Chapter 100: The Last Shot

Del Harris crouched in front of Shaq during the break, speaking quietly enough that Kobe couldn’t hear him over the United Center’s organ. Shaq sat with a towel around his neck, his elbows resting on his knees. He listened without arguing, which told Kobe more about his exhaustion than anything else.

When Harris stood, he exchanged a look with Gary Vitti. Shaq wasn’t returning yet.

Kobe caught Eddie Jones before they stepped onto the court. “Hey, bring the ball up for a while. I want to work off some screens.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You want me handling the ball?”

“Yeah. Let me work off some screens for a while. Jordan’s been guarding me with the ball in my hands all night. I want to make him chase me around.”

Eddie grinned. “So you’re finally going to let somebody else run the offense?”

“For a few possessions. Don’t get too comfortable.”

“I’ve been waiting all night for you to remember you’ve got teammates.”

Kobe laughed. “Just make sure you find me when I’m open.”

“You worry about getting open. I’ll worry about the passing.”

Harris approached as Kobe explained his idea. The coach listened, then nodded. “Fine. Eddie handles the ball, and Kobe works off Robert and Elden. But remember, we’re up four against the defending champions. I don’t need you proving anything to Michael Jordan.”

“I’m trying to win, Coach.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

The horn sounded.

Chicago attacked immediately. Pippen found Toni Kukoč near the elbow, and Kukoč drew Campbell away from the basket before passing to Robert Parish for an easy finish. The Lakers’ lead was down to two.

Eddie brought the ball across half court while Kobe moved toward the weak side. Horry set a screen, allowing Kobe to curl toward the elbow. Jordan followed, but his hand caught Kobe’s shooting arm as he rose.

The whistle sounded.

“You needed a screen for that?” Jordan asked.

Kobe glanced over. “You fouled me, didn’t you?”

Jordan smiled. “Go make your free throws.”

Kobe made both.

“Happy?” he asked as they retreated.

Jordan scored on the next possession with a turnaround jumper that Kobe contested as well as he could. On the following trip, Kobe reversed direction around another screen, caught Eddie’s bounce pass, and drew Parish toward him before finding Campbell for a dunk.

Chicago answered through Pippen, whose defensive pressure created a fast-break opportunity for Harper. The crowd grew louder as the Lakers’ advantage narrowed.

Kobe caught the ball near the right wing and faced Jordan. He jabbed right, dribbled left, and stopped abruptly for a jumper. Jordan recovered quickly enough to contest, but the ball bounced off the back rim and dropped through.

During the next stoppage, Kobe noticed something else. For most of the game, Jordan had occasionally glanced toward the paint, anticipating Shaq’s movements or preparing to help against the post.

Now Shaq was sitting on the bench.

Jordan wasn’t looking anywhere else.

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Jordan caught the ball near the right elbow and faced Kobe. He jabbed toward the baseline, spun toward the middle, and rose into a turnaround jumper. Kobe stayed with him, but the ball dropped through anyway.

“Good defense,” Jordan said.

Kobe frowned.

Rodman returned and immediately tipped an offensive rebound away from Campbell, keeping the possession alive for Pippen. Chicago took the lead, sending the United Center into celebration.

Eddie answered with a strong drive against Harper. On the next possession, he knocked the ball loose and sent Kobe running. Horry trailed along the wing, and Kobe found him for an open three-pointer.

“Nice shot, Rob,” Eddie said.

Horry glanced at him. “I shoot those every day.”

Kobe smiled as he listened. The Lakers needed that energy, especially with Chicago refusing to give them any breathing room.

Jordan answered by driving into the paint and finding Steve Kerr on the perimeter. Kerr’s three-pointer fell cleanly, and the crowd erupted again.

Kobe tried to respond by passing inside to Campbell, but Jordan anticipated the play. He deflected the ball toward Pippen, who raced downcourt for an uncontested basket.

Chicago had begun recognizing his passing patterns, particularly when he looked toward the post. The openings still appeared available, but Jordan was already waiting inside them.

On the next possession, Kobe caught near the elbow and glanced toward Campbell. Jordan shifted slightly, expecting another pass.

Kobe rose into a jumper instead.

Swish.

Chicago continued attacking through Pippen, Rodman, and Jordan. By the time Harris called timeout, the Bulls had taken a 92–90 lead.

Shaq was already standing.

“Coach, I’m ready.”

Harris studied him. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve been sitting here watching everybody forget how to play basketball.”

Eddie raised a hand. “We were doing fine until you started talking.”

Shaq stared at him. “You’re down two.”

Kobe laughed.

Harris interrupted. “All right, Shaq. You’re going back in.”

Shaq looked around the huddle. “Five minutes. I leave you alone for five minutes, and look what happens.”

Even Harris smiled.

But as Shaq returned to the floor, Kobe noticed the heaviness in his stride. The big man had recovered some energy, though not nearly enough to dominate the way he had earlier.

Chicago would recognize that immediately.

The Lakers needed another answer.

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Longley returned when Shaq did. With five fouls, the Australian positioned himself carefully as Shaq established a deep seal on the left block.

Eddie delivered the entry pass. Rodman shaded toward the paint, and Pippen stepped away from the perimeter. Shaq passed out before the double-team could close, finding Kobe near the elbow.

Kobe attacked the opening. Longley stepped toward him, and Kobe slipped the ball behind the defender.

Shaq caught it and dunked with both hands.

The game was tied.

Shaq landed and spread his arms toward the crowd, which responded with boos. He flexed as Kobe hurried back on defense.

“Shaq, come on! Get back!”

“Can I celebrate one basket?”

“You can celebrate when we win.”

“I’ve been carrying us all night. I deserve one flex.”

Chicago came back immediately. Jordan drove into the paint and found Kerr, whose jumper missed. Rodman tipped the rebound toward the basket, but Horry knocked it loose.

Eddie recovered and pushed ahead, only for Pippen to challenge his layup. Chicago collected the rebound and started another break. Kobe sprinted after Pippen and forced him into a difficult finish.

The shot missed, and Shaq knocked the loose ball away from Rodman before Horry secured it.

Neither team scored for several possessions. Kobe missed a jumper, Jordan missed from the elbow, and Horry battled Rodman beneath the basket while the officials allowed increasingly physical contact.

The game had become ugly.

Kobe loved it.

Chicago wasn’t panicking, but the Bulls weren’t scoring either. The Lakers had finally forced them into the same exhausting struggle Shaq had endured throughout the third quarter.

Then Shaq caught the ball near the left block with Longley behind him and no help defender arriving.

He gathered.

Kobe recognized the movement: the dip of the hips, the powerful plant, and the explosion that usually sent three hundred pounds toward the rim.

Except this time, the explosion never came.

Shaq barely left the floor. His attempted dunk became an awkward layup, and Longley blocked it out of bounds.

The crowd roared.

Shaq stood beneath the basket, breathing heavily. Kobe approached during the stoppage.

“Hey, big fella. Just stay deep. Don’t keep fighting them for the ball.”

Shaq frowned.

“Every time you get near the basket, Longley and Rodman start watching you. Just stay there and make them worry about you.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Take advantage of it.”

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Jordan met Kobe before the inbound, close enough that Kobe could see the sweat along his forehead and the slow movement of his jaw as he chewed his gum.

Horry set a screen near the elbow, but Jordan fought through it and stayed on Kobe’s hip. Kobe jabbed right, then left, before crossing over. Jordan recovered immediately, keeping his hand near Kobe’s waist.

So Kobe stopped trying to go around him.

He turned his back and dribbled toward the right block. Jordan pressed a forearm against him, but Kobe planted his foot, dipped his shoulder, and turned into a fadeaway.

He had practiced the movement thousands of times, studying Jordan’s footwork until it became part of his own game.

Now he performed it against the man who had made it famous.

Jordan’s hand rose.

Kobe released the shot over his fingertips.

Swish.

A surprised murmur swept through the United Center, followed by scattered boos and a few reluctant cheers. Several fans behind the Lakers’ bench jumped to their feet, while a man in a red Bulls jersey stared at the court in disbelief.

“Did that kid just hit Michael with his own move?” someone shouted from the lower rows.

“Come on, Mike! Don’t let him do that to you!” another fan yelled.

Jordan immediately went to the baseline on Chicago’s next possession. Kobe recognized the setup and contested Jordan’s turnaround, forcing the ball to strike the back rim.

Horry and Rodman fought for the rebound, but Shaq reached over both and secured it.

Kobe brought the ball up slowly, looking for Eddie on the opposite wing. Chicago closed the passing lane, forcing Kobe into a difficult jumper as the shot clock expired.

Miss.

Rodman collected the rebound and threw ahead to Harper, who appeared to have an open lane.

Eddie came from the weak side.

His hand struck the ball just as Harper gathered, sending it bouncing toward the sideline. Both players dove, but Eddie reached it first and called timeout while holding it against his chest.

Kobe hurried over.

“You all right?”

Eddie remained on the floor, looking toward the ceiling.

“Yeah. Just enjoying the view.”

Kobe laughed and offered his hand.

“Come on. We’ve still got a game to win.”

“Then stop talking and help me up.”

The Lakers couldn’t convert the possession. Shaq missed a difficult shot against Longley, and Rodman secured the rebound. Chicago answered with a missed jumper from Pippen, which Shaq collected.

The clock slipped beneath sixty seconds.

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With less than a minute remaining, Jordan caught near the right wing and attacked Kobe directly. Kobe stayed in front through the first two dribbles, but Jordan drove his shoulder into the narrow space between them and created just enough separation for a layup.

The ball kissed the glass and dropped through.

94–94.

The United Center erupted as Jordan backpedaled toward defense. With fifty-one seconds remaining, the game was tied.

Kobe took the inbound and walked the ball up. Jordan met him near the arc, while Shaq established position deep in the paint. Eddie drifted along the perimeter, and Horry waited on the opposite wing.

Kobe waited until the shot clock was nearly exhausted before making his move, determined to leave Chicago as little time as possible.

“You going to do something, or are we just standing here?” Jordan asked.

Kobe attacked left, but Jordan stayed with him. He crossed back right, and Jordan reached for the ball.

His hand caught Kobe’s forearm as Kobe gathered the ball.

The whistle sounded.

A wave of boos rolled through the United Center. Jordan looked toward the official, his jaw tightening as he briefly raised a hand to question the call. The referee held his ground and pointed toward the free-throw line.

Jordan stared at him for another moment before turning away.

Kobe walked toward the line, but Jordan stepped beside him before he reached it.

“You better make them both,” Jordan said quietly.

Kobe looked over. “Why’s that?”

Jordan held his gaze.

“Because you’re not getting another chance.”

Kobe smiled faintly. “We’ll see.”

Jordan didn’t respond. He simply walked toward his position along the lane, his eyes never leaving Kobe.

The crowd grew louder as Kobe received the ball. He bounced it twice, took a breath, and released his first free throw.

Swish.

Lakers 95, Bulls 94.

Jordan stood motionless beneath the basket.

Kobe received the ball again, went through the same routine, and released his second attempt. This time, the shot struck the front rim and bounced away.

Rodman secured the rebound, and Chicago immediately called timeout.

Seventeen seconds remained.

Harris gathered the Lakers.

“They’re going to Michael. Everyone knows it. No reaching, no gambling, and don’t give him a layup. Make him take a difficult shot.”

“I’ve got him,” Kobe said.

Harris looked at him.

“I’ve got him,” Kobe repeated.

The coach nodded. “Make him shoot over you.”

Chicago returned to the floor, and Harper inbounded to Jordan near the right wing. The other Bulls spread out, leaving Kobe alone with him.

Jordan dribbled slowly, watching Kobe’s feet. He faked toward the baseline, crossed toward the middle, and changed direction again.

Kobe stayed with him, but Jordan created a fraction of space near the right elbow.

He rose.

Kobe jumped with him, extending his arm as far as he could.

Jordan released the ball over his fingertips.

The jumper dropped.

Five seconds remained.

Chicago led 96–95.

The United Center exploded as Harris immediately called timeout.

Shaq reached the huddle first.

“Coach, give me the ball.”

Harris shook his head. “They’ll put three men on you.”

“Then let them.”

“We don’t have time to force an entry pass.”

Shaq opened his mouth, but Harris raised a hand.

“Kobe gets it.”

The big man looked toward Kobe, then nodded.

Harris drew the play. Eddie would inbound from the sideline, Horry would set a screen near the elbow, and Shaq would occupy Chicago’s interior defenders.

“Kobe, cut toward the middle, then come back around Robert. Eddie, get the pass there before he clears the screen.”

Kobe studied the diagram.

Jordan would be waiting.

Harris looked directly at him.

“Catch it and get your shot. Don’t waste time looking for something better.”

Shaq placed a hand on Kobe’s shoulder.

“Put it on the glass, Kob. Glass doesn’t lie.”

Kobe nodded.

The horn sounded.

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Eddie stood on the sideline, waiting for the official. The lower bowl was on its feet, and thousands of voices had merged into a single wall of noise.

Kobe stood near the right wing with Jordan beside him, balanced and waiting. Shaq established position near the left block, drawing Longley and Rodman’s attention, while Horry moved toward the elbow.

The official handed Eddie the ball and began the count.

Kobe cut toward the middle, took two steps, then planted his foot and reversed direction. His shoe squealed against the hardwood as he accelerated around Horry’s screen.

Jordan fought through it.

Eddie’s pass was already coming.

Kobe caught beyond the right wing.

Three seconds.

Jordan closed immediately, denying the middle and forcing Kobe toward the baseline.

Kobe took one hard dribble.

Jordan slid with him.

Longley stepped away from Shaq, and Rodman raised his arms.

The lane disappeared.

Kobe stopped near the baseline, several feet outside the paint. His momentum carried him backward as he rose into a fading jumper.

Jordan jumped with him, his arm extending toward the ball.

Kobe didn’t aim for the rim.

He aimed for the square on the backboard, a spot he had practiced hitting thousands of times in empty gyms.

He let the ball fly.

BEEP.

The horn sounded while the ball was still in the air.

Kobe landed and turned his head.

The shot struck the glass, high on the right side, then dropped through the net.

For an instant, the United Center seemed to forget how to make noise.

Someone in the front row said, “No.”

Then the Lakers came running.

Kobe looked toward the officials first. The referee beneath the basket signaled that the shot counted, and his colleague confirmed the release had beaten the horn.

The scoreboard changed.

LOS ANGELES 97 — CHICAGO 96

Shaq reached Kobe before anyone else, charging across the floor with his arms spread. Kobe braced himself, but three hundred pounds of exhausted center arrived at full speed and lifted him off the hardwood.

“I KNEW IT!” Shaq shouted. “I told you! Glass doesn’t lie!”

Kobe laughed. “You were supposed to be under the rim.”

Shaq stopped shouting. “What?”

“In case I missed.”

Shaq lowered him and stared.

“In case you missed? Man, are you serious?”

“Somebody had to get the rebound.”

Shaq turned toward Eddie. “Listen to this man. He just hit the biggest shot of his life, and he’s worried about the rebound.”

Horry slapped Kobe across the back while Campbell wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Fisher, Bowen, and Knight joined the celebration from the bench.

Harris stood nearby, watching with his hands on his hips. When Kobe looked toward him, the coach nodded once.

Kobe eventually turned toward the other end of the court.

Jordan stood near the free-throw line as the Bulls began returning to their bench. His jersey was dark with sweat, and his jaw still worked the gum as he looked toward the basket.

Then he looked at Kobe.

Their eyes met.

Jordan raised his chin slightly, giving a nod so small Kobe might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching. Then he turned and walked toward Chicago’s bench.

Kobe understood what the acknowledgment meant, and what it didn’t.

Jordan was still Michael Jordan, the best player in the world and the man every young guard measured himself against. One December night didn’t change that.

Kobe hadn’t surpassed him.

He had beaten him on one possession.

The last possession.

And that was enough.

Shaq grabbed him again.

“Come here, Kob! We’re not done celebrating!”

Kobe laughed as the big man lifted him off the floor for a second time. Around them, the Lakers continued celebrating while the United Center struggled to comprehend what had happened.

Above the court, the television announcers finally found their voices.

“OH, MY GOODNESS! OFF THE GLASS! OVER MICHAEL JORDAN! KOBE BRYANT HAS WON THE GAME FOR THE LOS ANGELES LAKERS!”

“HE’S EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD! MICHAEL JORDAN WAS RIGHT THERE WITH A HAND IN HIS FACE, AND THIS KID BANKS IT HOME TO BEAT THE DEFENDING CHAMPIONS!”

“Jordan made the shot that should have won it. Five seconds left, Chicago up one, and everybody in this building thought the Bulls had sealed the game. But Kobe Bryant had one more answer!”

“A ROOKIE HAS JUST BEATEN MICHAEL JORDAN ON HIS HOME FLOOR! LOS ANGELES NINETY-SEVEN, CHICAGO NINETY-SIX! AND SOMETHING TELLS ME THIS IS A NAME MICHAEL JORDAN WON’T BE FORGETTING ANYTIME SOON!”

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First and foremost, I want to take a moment to thank every single one of you for the constant support, love, patience, and encouragement you’ve shown throughout this journey.

We’ve officially reached the 100-chapter milestone! It’s honestly incredible to think about how far this story has come, and I couldn’t have made it this far without all of you. Whether you’ve been here since Chapter 1 or recently discovered the story, I truly appreciate you taking the time to read, comment, and follow along.

These past two weeks have been especially challenging. I’ve been dealing with pneumonia, which has made writing and keeping up with updates a struggle. It’s been difficult finding the energy to sit down and write, but we’re powering through, one chapter at a time!

I also want to thank everyone for being patient with the occasional delays. Your continued support and willingness to stick with this story, even when updates aren’t as consistent as I’d like, mean more to me than you know.

We’ve reached 100 chapters, but Kobe’s journey is still just getting started. There are plenty more games, rivalries, unforgettable moments, and challenges ahead, and I’m excited to continue sharing them with you.

Once again, thank you all for everything. Here’s to 100 chapters and hopefully hundreds more!

Much love and appreciation to every single one of you! ❤️