"Fuck, fuck, fuck!!" At halftime, Latrell Sprewell frantically pounded on his locker in the Golden State Warriors' locker room.
Sprewell had been humiliated by Kobe for an entire half, and on Golden State's home court, no less. The proud Sprewell was furious. He couldn't accept this reality.
"I'll make him pay in the second half! I will!" No one paid any attention to the raging Sprewell. His teammates and coaches merely watched coldly.
Compared to Sprewell's awful first-half performance, his other teammates had played exceptionally well. Naturally, they had their complaints about the team's "leader." If they had a normal leader—like Chris Mullin, Richmond, or Tim Hardaway in the past—the team would probably have been ahead long ago. (The Golden State Warriors were an interesting team. In 1991, Mullin averaged 25.7 points, Richmond 23.9, and Tim Hardaway 22.9. The coach was Don Nelson. With none of the three cores injured, they somehow won only 44 games that season.)
The Lakers' locker room atmosphere remained relaxed. O'Neal had gone 6-for-10 in the first half and 1-for-4 from the free-throw line, casually putting up 13 points. O'Neal found playing with Kobe incredibly comfortable. He always received passes at just the right time and in the right spot. O'Neal increasingly felt that his chemistry with Kobe was wonderfully strange—perhaps even better than with Anfernee Hardaway, whom he had played with for years.
This was chemistry, wasn't it? O'Neal couldn't help but sigh. His numbers with the Lakers were excellent, games came easily to him, and everyone in the organization treated him as the centerpiece. Life was simply too comfortable. The only thing missing, perhaps, was the O'Brien Trophy.
"Hey, Kobe. Be careful. Sprewell looks like he's getting desperate," O'Neal warned Kobe. He was worried that the negative-minded Sprewell would take a cheap shot