Immediately afterward, on the defensive end, just as Webber tried to back down Robert Horry in the post to tie the score, Shaq O'Neal's mountain-like body came crashing down, and a savage volleyball-style rejection sent the Sacramento Kings' hopes flying into the stands.
For the game, O'Neal displayed unmatched dominance in the paint, piling up 32 points, 15 rebounds, and 4 blocks. Kobe Bryant, meanwhile, poured in 28 points and 6 assists, ruthlessly taking over the game when it mattered most.
The voice on the radio continued, cutting to a recording of the visiting team's locker-room interview from after last night's game.
There was no champagne in the locker room, no celebratory music. The atmosphere was unusually grim.
Before the sea of cameras, Kobe Bryant had both feet soaking in a huge ice bucket, with thick ice packs strapped to his knees. There was not a trace of joy from sweeping the series on his face. His brow was tightly furrowed, his eyes deep and cold.
"Kobe, congratulations on sweeping the Kings. After hitting that clutch shot in such a crazy road arena, do you feel like you've finally breathed a sigh of relief?" a reporter's voice rang out in the recording.
"A sigh of relief?"
Kobe's voice was hoarse and stern, carrying an almost inhuman obsession.
"No, not at all. Why would I breathe a sigh of relief? We only won one series. Is that worth celebrating? Did we win the championship? No. And since we haven't, the job isn't finished."
The recording caught the rustle of reporters looking at one another.
Kobe leaned slightly forward, and his voice became even more fervent and focused.
"My eyes are already on the next round. No matter who our opponent is, we have to get better. Our defensive rotations still had