Chapter 101: No Time To Celebrate

The morning after the Lakers defeated the Chicago Bulls, Kobe Bryant discovered that beating Michael Jordan came with an unexpected consequence.

Everyone wanted to talk about it.

ESPN had replayed his game-winning shot six times since he arrived for breakfast.

The big man occupied two chairs near the television, a cinnamon roll in one hand and the remote in the other, while Eddie Jones watched from across the table.

“Hold on,” Shaq said, raising the remote. “Here comes the good part.”

Eddie looked up from his plate. “You’ve been saying that for twenty minutes.”

“Because it keeps getting better.”

On the television, Kobe caught Eddie’s inbound pass, curled around Robert Horry’s screen, and drove toward the baseline. Michael Jordan stayed with him, his arm rising as Kobe leaned backward and released the ball high toward the backboard.

The shot dropped through.

LOS ANGELES 97, CHICAGO 96.

The United Center erupted in disbelief while the Lakers poured onto the floor.

The television switched to a panel of analysts discussing the previous night’s game. One praised Kobe’s composure under pressure. Another questioned whether the eighteen-year-old rookie had already become the most exciting young player in basketball.

Then came the inevitable comparison.

The next Michael Jordan.

Kobe’s smile faded slightly.

He had heard it before, but the Chicago game had made the discussion impossible to escape. Newspapers were already placing their photographs side by side, as though one December victory had settled something Jordan had spent more than a decade establishing.

Eddie noticed his expression. “What’s wrong? Don’t like being famous?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

Kobe nodded toward the television. “They keep calling me the next Michael.”

Shaq looked up. “That’s supposed to be a compliment.”

“It is. But I don’t want to spend my career being somebody else’s replacement.”

Eddie grinned. “So what do you want?”

“To be Kobe Bryant.”

Shaq raised his glass.

“Well, Kobe, you better win some championships before you start making speeches.”

Kobe laughed.

The conversation returned to the game. Shaq reminded everyone that he had contributed considerably more than everyone else, Eddie insisted his inbound pass deserved recognition, and Kobe pointed out that Horry’s screen had made the final shot possible.

For several minutes, they argued over who deserved the most credit.

Then Shaq glanced at the clock.

“Fuck man, we really gotta play again tonight?”

“Milwaukee,” Eddie reminded him.

“Didn’t we just play Chicago?”

“That’s usually how back-to-backs work.”

Shaq shook his head. “Somebody needs to talk to the league about this schedule.”

Kobe finished his breakfast and stood. The previous night had been extraordinary. He could still remember the noise inside the United Center, and the moment the ball left his fingertips.

But Milwaukee had Glenn Robinson, Vin Baker, and Ray Allen waiting for them.

Unlike the television networks, the Bucks wouldn’t be interested in celebrating what happened yesterday.

The telephone rang while Kobe was packing his bag.

“Mr. Bryant? Jerry West is on the line.”

Kobe straightened. “Put him through.”

“Kobe.”

“Morning, Mr. West.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve watched that last possession several times,” West continued. “Jordan defended it about as well as anyone could. You still found a way to get the shot off.”

Kobe sat on the edge of the bed. “Once he pushed me toward the baseline, I figured the glass was my best chance.”

“You made the right decision.”

Coming from West, the words meant considerably more than another television headline.

The Lakers’ general manager had believed in him before most people considered him ready for the NBA. West had seen something during Kobe’s predraft workouts that convinced him a teenager from Lower Merion could become an extraordinary professional player.

But West rarely offered praise without also providing a reminder.

“Enjoy the win,” he said. “You earned it. Just don’t let it become the most important thing you accomplish this season.”

Kobe smiled. “I got you.”

“Now you have the Bucks waiting for you, and they’ll be looking to knock you right back down.”

“I know.”

West paused. “Jerry Buss is thrilled, by the way. I think he watched the replay more times than I did.”

“Tell him I appreciate it.”

“I will.”

Before ending the conversation, West mentioned the growing number of inquiries reaching the organization about Kobe. Reporters, promotional companies, and potential sponsors had been calling throughout the morning.

“Your representatives will have their hands full,” West said. “Just make sure the business doesn’t interfere with basketball.”

“It won’t.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

By the time the Lakers reached Milwaukee, Kobe had received more telephone messages than he could reasonably return.

His parents had called. Friends from Philadelphia had called. Former teammates and coaches had left congratulations, and several reporters wanted interviews.

But the most interesting call came from his business representatives.

Kobe had barely settled into his hotel room when the telephone rang.

“Tell me you’ve got good news,” he said after recognizing the voice.

“Depends. Do you consider people wanting to buy your merchandise good news?”

Kobe smiled. “Usually.”

“Then I’ve got plenty.”

The merchandise collection had been in development before the Chicago game. Kobe had already reviewed designs, discussed production, and made it clear that he wanted the clothing to represent something more than a quick attempt to capitalize on his growing popularity.

The initial release would include shirts, sweatshirts, and caps carrying his name and established branding. Production and distribution arrangements were still being finalized, but the response to the promotional material had been encouraging.

Then he beat Michael Jordan.

“Yesterday changed things,” his representative explained. “We’ve had more inquiries about the launch since last night than we expected to receive this entire week. Retailers want to know when the products will be available, and we’re getting requests for additional promotional material.”

“Are we still on schedule?”

“That’s the plan.”

“And the samples?”

“They’re being reviewed.”

Kobe leaned back against the headboard.

“Make sure the quality is right. I don’t want people spending their money on something that falls apart after they wash it twice.”

His representative laughed. “You sound more concerned about the stitching than the sales.”

“Because if the stitching is bad, they won’t buy it again.”

“Fair point.”

They discussed the designs for several more minutes before the conversation shifted.

“There’s something else.”

Kobe glanced toward the clock. “What?”

“A major national company has reached out about a possible spokesperson agreement.”

He sat a little straighter.

“What company?”

“We’re arranging a proper discussion before getting into specifics. They’re interested in a national advertising campaign, potentially something longer-term.”

“What would they want me to do?”

“Television commercials, print advertising, promotional appearances. Nothing’s finalized, and we haven’t agreed to anything.”

Kobe considered that.

He understood the importance of endorsement opportunities. Jordan’s relationship with Nike had changed how athletes approached business, demonstrating that a basketball player could become an international commercial figure.

But Kobe wasn’t interested in signing agreements simply because someone offered him a large check.

He wanted to understand what he would be representing.

“Are they interested in working with me, or do they just want my face on something?”

“That’s one of the questions we’ll ask.”

“Because I’m not signing up for a bunch of commercials that don’t make sense.”

“We figured you’d say that.”

Kobe smiled.

His representative promised to arrange further discussions without committing him to anything. They would also review the opportunity alongside his existing business arrangements to avoid conflicts.

When the call ended, Kobe remained seated for a moment.

A merchandise release. A possible national advertising campaign. Reporters comparing him to Michael Jordan.

None of those opportunities would have existed without what he did on the court.

And he had another game to play.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The Bradley Center was already filling when the Lakers arrived that evening.

Milwaukee lacked Chicago’s championship reputation, but the Bucks were far from an easy opponent. Their young roster possessed enough offensive talent to trouble even the league’s strongest teams.

Glenn Robinson, the first overall selection in the 1994 draft, was a powerful forward who could score from nearly anywhere. Vin Baker provided another dangerous option inside, combining strength with excellent footwork and a soft shooting touch.

Then there was Ray Allen.

The fifth pick in Kobe’s own draft class had arrived from Connecticut with a reputation as an outstanding shooter and an impressive all-around athlete.

Kobe watched him during warmups.

Allen caught a pass near the wing, rose smoothly, and sent the ball through the net. He moved several feet to his left and repeated the motion.

Another basket.

Then another.

“He’s got a pretty shot,” Eddie remarked.

Kobe nodded. “Yeah.”

Once the game began, Milwaukee attacked immediately.

Robinson scored over Bruce Bowen on the opening possessions, using his strength to create separation before knocking down a difficult jumper. Baker established a position against Elden Campbell and finished inside.

The Lakers struggled to match Milwaukee’s energy.

Kobe’s first jumper bounced off the back rim. His next attempt fell short, and when he attacked the basket, the Bucks collapsed quickly enough to force him into a difficult pass.

The fatigue from Chicago was unmistakable.

Shaq was still dangerous around the rim, but even he appeared a step slower than usual.

Robinson continued attacking.

By the end of the first quarter, Milwaukee led 32–25.

Del Harris wasn’t pleased.

“We’re standing around,” he told the team during the break. “They’re getting comfortable because we’re letting them. Robinson’s catching wherever he wants, Baker’s getting position too easily, and we’re late on every rotation.”

Shaq wiped his face with a towel.

“Coach, somebody should’ve told them we played Chicago yesterday.”

Even Harris struggled to suppress a smile.

“Get back out there and play defense.”

The second quarter began with the Lakers’ reserves providing badly needed energy.

Derek Fisher pressured Milwaukee’s ballhandlers and pushed the pace whenever possible. Robert Horry knocked down an important three-pointer, while Campbell fought for rebounds and second-chance opportunities.

Kobe spent several minutes on the bench, watching the game develop.

He wasn’t particularly happy about resting, but his legs needed the break.

When he returned, Milwaukee’s lead had narrowed.

Allen was moving constantly around screens, searching for open looks along the perimeter. Kobe began taking a more active role in defending him, fighting through picks and staying close enough to challenge his release.

On one possession, Allen curled toward the right wing and caught the ball.

Kobe closed quickly.

Allen pump-faked.

Kobe stayed down.

He attempted to drive, but Kobe cut off the angle and forced him to pass.

Milwaukee continued finding opportunities through Robinson and Baker, but the Lakers gradually settled into their offense.

Shaq scored inside. Eddie connected on a midrange jumper, and Horry provided another timely basket.

At halftime, Milwaukee led 54–53.

The Lakers had recovered six points from their first-quarter deficit.

In the locker room, Harris emphasized defense.

“We’re getting enough opportunities offensively. What we need is pressure. Make their guards work. Don’t let Robinson catch the ball wherever he wants, and stop giving Baker easy position.”

Kobe listened carefully.

He understood what Harris wanted.

Milwaukee had excellent individual scorers, but the Bucks were vulnerable when forced to make quick decisions under pressure.

If the Lakers could disrupt their offensive rhythm, they could turn defense into easy points.

And easy points were exactly what his tired legs needed.

The third quarter changed everything.

The Lakers increased their defensive pressure from the opening possession. Fisher crowded Milwaukee’s ballhandlers, Eddie anticipated passes along the perimeter, and Kobe stayed attached to Allen whenever the rookie attempted to find space.

The Bucks suddenly found themselves struggling to initiate their offense.

A careless pass toward the wing became a steal.

Eddie pushed the ball ahead.

Kobe sprinted downcourt, caught the pass, and finished with a smooth jelly layup.

On the following possession, Allen attempted to curl around a screen near the three-point line. Kobe anticipated the movement, slipped around the pick, and arrived at the catch.

Allen tried to rise.

Kobe contested.

The shot missed.

Shaq collected the rebound and immediately looked upcourt.

“PUSH!”

Kobe was already moving.

The outlet reached Eddie, who returned the ball to Kobe for an easy finish.

Milwaukee called timeout and the Lakers’ bench erupted.

Kobe jogged toward the sideline, breathing heavily.

He was exhausted, but the defensive pressure was working.

Robinson continued scoring difficult baskets, refusing to let Milwaukee fall too far behind. Baker added points inside, but the Bucks struggled to maintain their earlier rhythm.

Allen was having an especially difficult night.

Kobe stayed close through screens, challenged his jumpers, and forced him to give up the ball whenever he couldn’t create separation.

The Lakers continued pressing their advantage, converting turnovers into transition baskets while Shaq punished Milwaukee inside.

By the end of the third quarter, Los Angeles had outscored the Bucks 28–19, turning a one-point halftime deficit into an 81–73 lead.

Kobe returned to the bench and accepted a towel.

His jumper still wasn’t falling consistently.

But the Lakers were winning.

And that mattered considerably more.

The fourth quarter lacked the drama of Chicago.

There was no extended duel between two superstars, no arena holding its breath over every possession, and no final shot that would be replayed on television for days.

Instead, the Lakers had to protect their lead against a team that refused to surrender.

Robinson remained Milwaukee’s greatest threat.

He attacked from the perimeter, backed defenders into the paint, and knocked down difficult jumpers even when the Lakers defended him properly.

Baker continued working inside, forcing Campbell and Shaq to battle for position.

Milwaukee reduced the deficit, but the Lakers responded.

Horry knocked down a jumper. Eddie found Campbell cutting toward the basket, and Kobe created another scoring opportunity by drawing help before passing to Shaq for a dunk.

Allen continued searching for opportunities, but his difficult night never improved. Kobe’s pressure made clean catches rare, and the rookie struggled to establish a shooting rhythm.

On the other side despite his shooting struggles, Kobe found ways to contribute. He attacked in transition, moved without the ball, and trusted his teammates rather than forcing difficult jumpers.

The final minutes became a test of composure.

Robinson continued scoring, but the Lakers answered often enough to maintain their advantage. Milwaukee attempted to extend the game with late fouls, yet Los Angeles protected the ball and converted the necessary free throws.

When the final horn sounded, the Lakers had won 113–105.

Robinson finished with 39 points, six rebounds, and two assists, producing an outstanding individual performance in defeat.

Allen endured one of the more frustrating games of his young career, scoring seven points on 3-of-13 shooting.

Kobe finished with 19 points, three rebounds, and six assists, shooting 7-of-15 from the field.

It wasn’t the kind of performance that would dominate the morning headlines.

After the previous night, some reporters might even consider it disappointing.

Kobe didn’t care.

The Lakers had won again.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Hey everyone!

I wanted to give you all a quick update. After struggling with pneumonia and my health these past couple of weeks, I’m finally starting to feel like myself again!

It’s been a rough stretch, but I’m slowly getting better. I can finally walk around a little without coughing every few steps, and my mornings aren’t nearly as bad as they used to be. I’m still recovering, but it’s honestly such a relief to finally feel like I’m making progress.

And speaking of injuries, what the hell is going on in the NBA right now? 😂 I swear, every time I check the news, another player is injured. There are so many injuries around the league that I started feeling like I was on the injury report myself. At this point, I’m just waiting for Shams to tweet that I’m out indefinitely with a respiratory injury. 💀

Jokes aside, I want to thank everyone for the continued support, patience, and understanding while I’ve been sick. I know the chapter updates haven’t been as consistent as usual, and I really appreciate everyone who has stuck around.

Thank you again for all the support. It genuinely means a lot.

Hopefully, I’ll be off the injury report soon. 😂