The moment the buzzer sounded at Staples Center, it was as if someone had flipped an emotional switch for the entire arena.
Twenty thousand people sprang from their seats at once—not a gradual swell, but an instant eruption.
A purple tide churned beneath the lights. Some held beer cups over their heads, foam spilling onto the shoulders of those beside them. No one ducked. Everyone simply raised their fists, opened their mouths, and roared the same word—"Lakers! Lakers! Lakers!"
The celebrities courtside lost all their composure.
Jack Nicholson leaped out of his seat, both hands clutching his head, his mouth wide enough to fit a fist inside, his eyes bulging like saucers.
He wore a purple suit jacket, a white shirt, and black slacks, but he didn't look like a Hollywood superstar. He looked like some Los Angeles worker watching a game on a street corner.
He turned and roared at the crowd behind him, his fist swinging through the air, his voice hoarse but deafening. "We're back! We're back!"
Denzel Washington sat in the front row, both hands covering his mouth, his eyes red.
He didn't jump or shout. He just sat there with his head tilted back, watching the game highlights replayed on the big screen. Kobe's three-pointer from the top of the arc, O'Neal's thunderous dunk in the post, Rice's corner jumper—every clip made his shoulders tremble slightly. His lips moved as he said, "Thank you."
At the commentary desk, Kevin Harlan took off his headset and set it down, then picked it back up, then put it down again. His hands were shaking. His voice was shaking. His whole body was shaking.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper scraping wood, "I don't know what you just saw, but what I saw was—a war.