Chapter 103: Home for Christmas.

Kevin Garnett was already talking before the opening tip.

Kobe watched the Minnesota forward move around the center circle, pointing toward teammates and calling out instructions.

At twenty years old, Garnett was only a year older than Kobe, but he carried himself with the confidence of someone who had been playing professionally for a decade. He was tall, lean, and restless, constantly shifting his feet and scanning the court as though the game had already started.

Across from him, Shaq rolled his shoulders and looked toward the Timberwolves’ center. “Hope you boys had a good breakfast,” he announced. “Big Diesel’s working overtime tonight.”

Garnett glanced over. “You talk too much, big fella.”

Shaq grinned. “And you too skinny.”

Kobe laughed as he moved toward his position on the perimeter. He had watched enough Minnesota film to know Garnett wasn’t going to stop talking, whether the Timberwolves were winning by twenty or losing by thirty.

The referee tossed the ball, Shaq won the tip, and the Lakers went to work.

Their first possession ended with Shaq catching a deep entry pass from Eddie Jones, turning over his left shoulder, and dropping in a short hook.

Minnesota answered when Stephon Marbury drove past Derek Fisher and finished a difficult layup before Ben Wallace could rotate across. The opening minutes were physical, with Minnesota attacking the basket whenever possible while Los Angeles looked to establish Shaq inside.

Kobe’s first opportunity came midway through the quarter. Eddie swung the ball toward him on the right wing, and Garnett switched onto him after Minnesota’s defenders became tangled around a screen.

“Come on.” Garnett said, spreading his arms. “Show me something.”

Kobe gave him a quick jab step, but Garnett didn’t move. He tried another, then took a hard dribble toward the baseline. Garnett slid with him, using his long arms to cut off the driving lane. Rather than force the shot, Kobe kicked the ball back to Eddie, who stepped into an open jumper.

“Good defense,” Kobe said as they ran back.

Garnett looked at him. “You scared?”

“Nah. Just playing winning basketball.”

The exchange drew a smile from Kobe, but Minnesota soon gave him something more important to think about. On the next possession, Garnett caught the ball near the elbow, faced Wallace, and attacked before the defense could settle. He took one long step toward the middle, spun baseline, and rose for a powerful two-handed dunk. The rim rattled as Garnett landed, and he turned toward the Lakers, shouting something that disappeared beneath the crowd noise.

Fisher retrieved the ball. “Well, somebody’s excited.”

Kobe took the inbound and brought it across half court. Garnett was still talking, now directing Minnesota’s defense.

A few possessions later, the Lakers ran a set that brought him across the baseline. Eddie moved toward the high post, drawing his defender with him, while Shaq established position on the opposite block. Kobe slipped behind his man, and Shaq spotted the opening immediately.

The pass came hard and low, threading between two defenders. Kobe gathered it near the restricted area and took off as Garnett rotated from the weak side. For an instant, both players were airborne, Garnett reaching toward the ball while Kobe extended his right arm toward the rim.

Kobe hammered it home.

Garnett’s forearm caught part of the ball, but not enough to stop the dunk. The crowd erupted as Kobe landed and turned toward the Minnesota forward.

“Thought you had you one?” Kobe said. Garnett merely shook his head as they headed back downcourt.

At the next timeout, Del Harris stepped between them with his clipboard. “All right. Listen up.”

The laughter faded as Harris drew Minnesota’s next offensive set. “They’re getting Garnett the ball too easily at the elbow. Ben, make him work for his position. Shaq, don’t get caught in traffic when Marbury turns the corner. Derek, force him toward our help.”

He looked toward Kobe and Eddie. “And you two, stay attached to your shooters. No unnecessary switches. Make them earn everything.”

The Lakers returned to the floor and gradually took control. Wallace made Garnett work for every touch, while Shaq continued punishing Minnesota’s interior defense. Kobe found Eddie cutting toward the basket for an easy layup, then knocked down a jumper of his own after Fisher drew two defenders.

By halftime, Los Angeles held a commanding 54–37 lead, up seventeen points over Minnesota.

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Marbury opened the third quarter with a three-pointer, then beat Fisher off the dribble for a floater.

Minnesota followed with a defensive stop and another basket, cutting into the Lakers’ lead. Garnett became increasingly aggressive, attacking Wallace from the high post, knocking down a jumper, and later grabbing an offensive rebound before finishing through contact.

On one possession, Kobe rotated into the lane after his defender cut toward the basket. Garnett caught the ball along the baseline, saw the opening, and exploded toward the rim. Kobe stepped across to contest, but he was a fraction too late. Garnett rose over him and finished with a thunderous dunk as the referee blew his whistle.

Kobe landed beneath the basket as Garnett turned toward him.

“Move out the way!” Garnett shouted.

Kobe shook his head, smiling despite himself.

The Lakers answered immediately. Fisher pushed the ball upcourt and found Kobe on the left wing. Kobe caught it, attacked his defender with a quick crossover, and drove toward the middle. Garnett stepped across from the paint, but Kobe gathered, absorbed the contact, and finished a difficult layup off the glass.

The referee raised his arm. And one.

Kobe walked toward the free-throw line, still grinning, and scored.

The game remained physical, but Minnesota never seriously threatened again. Shaq controlled the paint, Eddie supplied timely baskets, and Wallace anchored the defense whenever the Timberwolves attacked inside. By the fourth quarter, Harris began rotating his reserves into the game, and Kobe remained on the floor briefly before joining Shaq and Eddie on the bench.

When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read Los Angeles Lakers 97, Minnesota Timberwolves 76. The Lakers improved to 25–3.

Kobe found Garnett near midcourt as the players exchanged handshakes.

“Good game,” Kobe said.

Garnett clasped his hand. “You got me tonight.”

They separated with smiles.

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Later, after showering and changing, Kobe found his family waiting near the players’ exit. Shaya greeted him by holding up a homemade sign that read NICE DUNK, KOBE! Sharia stood beside her, smiling.

“That was a pretty good game,” she said.

“Pretty good?”

“Yeah. Except for the part where Garnett almost put you through the basket.”

Kobe stared at her, and Joe burst out laughing.

“She’s got a point, son.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“The correct side,” Joe replied, clapping him on the shoulder.

Pamela kissed Kobe’s cheek before the family headed toward the parking lot. Christmas was only a few days away, and for once, Kobe was looking forward to something that didn’t involve a basketball.

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The Bryant house was ready for Christmas. Garlands decorated the staircase, lights glowed around the windows, and presents filled the space beneath the tree. Kobe recognized several packages from his shopping trip with Sharia and Shaya, who were now sitting on the carpet rearranging them.

“Didn’t you two already do that?” Kobe asked.

Sharia moved another box. “It looked crowded.”

“It’s Christmas. That’s the point.”

“Then stop standing there and help.”

“I already helped. I carried everything through Rodeo Drive.”

Shaya laughed. “And complained the whole way.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Joe entered with his coffee and newspaper, looking between the three of them. “What’s going on?”

“Your daughters are redecorating the tree again,” Kobe said.

Joe studied the presents. “Looks nice.”

Kobe shook his head. “Nobody appreciates me around here.”

“Awww poor baby,” Sharia said, earning a laugh from Shaya.

Kobe dropped onto the couch and reached for the remote, intending to watch a few minutes of Boston’s latest game. Sharia immediately spotted him.

“Seriously? Basketball again?”

Joe settled into his chair. “Son, put the remote down. You’ve got all tomorrow to worry about Boston.”

Kobe looked at him. “You’re taking their side now?”

“I’m taking the side that keeps this house peaceful.”

Pamela called from the kitchen. “Since everyone’s sitting around, somebody can come set the table.”

Kobe stood before his sisters could volunteer him. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Shaya smiled. “Look at Mama’s boy.”

Dinner brought everyone together around the table. Pamela had prepared roasted chicken, potatoes, vegetables, and several dishes the family had enjoyed during their years in Italy. Joe helped himself to another serving while Sharia questioned whether he had contributed anything to the decorations.

“I put up the lights,” Joe said.

Pamela raised an eyebrow. “You watched me put up the lights.”

“I was supervising.”

“From the couch?”

“Somebody had to make sure they were straight.”

Kobe laughed.

“You understand leadership, right?” Joe asked, pointing his fork at Kobe.

“Don’t encourage him,” Pamela said.

The conversation eventually turned toward the Lakers’ Christmas Day game against Boston. Joe asked whether Kobe was looking forward to playing the Celtics, and Kobe admitted that he was. Even with Boston struggling that season, wearing a Lakers uniform against the Celtics meant something to him.

“Remember those old Finals tapes?” Joe asked.

Kobe smiled. “The ones you made me watch every weekend?”

“Made you? You were the one who kept rewinding Magic’s passes.”

“Because you talked through half the plays.”

Joe laughed. “I was explaining them.”

Pamela shook her head. “I remember hearing you two arguing about basketball from the other room.”

“And nothing’s changed,” Sharia added.

Shaya leaned back in her chair. “Can we have one dinner without talking about basketball?”

Joe raised his hands. “All right, all right.”

Kobe grinned.

After dinner, Sharia and Shaya returned to the living room while Kobe helped Pamela clean the kitchen. She washed the dishes, and he dried them, occasionally hearing his sisters argue about who would open the first present.

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Kobe woke shortly before six and headed downstairs, where he found Joe drinking eggnog at the kitchen table.

“Morning, Dad.”

“Merry Christmas, son.”

Kobe poured himself some orange juice. “You been up long?”

“Long enough to enjoy some peace before your sisters wake up.”

As if on cue, footsteps sounded upstairs, followed by Sharia complaining that someone had taken her slippers.

Joe looked toward the ceiling. “Well, that was nice while it lasted.”

Kobe laughed as Pamela entered the kitchen, followed by his sisters.

Shaya glanced at the clock. “Why does Christmas have to start so early?”

“Because somebody has a game,” Sharia said, looking at Kobe.

“Sorry,” Kobe replied, rolling his eyes. “I’ll ask the NBA to move it next year.”

Pamela began preparing breakfast while everyone gathered around the table. By six-thirty, they were eating pancakes, eggs, and fruit, with Shaya repeatedly checking the clock.

Once breakfast was finished, the family moved into the living room. Wrapping paper quickly covered the carpet as Sharia opened the dress Kobe had bought during their shopping trip, while Shaya received several mystery novels and a certificate for a spa day.

Shaya handed him a small package. “Here’s yours.”

Kobe opened it and pulled out a pair of socks.

He looked at his sisters. “Really?”

They burst out laughing.

“You said you needed socks,” Sharia reminded him.

“I said I couldn’t find any.”

“Exactly. We heard and listened.”

Kobe tossed the wrapping paper at her.

Pamela then handed him a rectangular package. Inside was a framed photograph of the entire family outside the Forum, taken earlier that season. Kobe stood in his Lakers warmup jacket, surrounded by his parents and sisters.

Beneath the photograph were the words Christmas 1996: Our First Lakers Christmas.

Kobe studied it for a moment before smiling. “I like this.”

“We thought you might want something to remember your first season,” Pamela said.

“Thanks, Mom. Dad.”

Kobe carefully set the photograph aside before reaching beneath the tree for another package.

“This one’s for you two.”

Pamela opened it and found a framed notebook page. It was something Kobe had discovered while unpacking after the family’s move to Los Angeles, a childhood drawing his mother had kept for years.

In his nine-year-old handwriting, it read:

One day I’ll buy you a house with a court in the backyard – Love, Kobe.

Below the message was a crooked drawing of a house and a basketball hoop.

Pamela smiled immediately. “Oh, Kobe. I love it.”

By seven-thirty, the presents had been opened and Kobe was preparing to leave for the Forum. His team meeting was scheduled for nine, followed by shootaround and preparations for the noon game.

Joe checked his watch. “We’ll head out around nine-thirty.”

“Don’t get lost,” Kobe said.

Joe looked offended. “I’ve been driving to basketball arenas since before you were born.”

Kobe laughed, hugged his mother, and picked up his bag.

“Merry Christmas, everybody.”

“Merry Christmas!” they answered.

Kobe grabbed his bag and stepped outside into the warm Los Angeles morning. After loading it into the car, he glanced back at the house, where his parents and sisters were still standing in the doorway.

He waved goodbye, pulled out of the driveway, and headed toward the Forum.

Christmas morning with his family was over. Now it was time to give Lakers fans a present of their own.