Chapter 316: The Louder The Crowd, The Hotter His Range
The TNT crew was in the building.
Staples Center was roaring, but with headsets on, the commentators sat in their own bubble at courtside.
"Suns versus Lakers, Western Conference Finals, Game 1," Kenny Smith said, his voice riding over the crowd. "Chuck, both teams are title favorites this year. Who you got in this series?"
Kenny tossed the bait out.
Charles Barkley just grinned. "On paper, these two are 50 50. It is all about who shows up, who keeps their composure. That is it."
Reggie Miller, seated on the far side of the table, nodded. "And it is going to be tougher for Phoenix. This time they do not have home court. You come in here, to this building, with this crowd, you better be ready."
Reggie knew exactly what that meant. You did not spend a career as a playoff villain without understanding how much advantage a home arena could give you.
—--
Before the opening ceremony, the giant screen over center court lit up with a cinematic trailer of past Lakers versus Suns battles.
Clip after clip showed Los Angeles burying Phoenix, capped by Kobe's two game winners from the 2006 first round.
As the last shot dropped, the image of a blazing sun on the screen dimmed, slowly swallowed by a dark silhouette.
A total eclipse.
The moment the sun vanished, the arena erupted.
In that frenzy, the Lakers players walked out of the tunnel one by one.
The entrance was staged like a championship prize fight, lights and smoke, music pounding through the speakers. Even the celebrities in the front row were on their feet, cheering like regular fans.
Before the ball even went up, Staples was on fire.
This was the environment of that building.
Chen Yan had never seen an entrance this extravagant, but the Suns were not rattled. You did not reach the Western Conference Finals just to get scared by someone else's show.
On the Phoenix bench, Mike D Antoni motioned for his starters to breathe, to center themselves.
At the scorer's table, Nash pulled the huddle together.
"We can beat them," he said quietly. His voice was soft, but there was steel in it.
Hands slapped together. Heads nodded.
Everybody understood how hard it would be to steal a game here.
They still wanted it.
...
The whistle blew.
The referee tossed the ball in the air.
Stoudemire exploded off the floor and out jumped Kwame Brown. Suns ball.
"Here we go, Western Conference Finals, Game 1 from Staples Center," Kenny called.
"Lakers in white, Suns in orange," Reggie added. "Starters tonight for Los Angeles, Derek Fisher, Kobe Bryant, James Posey, Kevin Garnett, and Kwame Brown. For Phoenix, Steve Nash, Chen Yan, Raja Bell, Boris Diaw, and Amar'e Stoudemire."
"We see something new on Chen tonight," Kenny said. "He has that black elbow brace on his right arm."
"What that means is he is getting old already," Charles snorted. "But for real, sometimes those things are not about injury. They help keep that arm tight, keep you from getting tired as fast, and they soak up sweat."
They had been watching Chen all year. He never wore gear. Tonight, that black sleeve was different.
On the floor, the Suns flowed into their first half court set.
Nash brought it over the timeline, swung the ball to Raja Bell on the wing.
On the weak side, James Posey was practically attached to Chen Yan.
This was Phil Jackson's assignment. Posey was told to spend every ounce of energy on Chen. Offense was optional. Defense was mandatory.
Posey was a coach's dream. Tell him what to do, and he would do it.
Seeing no clean passing angle to Chen, Raja did not overdribble. He reversed the ball to Diaw at the high post.
As Diaw caught it, he snapped a pass across the floor back to Nash.
It looked simple, but that read required a full scan of everyone's positioning. That was Diaw's gift.
Nash caught and, without putting the ball down, bounced a pass with his left hand into open space.
Diaw cut hard, met the ball in stride, and rose for a layup.
The timing was perfect. The execution was clean.
The finish was not.
Garnett was right behind him, a shadow with long arms and a long memory.
Feeling KG's presence, Diaw twisted to avoid the block, changed his angle at the last second, and the ball kicked off the glass and rolled out.
A beautiful play wasted.
Diaw clapped his hands in frustration.
Kwame Brown cleaned the rebound and tossed it out to Fisher.
Fisher jogged the ball over half court, dribbling like a man who knew his job.
Bring it up. Get it to Kobe or KG. Space the floor. Be ready.
The ball found Kobe on the right side. Garnett posted deep and flashed his hand.
Kobe fed him without hesitation.
Garnett put his shoulder into Diaw once. Twice.
Then, just outside the paint, he spun.
The Suns sent the double, Nash leaving Fisher to dig down on KG's favorite spot.
You could not just let him rise from there.
But Garnett was not just a scorer. He had put up 20 points, 10 rebounds, and 5 assists for 6 straight seasons. His court vision was elite for a big.
He spotted Fisher wide open behind the arc and fired a two handed pass back out.
Nash had no chance to recover.
Old Fish rose and let it go.
Splash.
3 0, Lakers.
Staples shook.
Fisher had shot 42.6 percent from deep in the regular season. Leave him alone and he would make you pay.
Under the combined gravity of Kobe and Garnett, shooters like him lived on open looks.
...
Phoenix went back to work.
Chen Yan weaved along the baseline, running Posey through a maze of screens until he finally popped free to catch the ball.
Posey crowded him immediately. It was impossible to deny Chen every touch, but if he had to work this hard just to get the ball each trip, Phil Jackson would live with that.
Chen attacked right away.
He put his head down and drove, maybe a little too amped, almost losing the ball and handing the Lakers a fast break.
Those huge hands saved him. He palmed it back under control.
Shot clock, 12 seconds.
He turned the corner again and kicked to the corner. Raja Bell rose for a 3.
Off the iron.
On the sideline, D Antoni did not flinch.
Three empty trips to start a game in this building was nothing new for visiting teams. Two early misses did not mean his group had lost its touch.
The Lakers pushed.
Kobe brought it up this time, crossing half court to a chorus of cheers.
The defense loaded up on him, all eyes locked on the 24 in gold.
That was when he whipped the ball to his right without even looking, his gaze still fixed to the left.
No look pass.
Garnett caught it on the move, took one long stride and took off.
Boom.
Two handed hammer at the rim.
5 0, Lakers.
Garnett landed roaring, veins popping in his neck, then jabbed a finger toward Kobe.
Kobe nodded once.
This was a different year for him.
The past 2 seasons, he had been the stubborn isolation machine, the guy who would gun his way into a wall, or refuse to shoot out of spite.
Now he was a grown man, on the floor and off it. He was done with proving he could drop 50 on anyone. All he cared about was dragging this group to a championship.
Having Garnett made that easier. Sharing the load was easier when the guy next to you was a future Hall of Famer who hated losing just as much as you did.
...
The Suns tried again.
Nash used a high screen from Stoudemire and pulled up behind the 3 point line.
The jumper was pure in form, not in result.
Short.
Another miss.
Three trips, three empty possessions.
On the other end, Kobe went into the post against Raja Bell, backed him down, spun, and drew contact.
Two free throws. Two makes.
7 0, Lakers.
The Suns reset.
On the sideline, D Antoni gave a quick signal.
Give it to 0.
Let him blow the lid off.
Nash brought the ball up, then handed it over to Chen Yan one step outside the 3 point line.
Chen cradled it in one palm, lining up Posey.
Diaw came to screen.
Most guys use that pick to dive toward the paint. Chen drifted the opposite way.
He slid laterally, then took an extra step back, crossing over to get his feet set even farther from the line.
The fans watching leaned in.
This was the rhythm of a deep bomb.
Garnett switched out hard.
"I know what you want," KG muttered under his breath, arm extended high. "I am not giving you that."
The Lakers had done their homework. Garnett had studied hours of film. He knew this was Chen's favorite moment, when the big switched out and the crowd held its breath.
Unlike Duncan, Garnett could cover more ground. His feet were lighter, his range wider. He could contest that shot from way out.
Even so, Chen rose up and let it fly.
Front rim.
Suns clang, plus one.
Pulling that over Garnett's wingspan was a dare more than a clean look.
D Antoni stayed silent.
He had given Chen a long leash all season. Sometimes that freedom led to shots that looked wild. It was also why, in 1 season, Chen had climbed into the league's elite scorers.
...
The Lakers did not convert on the next trip.
Garnett tried to reward Kwame Brown inside, feeding him on the block. Kwame caught the ball, turned, and bricked a semi open bank shot.
Groans rippled through the crowd, mixed with a few laughs.
Once again, people remembered the label that had followed him for years. Number 1 pick. Bust.
It was not only about talent. When all the scorn from media and fans funnels down onto one player, confidence can corrode. Not everybody had Kobe's mental armor.
Diaw pulled down the rebound and immediately rifled an outlet to Nash.
The Suns finally had their first clean fast break of the night.
Nash crossed midcourt, then flicked the ball behind his back without even turning his head.
The pass found Chen Yan, trailing 2 and a half steps behind the 3 point line.
Chen caught and went straight into his motion.
No extra dribble. No hesitation.
The Lakers defenders had no time to react.
After his long range skill evolved into Divine Shot Baptism, Chen's comfort zone stretched even farther. Whether his feet were just behind the line or several steps behind it, the release felt the same. If he was open, the distance barely mattered.
In the stands, Lakers fans held their breath.
There was no way to defend a pull up that deep in transition. All they could do was hope his touch had not traveled.
Up in his suite, Lakers owner Jerry Buss shook his head.
"That is a bad shot," he muttered. "No way that is going in."
The ball spun through the air.
Then, cleanly, it tore through the net.
Swish.
3 7.
The sound echoed around Staples like someone had slammed a sword through a drumhead.
The home crowd sat frozen for half a heartbeat, mouths open.
Chen had buried plenty of those bombs against the Spurs. But this was the first time the people in this arena had seen it with their own eyes, in real time, in a Western Conference Finals game.
It felt different live.
"Good lord," Jack Nicholson blurted from his courtside seat. "Why would he shoot that?"
He had been coming to this building for more than 20 years. He had watched Magic, Shaq, Kobe. He had seen every kind of shot.
This was the first time he had seen someone pull a 3 like that, in rhythm, in transition, this early in a game.
As Chen backpedaled on defense, he raised his right arm, miming the motion of loading a cannon.
The louder the crowd gasped, the wider his grin grew.
The more shocked the building was, the more it fed him.
And that only stoked his urge to put on a show.
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