NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 327: Chapter 327: The Battle of the Titans, the Madness of LA Fans

Chapter 327: The Battle of the Titans, the Madness of LA Fans

”We played like sh*t.”

Kobe’s voice thundered through the visitor locker room, sharp enough to cut through the postgame noise outside.

”What are you b*stards doing? No fight, no urgency, just standing around waiting to die. Always waiting for me to clean it up.”

He paced for a beat, chest heaving, eyes burning with the kind of anger that never came from acting.

Kobe hated losing. He hated getting embarrassed even more.

But he was not just venting.

After a few seconds, he stopped, exhaled hard, and his tone shifted from explosion to command.

”Listen. The series just started, and we are not stopping here. Forget this loss. Forget the margin. I need you aggressive next game. Understood?”

This was not the old Kobe, the guy who fought for the throne and only cared about his own numbers. Years had sanded the rough edges into something sharper, a leader who knew when to cut and when to stitch.

He was trying to wake them up, not bury them.

And it worked.

You could feel the room change. Like somebody finally flipped the switch.

Because the scariest thing about Kobe was never the trash talk or the fadeaway. It was what happened when his anger became the engine for the whole team.

...

2 days later, in Game 4, the Lakers played like 1 unit.

James Posey drilled 2 early 3s. Kwame Brown, who had been roasted by fans as a ”mole,” gave them 10 points and 7 rebounds in 3 quarters. Even Ariza, clearly still fighting his way back into rhythm, had a couple of strong possessions on both ends.

Most importantly, the bench finally showed up.

After being nearly invisible in Game 3, the Lakers reserves exploded and outscored Phoenix’s bench 23 to 14 through 3 quarters. The triangle offense looked crisp, the ball moved with purpose, and the passes and cuts came in waves.

It was smooth. It was connected. It was the kind of rhythm Phil Jackson demanded.

Still, the Suns did not fold.

Phoenix carried the same outside firepower from the last game, and the score stayed tight all night. The Suns were protecting home court. The Lakers were trying to steal it back.

Neither side blinked.

With 1.5 minutes left in the 4th, it became a knife fight.

94 to 93.

Lakers up 1, Lakers ball.

US Airways Center shook.

”Defense!” ”Defense!” ”Defense!”

The chant rolled down from the upper seats like a storm.

Kobe caught it on the perimeter, and the trap arrived instantly. Raja Bell and Chen Yan flew at him together, bodies tight, hands active. In moments like this, refs usually swallowed the whistle unless the contact was blatant. The league loved the idea that the players should decide the ending.

Kobe rose, half off balance, and kicked it out to Troy Hudson beyond the 3 point line.

Phil Jackson had kept Fisher on the bench for most of the 2nd half, trying to stop Chen Yan from hunting him possession after possession. It was not pride, it was survival.

But Hudson did not have Fisher’s steady trigger.

Clang.

Bad miss.

Phoenix ran immediately.

Chen Yan pushed the break, driving hard with Kobe and Posey collapsing into his lane. He could have forced it, but he did not. He twisted in mid air and found Nash outside the arc.

Nash caught it and shot in 1 motion, no dip, no hesitation.

Swish.

94 to 96.

The building erupted. Chen Yan and Nash met chest to chest, a quick explosion of adrenaline and relief.

On the TNT call, Kenny Smith’s voice jumped.

”That’s a big time shot. No hesitation from Nash at all.”

Charles Barkley barked a laugh. ”And look who made it happen. Chen Yan sucked everybody in, then dropped the pass right on the money. That is winning basketball.”

Phil Jackson called timeout.

Out of the break, the Lakers had it in the frontcourt, and every eye in the arena locked onto Kobe. Everyone knew where the shot was going, and Phoenix loaded up with maximum pressure.

Kobe worked without the ball, curled, then caught it with his foot right on the 3 point line.

The double team hit him again.

This time, he did not pass.

He took 1 dribble toward the baseline, faked a shot, and got Bell off his feet. As Kobe lifted again, Chen Yan flew at him. Kobe faked again, trying to draw another jump.

Chen Yan stayed down.

Bell recovered. Two defenders, nowhere to go, and Kobe pinned near the sideline like a cornered animal.

Any other player would move it.

Kobe took the hardest shot on the menu anyway.

A brutal fadeaway, release point tilted at an impossible angle, the ball leaving his hands like it had been fired out of a slingshot.

Swish.

96 to 96.

Kobe yanked at his jersey in that familiar, violent celebration, the one fans could recognize from a mile away.

Chen Yan and Bell exchanged a look. No words. They both knew the truth.

The defense was there. The shot was just unreasonable.

The arena quieted for a moment, stunned into silence by the audacity.

D’Antoni called timeout right back. At this stage, timeouts were currency, and nobody was saving them.

The next possessions turned ugly.

Legs got heavy. Shots came up short. The pressure and fatigue dragged both teams’ efficiency into the dirt.

With 2.1 seconds left, it was still tied.

96 to 96.

Lakers ball.

Phil Jackson took his final timeout.

He drew up the last play, and he put Fisher back in. On a final possession, Phoenix could not hunt him the way they had earlier. There was no time for it.

The Lakers inbounded from the frontcourt.

Garnett held the ball on the sideline, scanning for Kobe.

Kobe ran the baseline, then snapped back hard to create a window. Bell chased. Nash leaned toward the trap.

The count was getting dangerous.

Right before the inbound would have been a violation, Garnett fired the pass to the baseline.

Not to Kobe.

To Fisher.

Fisher caught it, stepped forward, turned, and launched from beyond the 3 point line.

While everyone’s eyes were on Kobe, the man built for big moments took the shot.

Swish.

Beep.

Game winner.

Fisher roared and sprinted toward the bench like he had been holding his breath for 3 games straight. After getting hunted and humiliated, he finally had his moment, the kind that flips a whole narrative in 1 snap.

The Lakers mobbed him.

Kobe’s fury had turned into gasoline, and tonight it powered them all the way back into the series.

...

After the game, Chen Yan kept his answer short.

”It’s nothing,” he said. ”We’re not going to lose confidence because of 1 loss, 1 game winner.”

He was frustrated, and he did not feel like performing for the cameras. The second the shot dropped, his mind had already shifted forward.

Game 5, 2 days later.

...

May 25, outside Staples Center.

2 hours before tipoff, the area was already packed. Jerseys everywhere, horns, signs, and voices that sounded like they had been screaming since sunrise.

Local reporters worked the crowd, grabbing random fans and shoving microphones into the chaos.

”Tell us who wins tonight.”

”The Lakers!”

”Go LA!”

”The sun won’t rise, because it’s f***ing night!”

”They’re doing nothing here!”

”They shouldn’t have come, could’ve saved the plane ticket!”

The answers came fast, loud, and mean.

The reporter tried another angle. ”Who scores more tonight, Kobe or Chen?”

”Kobe! Chen is a f***ing bum!”

”Kobe’s gonna bury him!”

”Kobe’s gonna blow him up!”

”So you think Chen is strong?”

That question lit the group like a match.

”NO!”

”Chen is a clown!”

”Chen’s shot is gonna be ice cold!”

”Motherf***er, Chen!”

”Chen! I’m your dad!”

The crowd lost whatever restraint it had left. People shouted over each other, faces red, veins out, pride and hatred mixing into something ugly but undeniably loud.

Then the noise collapsed into 1 chant, perfectly synchronized.

”fk chen!!” ”fk chen!!” ”fk chen!!” ”fk chen!!”

The Battle had not even started.

And Los Angeles was already roaring.

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