Chapter 86: Kobe Watches the Game (2)

“We need to play more aggressively, with one hundred percent commitment. No more double-teaming He—just stick to your own man. Ronald, give him the three-pointer, but don’t let him take mid-range shots…” Bob Hill still had some tricks up his sleeve, at least making the necessary adjustments.

During his three seasons coaching the Spurs, he won over seventy percent of his games in the first two seasons; the last season was spent tanking for Duncan. Unfortunately, once he came to the Sonics, he no longer had good players and couldn’t deliver results, ultimately parting ways with the NBA. As for Popovich, he went on to win multiple championships with the Big Three.

When the timeout ended, the Sonics first broke their scoring drought with a two-pointer from Damien. Then, facing the Clippers’ offense, they switched to man-to-man defense.

Xinghui He drove into the paint but couldn’t find an open teammate. By the time he decided to take the shot himself, the opportunity had slipped away—Ronald was already closing in, putting pressure on his shot.

He missed.

Kobe’s lips curled into a smug grin. In his eyes, He’s decision was utterly brainless. After breaking through, why stand around looking for a pass? Just pull up for a mid-range jumper, or go straight under the rim for a layup—what’s there to worry about from that guy named Pet-something down low?

He retreated on defense, feeling a bit awkward—he knew he shouldn’t have hesitated. Since the other team was playing man-to-man, it wouldn’t be easy to find assists. Either the whole team runs plays to scramble the defense and create mismatches or open shots, or the ball goes to the strongest player to attack until the defense is forced to double-team, then kick it out.

On the next possession, Lewis drifted out beyond the three-point arc, making Brand visibly anxious. If he went out to guard him, Lewis—who was quicker—could blow past him. If he hung back, Lewis could shoot at will. As a player who was weak on rebounds, assists, and defense, Lewis lived off his three-point shot—he’d even made an All-Star appearance thanks to it. It showed just how elite his shooting was. In an era when the three-pointer wasn’t mainstream, he was already hitting forty percent from deep.

Brand gestured for Maggette to switch onto Lewis, but as soon as Maggette closed in, Lewis shot right over him. With superior height and wingspan, Lewis completely overwhelmed Maggette. The taller defenders weren’t as quick, and the quicker defenders weren’t as tall—Lewis was like a watered-down version of Kevin Durant.

The Sonics would later draft Durant, hoping to develop him into the next Lewis. Given countless opportunities to learn through trial and error, Durant eventually evolved into the Grim Reaper.

On offense, Lewis had a clear advantage, but on defense, he was exposed. Playing power forward at only ninety-seven kilos, he was matched up against Brand, who, though shorter, weighed one hundred and twenty-five kilos. Brand didn’t need any fancy moves—just brute force. He muscled his way under the basket, spun, and took a jumper. He missed, but it didn’t matter—he out-jumped Lewis for the rebound and scored on the putback.

On the next possession, Lewis tried another three but missed, and Brand grabbed the rebound. This illustrated exactly why the Magic offered Lewis a six-year, $118 million contract, while no other team would. Lewis’s ideal teammate was a center like Dwight Howard, a rim protector who could let him space the floor, unclog the paint, and help Howard dominate inside. Howard’s rebounding let Lewis fire away from three without worry. Together, they complemented each other and made it all the way to the Finals. Pairing Kobe with Howard only got you a first-round playoff exit at best.

Without a strong center in Seattle, Lewis’s weaknesses were laid bare.

Clippers’ ball, Sonics still in man-to-man. This time, He was much more decisive—he faked a shot, drove past Ronald, and pulled up for a mid-range jumper. He had luck on his side—the shot went in.

“Come on, you don’t really think I can’t hit a mid-range, do you?” He spread his arms wide, taunting everyone on the court.

No one responded on the floor, but in front of his television, Kobe muttered, “Tch, and he still has to go iso himself?”

But as the game went on, He showed Kobe that his isolation game was different. His purpose was to draw defenders, forcing the opposition to hesitate between doubling or not. Kobe’s isolations, on the other hand, were purely to score—teams could double-team him without a second thought.

Play continued. When the Sonics tightened their defense on He, he immediately passed to his teammates and drifted to the side to draw defenders away. With this tactic, Brand kept scoring under the basket.

“Lewis is too soft,” Kobe commented, refusing to admit that He deserved any credit for Brand’s buckets.

Sonics’ ball: Damien bricked a jumper, and He eagerly ran in for the rebound, only to see Kaman beat him to it. He patted Kaman on the backside and whispered, “Box out for me—let me grab a few boards, and I’ll teach you how to talk trash and pick up girls.”

“He, you know I’m not a womanizer, but trash-talking—I’m very interested in that,” Kaman replied.

“…,” He thought, not understanding why Kaman bothered pretending. Everyone on the team knew he wasn’t exactly a saint.

Clippers’ possession: He drove along the baseline, drawing two Sonics defenders. As he was about to fall out of bounds, he threaded the ball through the gap to Kaman, who caught it and slammed it home. He himself crashed to the floor, stopping right in front of a camera.

“Kobe, I know you’re watching—see? That’s an assist. Take notes,” He said, tapping the camera lens, as if speaking to Kobe through the screen.

The nearby reporter nearly burst out laughing. Compared to Rodman’s infamous kick to a cameraman’s groin, He’s humor and wit were downright endearing.

Soon, his words made their way to the broadcast booth. Barkley relayed He’s message to the fans, and Kobe, watching on TNT, heard every word.

“Damn it,” Kobe cursed, jumping up to check the season schedule. He wished he could play the Clippers again the very next day, just to prove—through action—that taking more shots was the right way to win.

February 24th—still more than a month away. The wait felt unbearable to Kobe.

“Kobe, what are you doing in your room?” Vanessa asked, worried.

“I’m fine,” Kobe replied.

Of course, Vanessa didn’t believe him. A healthy person wouldn’t lock themselves in a room, muttering to themselves and cursing under their breath. She considered calling Phil Jackson, just in case Kobe was slipping into some kind of obsession.