It has been almost two weeks since our last edition. I hope these last weeks of winter find everyone in good health and spirits. To jump back in, let's do a game review.
Game Report: Pacers @ Lakers, March 5, 2003
There were plenty of reasons to go see this game. First of all, I was going to be in Los Angeles. Second, the Lakers and Pacers should be a premier matchup, possibly even a Finals Preview in somebody's dreamworld. And there's history in this pairing: Kobe and Reggie having a Slapfight a couple years ago; the Lakers putting the smackdown on the Pacers for their second title in the current run; Shaq's attempted sucker-punch on Brad Miller a couple of years ago when Miller was with the Bulls. Add to that Kobe's recent scoring binge, and the fact that he was to be guarded by defensive madman/madman Ron Artest, and the fact that the Lakers are surging and the Pacers are tanking, and there was plenty to look forward too. This game had Implications, you see. We paid double face value for tickets in the next-to-last row of the upper deck, and I was happy to have done it. After a stop at In-N-Out, we were on our way to Staples.
First, the arena itself. I have only been in four NBA arenas: The Target Center, the Bradley Center, the MCI Center in DC, and now the Staples Center. For the most part, NBA arenas don't differ much in personality. They differ in amenities and concessions, and they can take various forms on the outside (Bradley Center a generic brick box, Staples a luminous space-age purple that was a beacon for homerism and stupidity, but more on that later...). But they aren't like baseball stadiums, which have a certain personality that varies widely. NBA arenas are like football stadiums: The crappy ones are crappy, but the great ones are just...nice. If Boston Garden or the Pacers' court in Indy are religious experiences, Staples center would be like the megamall church in the suburbs. Nice enough, pretty enough to look at. Best thing? They have a live band play during the game. Not that piped in Jock Jams BS, but a real, live band, with a trombone and a drummer and all that. Very un-L.A., but it was a great touch. Worst thing? I payed $10 for a large Corona beer, and that was the value purchase. The lime was free, though.
Now, the crowd. First of all, it ain't just a cliche, the crowd does arrive late in L.A. I'm not sure where they are, exactly, but they aren't at the game. Eventually, everybody strolls in. It wasn't what I expected. We saw plenty of "L.A. people" down on the lower level: The Blonde, the Surgically Altered, the Vapid. But we also saw a lot of people that you would see anywhere else. I'm guessing the celebs are all coming in a different entrance. The upper deck was strictly working class, and representative of L.A.: Hispanic, Black, Asian, Caucasion. So different from Minnesota, and in a good way. But there was one thing in particular about this crowd. It was noticeable from the start...
Kobe Bryant is God. That's pretty much the message you get walking the concourses of the Staples Center. God wore #8. You see some Shaq jersies here and there, but this is Kobe's World. The Kobe jersies are everywhere you turn. Unfortunately, I didn't have to turn to see a fresh home white #8 Kobe jersey, because the guy sitting right in front of us had one on. Now, listen. I know there's a big running joke about how much I love Kevin Garnett. (As a player, of course. We've never formally met.) But if you think I love KG, you should have heard the guy sitting in front of us. This is NOT an exaggeration: As Kobe is bringing the ball upcourt, he dribbles between his legs. He is UNPRESSURED. Nobody even near him. As Kobe goes through the legs, the guy in front of us leaps out of his seat, grabs his jersey, and points to the #8 on his chest. He screams "You the man, Kobe!" He sits down and covers his eyes, shakes his head. He turns to his friends and says "Did you see him go between the legs?" The friends pat him on the back and nod, chuckling. They've obviously heard all of this before. Don't get me wrong, they've got Kobe jersies on, too. But they understand that they should save their genuflection for a later time, like when Kobe does a two-hand double pump jam on the left side of the rim, after taking off from the baseline on the right side. I thought the paramedics were going to have to come up to the rafters to help revive the guy in front of us after that happened.
Now, I'm not here to diss Kobe. I bit my tongue when the chants of "MVP" started to fill our section. I pretended they were chanting for KG. Kobe's not even the MVP of his own team, but hey, who's paying attention to that? Where was all the love for Shaq? Mark Madsen got a bigger ovation during the game than Shaq ever did. (Although he earned it. After Madsen came out of a shoe during game action, he sprinted to the other end to play D. Since no timeout was called, Madsen kept playing. In order to get better traction, he removed his sock! Never seen that before. When I remark that it was a smart play, Greg says "Well, he did go to Stanford." Ah, yes, another graduate of the vaunted Stanford Traction Institute.) I won't talk about Kobe anymore in this message. Ron Artest held him down pretty well, but he still dropped a quiet 20 or so. But where is the love for Shaq?
One final thing about the crowd. When they flashed the Kings/Wolves score (A Kings win in OT), the crowd booed, loudly and lustily. I have NEVER heard that at a Wolves game. These people care. They have actual rivals. The Wolves have none, and the fans here are so passionless as to not add fuel to any rivalry anyway. It was heartening. Maybe there is more to these Laker fans than I gave them credit for?
I should also mention that they seem to make a big deal about the Lakers winning three straight titles. You can't look anywhere around the arena without seeing some reference to it. It's on the toilet paper in the bathrooms. The vendors shout it out along with the wares they are hawking: "Get your peanuts here, peanuts here. Lakers are three-time defending world champs! Peanuts here!"
So, the game. Shaq punishes the Pacers inside, despite the fact that the Lakers are trying to exploit the Pacers' sagging zone from the outside first. Shaq eventually gets into foul difficulty, but the Lakers have a comfortable 19 point lead at the half. If the Lakers win and hold their opponent to under 90, everybody gets a free Gordita from Taco Bell. (Or was it a Chalupa?) Either way, our post-game meal plan is in the bag. The Pacers look awful, and the Lakers actually don't look that great, either, outside of Shaq. The Pacers come out of the gates fast in the third, with Jermaine O'Neal going off for a variety of dunks (most uncontested, as Shaq is riding the bench in foul trouble). The Pacers close the gap fast. The fourth quarter was back and forth, until the Pacers finally take a 95-91 lead. Needless to say, our post-game meal plan was re-worked to avoid Taco Bell.
So, here are the Pacers, after having been totally out of this game, and they now have a 95-91 lead with 1:30 or so left. I don't know how the Pacers got here, and I wonder about the Lakers, too. (Is Isiah Thomas a good coach, or a bad coach? Are the Pacers as bad as they looked in the first half, or are they this team putting up 60 in the second half? Will the guy behind me lend me his binoculars so I can look at Mariah Carey? So many questions...) Just when I figure this one's locked up, there are two huge Pacer turnovers that the Lakers convert into points, which leads to a crucial Pacer possession that sees Jermaine O'Neal force up a turnaround shot against a double-team, while Reggie Miller stands unguarded behind the three-point line.
Long story short, the Lakers end up with an in-bounds play with two seconds left and a tie game, the ball goes into Shaq but gets tapped to Robert Horry, naturally, who nails the 23-footer as time expires, naturally. I didn't even have a rooting interest in that game, and it felt like a gut punch when Horry's shot went through. You knew he was going to hit it. Everybody knew. Metallic purple and gold celebration streamers lauched from the ceiling almost before the ball went through the hoop. Even the streamers knew.
Greg and I stood above it all in disbelief as we watched the Staples Center slowly empty into downtown Los Angeles. Seeing the Lakers blow their huge lead, seeing the Pacers not take care of the ball after fighting all the way back, and then seeing Horry's lucky break and clutch shot at the end filled me with contempt for all the Kobe jersies I saw celebrating in the stands and councourses around me. Utter contempt. Three straight World Championships, BAH! The Staples Center has the smell of Rome before the fall, if you ask me. I wasn't actually in Rome before the fall, but if it smelled like popcorn, beer, and arrogance, then that's the place.
As we emptied out onto Figueroa, jubilant fans were going in every direction: Just another Laker win, and all was right with the world. And then, a man and a very young boy about Linus' age walked in front of us, hand in hand, both wearing their standard-issue Kobe jersies. The boy's other hand had a death grip around some of the purple and gold victory streamers, and they dragged behind him in a long trail that I had to dance around to avoid stepping on. Off they went, into the (comparatively) warm L.A. evening. Seeing him, I remembered what these games we play and watch are about, and my contempt melted away.
