Murray’s ear: “Tell me, what’s it like being a journeyman? I became a franchise star from the moment I entered the league, destined to belong to one city. Never got to experience that.”

“F*** you,” Murray muttered—a limp insult, completely without sting.

“Why not stick with one team for your whole career? Drifting around, it’s hard to find a sense of belonging.” As He Xinghui said this, Cassell overheard and was instantly moved to tears. He was caught in the crossfire—he too had played for many teams. Despite his contributions and even winning a championship, there wasn’t a city where the fans really remembered him. That was the sorrow of a drifter. But the truth was, they hadn’t chosen to drift.

Comparisons only breed resentment. In that moment, Cassell and Murray felt a shared understanding.

Murray called for the ball and tried to go one-on-one against He Xinghui, but missed badly. Emotional turbulence ruins shooting form.

Kaman grabbed the rebound and hurled a long outlet pass. He Xinghui and Cassell raced down the court with only Ridnour able to get back for Seattle, leaving the Clippers with a two-on-one advantage. Cassell pushed the ball up, Ridnour lunged at him, so he immediately dished to He Xinghui. Helpless, Ridnour pivoted back toward He Xinghui.

In this exchange, the three players reached the rim. He Xinghui returned the ball, and Cassell laid it in uncontested, easy as pie.

“Even a dog could make that shot,” Cassell thought to himself. He Xinghui could have finished it himself, with a great look, but he wanted to draw a stark contrast with Kobe, deliberately racking up assists to show his selflessness. Winning with high individual stats wasn’t the point tonight; padding his assist total was a sharper jab at Kobe.

“Idiot. Totally unnecessary,” Kobe muttered as he watched, completely unmoved by He Xinghui’s supposed lesson. In his mind, it made no difference whether he or his teammates scored in that situation.

But in the next possession, He Xinghui’s pass was far from superfluous. Doubled up, he whipped the ball to an open Cassell, who drained a three-pointer. It was a textbook example of drive-and-kick play.

“Parker’s nowhere near as accurate as Cassell. If I pass to him, all he does is brick,” Kobe muttered, as if explaining to someone why he didn’t pass more often. Yet, he was alone in the room—no one else to hear.

He Xinghui continued orchestrating the offense, running several set plays and racking up assists at a blistering pace.

“Brand, Cassell, Maggette—these guys are so good. If I had teammates like that, I’d pass too,” Kobe snorted, resolving to pressure management into making some trades for better help. Otherwise, putting He Xinghui in his place would remain a tough task. More importantly, Kobe knew he needed another championship or two to cement his legacy.

Less than three minutes into the game, the Clippers had blitzed the SuperSonics for a 10-0 run, forcing Seattle’s head coach Bob Hill to call timeout immediately. Any longer, and his coaching would be called into question. Of course, even with the timeout, it would be questioned. As long as a team fails to deliver, the coach is always the scapegoat. That’s a truth as old as the league itself.