A Ball Makes a Name

After the game, O'Neal attended the press conference.

"What do you think of your 18-year-old teammate? He had an outstanding performance with 25 points and 8 assists tonight." Unable to get Kobe, the New York media had no choice but to latch onto O'Neal for answers.

"He's a natural powerhouse. Penny didn't perform like this in his rookie season." O'Neal's big mouth started firing away. He loved saying things that drew the media's attention.

The New York media were thrilled. They loved seeing players feud off the court. And O'Neal, who had just left Orlando, had plenty of juicy material to reveal. Only he and Penny knew what their relationship had truly been like.

Penny desperately needed to prove himself this year—that he could carry a team on his own after O'Neal's departure. Whether intentional or not, O'Neal's comparison would reach Penny through the media in no time. The New York media had even thought up the next day's headline: <O'Neal Admits Penny Is Inferior to an 18-Year-Old Rookie>.

The reporters continued pressing him. "What do you think of Kobe's dunk over Ewing?"

"Oh, you know. It was simply incredible. Very few people can accomplish something like that over one of the Four Great Centers." O'Neal spoke animatedly, his blood boiling just thinking about that dunk.

That was the impact of Kobe's style of play. He could raise his teammates' morale while crushing the opposition's spirit. Perhaps he was not as efficient as some other players, but this kind of soul-shaking style was undeniably a tremendous help to the team.

The same two points could have entirely different effects depending on whether they came from a jumper or a thunderous dunk. An opposing coach would not care about a made jumper unless it became a streak, or unless it was a three-pointer. But dunks could alter an opponent's defensive strategy. Whether a star could force the opposition to adjust its defense was an extremely important matter.

One kind of star merely put up pretty numbers, unable to bring qualitative change to a team. Another drew all the defensive attention to himself while still performing brilliantly—or enabling his teammates to do so.

Ewing, seated off to the side, had turned green. Not only had he lost to O'Neal, a younger player, but he had also been dunked on by a rookie. Misfortunes never came singly. His poster dunk over Jordan had caused a huge sensation back then; it was impossible to imagine what consequences this one would bring.

The New York media did not like Ewing, the Great Ape. They felt his appearance was too crude and did not suit the grandeur of the Big Apple. These uncrowned kings of New York had never cared much for Ewing, hoping instead that the team would produce a player who was both handsome and talented.

Allan Houston, who had joined the team this year, fit their needs perfectly. The mid-range king, who went 3-for-5 from three and scored 19 points in this game, was the player they wanted to promote. As for Ewing, they could not be bothered with him at all.

Ewing watched as the New York media repeatedly questioned O'Neal while only a pitiful few reporters stood before him. The winner was king, the loser a bandit—it could not have been more obvious.

After the press conference, the Lakers hurried onto the team bus. They needed to head to Charlotte immediately for a back-to-back game against the Hornets tomorrow.

On the bus, O'Neal quietly approached Kobe.

"Hey, man. I already told everyone that rookie Penny wasn't as good as you. Keep this up, and we'll surpass everything I achieved in Orlando." O'Neal had beaten Jordan and reached the Finals in Orlando. He believed that he and these Lakers would win a championship someday.

"Shaq, we'll become the greatest in history." Kobe bumped fists with Shaq.

"I believe you, brother." Shaq's expression grew serious. Even someone as habitually unserious as him could not help but straighten up at Kobe's words. He had thought Kobe was a player similar to Penny, but he was gradually realizing that Kobe was far tougher inside. Kobe possessed an aura that made him incredibly dependable—something Penny lacked.

Meanwhile, in the Bulls' locker room, Jordan, who had led the team to an easy 96-73 win over the Vancouver Grizzlies, leaned back in his chair.

"Hey, boss, you've got to see this. The Lakers' number 13 rookie dunked over Ewing." Steve Kerr called Jordan over to the television, where the Bulls players were gathered around watching Kobe's performance.

"This kid's build and movements are a little like Jordan when he was young." Scottie Pippen took one look at the spectacular poster dunk over one of the Four Great Centers, and even they found it deeply shocking.

Jordan gave no comment, but he committed the name of rookie Kobe Bryant to memory. Ewing had been his rival for years. He had tried to dunk over Ewing and had succeeded once. He knew exactly how difficult it was to dunk over one of the Four Great Centers.

That play alone made Kobe's name worth remembering. The league had heavily promoted several supposed heirs to Jordan, such as Penny Hardaway and Grant Hill. Jordan had felt that their styles of play had nothing in common with his.

But this kid's domineering drives and explosive dunks made Jordan think he might be interesting.

At the First Union Center, the game between the Detroit Pistons and the Philadelphia 76ers had reached its decisive moment.

The score was tied at 81-81, with only 15 seconds remaining.

Grant Hill controlled the ball at midcourt, then suddenly lowered his body and drove past Jerry Stackhouse. He rose for a mid-range jumper, and the ball flew from his fingertips straight into the basket.

The buzzer sounded! The shot went in! Grant Hill had beaten the 76ers at the buzzer. Hill's incredible 22+14+9 performance left the Philadelphia 76ers with nothing after a hard-fought night.

Iverson returned to the locker room. Even with 24 points, 7 rebounds, and 2 assists, he still could not bring his team a victory.

He looked up at the television, where Kobe's dunk over Ewing was being replayed over and over. He knew this Philadelphia-born number 13 rookie. Kobe had overshadowed his 30 points with 31 in the first game, and now, with that poster dunk and a 25-point performance, he had bested him again.

Iverson stared fixedly at Kobe on the television. He would remember this rookie from his own draft class.

In Los Angeles, inside an upscale villa in Beverly Hills, Dr. Buss watched Kobe's performance with delight. He had never expected the rookie West selected to shoulder major responsibility so quickly.

"Jerry, your eye for talent is truly outstanding." Buss raised his glass of red wine and handed one to Jerry West, who was watching the game beside him.

"No, even I didn't expect him to develop this quickly." Jerry West had thought Kobe would need two or three years to become an All-Star-level player, and he had been willing to wait that long. But Kobe's performance in every game now had reached the level of an All-Star, even a superstar, which deeply surprised Jerry West as well.

"Then let's raise a toast to our genius rookie, the chosen one." Buss knew that the championship he desired might not be far away.

"Jerry, follow your ideas and act boldly. I support you."

At Lower Merion High School in Philadelphia, Old Joe led a group of players as they repeatedly watched footage from several of Kobe's games.

"See that? He learned that drive from me. That dunk was learned from me too. That three-pointer has about seventy percent of my skill behind it. If you want to make it to the NBA and become stars, you'd better learn from me properly. Understand?"

The players in their seats looked at the animated Old Joe with worshipful expressions. They had never expected this usually funny middle-aged fat man to have such an incredible son. It looked like they really needed to learn from him.

Old Joe proudly looked over the group of players he had thoroughly cowed, then raised his head toward the television. That dunk over Ewing really did resemble him in his younger days.