by Derek Fisher
In principle I understood why I was not to be involved in those negotiations. Teams make offers and back them up with statistics, and they make their case to pay you what they consider “fair.” Everyone’s definition of fair is different, of course, and it would be hard not to take some of the things they said personally. Anytime someone talks about your salary and what you’re “worth,” it can be uncomfortable. That’s particularly true because our salaries are generally public knowledge. Imagine if you knew what everyone at your company earned and how that might make you feel. It would be valuable information to have when it came time for you to negotiate your deal, but in a lot of cases people don’t share that kind of information. We didn’t have that choice.
While the Lakers worked on their offer, I returned to Little Rock to spend time with family. That was also a strategic ploy, kind of sending the signal that I would have no trouble leaving Los Angeles. Fortunately, I didn’t have to put any more of my acting skills to use or really weigh one offer against another. I was on cloud fifty-nine when I got word from my agents that the Lakers had offered me a seven-year deal (with a player option at the five-year mark) with a healthy bump in salary over what I’d been earning. That the Lakers were willing to make a long-term commitment to me, more than twice as long as what other teams were considering, made me ecstatic. It was overwhelming to think that I would be able to take care of my immediate family and extended family for years to come. I’d gone from not being certain that I would even get drafted to having a career in the league—a ten-year career if everything worked out.
That level of commitment convinced me to sign. If I had been more money-motivated, I might have gone elsewhere. That seven-year contract called for me to earn the same amount each year—not even a cost-of-living increase. I didn’t consider that at all initially, and I later thought it was an error on our part, but I’d signed the deal and wasn’t going to complain at the beginning of it, nor was I going to cause dissension by trying to renegotiate it later. A deal was a deal and what was done was done. I was eager for training camp to start. If the Lakers were willing to commit to seven years, then maybe all those thoughts about not being the big guard that Phil Jackson seemed to prefer didn’t matter. I worked out as hard as ever that summer and was thrilled when the season was about to get under way.
I liked and respected Coach Harris, and I felt bad that rumors had constantly been swirling around about his departure. He was a good, solid basketball man and person, but in Los Angeles that just wasn’t good enough. With the tradition we had and the expectations that the ownership and fans had, and the whole “celebrity” environment, I think a big-name coach was what everyone was looking for. Along with that big name came instant and undeniable credibility. What Coach Jackson had done in Chicago was amazing. Six championship titles in ten years is a dynasty by anyone’s standards, but his detractors said that anyone could have won with Michael Jordan on the team, but no one before him had. I’d always been told to respect coaches just because of their position, but with Phil Jackson, I respected him instantly because of what he’d accomplished. I wasn’t alone in feeling that way. When Shaq was in Orlando, he had been beaten by the Bulls and Coach Jackson, and that meant something to him. For Kobe, being coached by the same man who had helped Michael Jordan reach the pinnacle certainly promised something. In the NBA, rings talk, and with Phil’s six championship rings, they had to talk awfully loud to be heard over one another.
If the previous season had all the qualities of a nightmare, our first championship regular season under Coach Jackson had all the qualities of a pleasant and satisfying dream from which you wake up feeling refreshed and hoping to fall back asleep so that you can resume it. What made us all so comfortable, after an initial period of adjustment, was that the triangle offense we ran was a proven system. It wasn’t just about getting the ball to Shaq or Kobe, but if we ran the offense the way it was designed and intended, the best players would get the most opportunities. Who could ask for anything more than that? Phil also made it clear that we’d better run the offense the way he intended it to be run, and whether you were in the starting five or the twelfth man, failure to do what he wanted would have consequences. Where had I heard that before? He didn’t phrase that as a threat to playing time, but rather to our chances of winning. He emphasized that we’d broken down in the past, particularly in the playoffs, and having a system to rely on when things seemed to be slipping away, particularly a proven system that had helped lead teams to championships, would help us to do what we hadn’t done in the past.
I don’t know if it was the triangle offense that made Shaq so comfortable or if he had just matured in his skills and understanding of the game after eight seasons in the league, but if I hadn’t been on the team, I would have bought a ticket and followed the guy to every city to watch him play. He was absolutely, astoundingly dominant in 1999–2000. He averaged 29.7 points, 13.6 rebounds, and 3 blocked shots a game.
So much has been written and said about that year, but the numbers still bear repeating: sixty-seven regular-season wins, a nineteen-and a sixteen-game winning streak, and a longest-consecutive-loss streak of two. Well, I exaggerated a bit about its being dreamlike the whole way. We were 2–6 in the preseason and I can remember being beaten by Utah in one of those games and thinking, “We don’t even seem close to being good.”
What also helped us get over the hump and win the championship was the makeup of that team. We had a nice mix of veterans and younger guys, and the on-court chemistry among us was exceptionally good. Once we gained traction and learned that the system we were playing under could produce the results our coaching staff said it could, our confidence was high. A lot of teams say that they believe they can win every game, but we truly felt that way. We were also a hardworking bunch who managed to stay focused for the full eighty-two games of the regular season and into the play-offs.
The season wasn’t particularly dreamlike for me. I began the season in the starting lineup but was soon replaced by the veteran Ron Harper, who had played with Phil in Chicago. I had so much respect for Ron and what he’d done and what Coach Jackson had done and what they’d done together that I didn’t complain. I wasn’t about to throw a party to celebrate the move, but I accepted it and knew that I was going to have to improve some things in my game if I wanted to be out there more. In the triangle offense, there isn’t a true point-guard role as there is in other types of offenses. If I was going to be the guy in that offense, I was going to have to improve my outside shot. With Shaq down low and a lot of teams double-teaming, that meant that perimeter players would be left open. If you couldn’t knock those shots down, then you weren’t doing what was asked of you in that system. I only hit 34 percent of my field goals and only 31 percent of my threes. I was going to have to improve that.
The play-offs that year were enough to keep us and the fans up all night from the anxiety and the elation. Going to five games against Sacramento was tough. All our hard work and all our success in the regular season could have gone down the drain. All of those clichés like “That’s why you play the games” and “It ain’t over until it’s over” applied in this case. Sacramento didn’t have nearly the kind of season we did, but taking us to five games kicked our collective sense of urgency into gear. That was a good thing. In the past, we might have panicked, but we played that fifth game as if we understood what was at stake and what we needed to do to win. We stayed in control, and that was a good lesson for us all to learn.
No one can really prepare you for what it is like to play in the NBA Finals. I’ve already talked about the ups and downs of the Sacramento and Portland series, but the finals are a whole different ball game. As much as you try to tell yourself it’s just another game, it isn’t. With all the NBA Finals banners draped in the Staples Center, with it emblazoned on the court, on the sideline chairs we sat on, and even on our uniforms, everything let us know that this was indeed something special. I remember as a kid watching the fin
als on television, and during the pregame ceremonies they’d show players on the sidelines listening to the national anthem. I noticed a lot of guys rocking back and forth, and that was a product of all the adrenaline flowing through their systems. I could barely keep myself still and focused on the anthem’s lyrics the first time I stood on the sideline during game one.
Like us, the Pacers had their share of trials and tribulations. They’d been to their conference finals four times until they finally broke through to make it to the finals for the first time in franchise history. Coached by Larry Bird, some tried to tie this series to the old Celtics-Lakers rivalry, and as much respect as I have for what those guys accomplished, this was a different generation of players. We started off strong in the opening quarter, jumping all over them for a 33–18 lead. Sitting on the bench, we all noticed that the Pacers had decided to play Shaq straight up with Rik Smits—no double teams were coming—and Shaq made them pay with dunks and several really nice turnaround jumpers. Kobe was on fire as well. The triangle offense and Phil’s philosophy paid off for us when the Pacers decided that they had to double down on Shaq. Just as Kobe had found Ron Harper free in that nail-biter in Portland in the conference finals that year, Shaq waited for the double to come before kicking the ball back out to Harp for an open three. At halftime we were up 55–43.
The Pacers took it to us in the third quarter, eventually drawing within 2 points. That’s when Shaq essentially took over. Whether it was blocking shots, grabbing free throws, or scoring, Shaq played like a guy who really wanted a championship ring. He punctuated his 43-point game with an exclamation point when in the closing minutes Ron Harper went up in the right corner looking for all the world as if he were putting up a three. Instead, he lobbed the ball to Shaq. The pass went over the rim to the far side, and Shaq went up with one hand. The pass was long, and Shaq had to bend backward while in midair to bring it in. Instead of just coming down with it, he cradled that ball in his hand and, using his arm like a catapult, swung the ball forward and down for a dunk that had all of us on our feet before he finally came down.
We knew that the Pacers would really come after us in game two and that we couldn’t count on their star, Reggie Miller, shooting 1 for 16 as he had in the opening game. Phil told us that we would have to match their intensity right out of the gate, but even though we knew what was coming, we still weren’t able to stop them right away. Worse, in the second quarter Kobe rose up for a jump shot and came down on someone’s foot, spraining his left ankle. He hobbled off the court and into the locker room. That was about as quiet as I’ve heard the Staples Center. We knew the Pacers sensed that they had an advantage with one of our starters gone, and we openly talked about the need for us to turn the tables on them. We were so effective at doing that, the Pacers resorted to the Hack-a-Shaq, and he went to the line thirty-nine times in that game, converting nearly half of his free throws. But not until late in the fourth quarter with about a minute and a half to go and us up by only 99–96 were we able to put them away. Rick Fox had the ball out top and fed the ball to Shaq coming across the lane. Robert Horry was cutting toward the basket, and Shaq hit him with a beautiful pass and Horry used the rim to keep the defenders off him and made a beautiful reverse layup and was fouled.
Always an adept passer, Shaq showed that he could do more than just kick the ball back outside in the face of a double team. We also showed that as valuable as Kobe was to our efforts, the supporting cast could do more than just hold a lead, keep a game close; we could all step up and deliver when needed. Holding our home-court advantage was huge, and having won the second game largely without Kobe gave us the kind of confidence a championship team needs, especially going back to Indiana. I remember greeting Shaq and the rest of the guys at the end of the game and saying, “Two down. Two down. Two to go.” We were halfway to the crown.
As fired up as our fans had been, the Pacers fans were equally boisterous. Walking onto the floor at Conseco Fieldhouse, we were greeted by a deafening throng of blue and yellow. With Kobe unavailable, I knew my minutes would increase, and I played a solid game, going 3 for 5 from the floor with 10 assists. That wasn’t enough to offset Reggie Miller and Jalen Rose, who had solid games for the Pacers, and we lost 100–91. At one point we had been down by 18, and turnovers really hurt us.
Game four was pivotal and lived up to everyone’s expectations. The Pacers knew they could make it a series with a win, and we sensed that a 3-to-1 lead would be huge for us. In a lot of people’s minds, Kobe’s role was the probable key to the outcome. In a pregame interview Kobe was asked if he could think of any circumstances that might keep him from playing that night. He paused, smiled, and asked, “Are there any snipers in the room?” That’s the attitude it takes, and we all shared that feeling that we were going to have to take out the Pacers’ and their fans’ hopes.
The game was a play-off classic, filled with the kind of drama we all imagined as kids. That we were playing out that dream in front of eighteen thousand fans and millions around the world only made our 120–118 overtime victory sweeter. As in game three, the Pacers came out and were more aggressive than we were. Every loose ball went their way, and in one sequence, Mark Jackson dove to knock a ball loose, and Reggie Miller went to the floor, wrestled the ball away, and from his back made a pass for a breakaway layup. The fourth quarter was a classic, with ten lead changes.
With the game tied, the former Laker Sam Perkins launched a three from the wing. The ball hit the rim and bounced about as high as any shot I’d seen. The smallest guy on the floor, the Pacers’ Travis Best, somehow got the rebound from Shaq, Kobe, and Robert Horry. Best passed the ball out to Reggie Miller, who calmly stepped up and knocked down a three, giving the Pacers the lead. That play typified the kind of hustle and cool, dead-eye shooting of Indiana in that game. That play could easily have been a backbreaker; instead, we stayed resilient. We led by 3 in the last minute, then Sam Perkins, whose heavily lidded eyes made people think that he was sleepy, found himself open in the right corner. As he had done so many times for the Lakers, he nailed the three and the game was tied. We each had a shot to win in regulation, and I was almost certain that when Shaq got the ball down on the block and went up with a jump hook, we’d won. Instead, the ball grazed the front of the iron and rolled off. We ended regulation tied at 104.
Early in the overtime, it looked as if this wouldn’t be our night. Jalen Rose put up a jump shot from the wing. The rebound went long to the weak side. Shaq went up for it, but he got tangled with the Pacers’ center, Rik Smits, and was whistled for his sixth foul. He’d played forty-seven minutes and scored 36 points; he was gone and so was, in a lot of people’s minds, our chance of a win. We still had a long way to go, and in that overtime Kobe, at age twenty-one, showed that he didn’t have a long way to go to establish himself as one of the games superstars. Kobe and Reggie Miller traded threes late in the overtime and the game was tied. Conseco Fieldhouse was rocking when Reggie’s three went in. On the next possession, Kobe came downcourt, faked a drive, and pulled up for a twenty-two-footer that was pure. With twenty-two seconds left, we were up by 1. With fourteen seconds left on the shot clock, Brian Shaw slashed across the lane and put up a floater. The shot was just off, but Kobe came over from the weak side, grabbed the rebound out of midair, and put the ball in with a kind of over-the-shoulder reverse hook. With 5.9 seconds left, the Pacers trailing by 2, called a time-out. The crowd was waving towels and chanting, “Beat L.A.! Beat L.A.!” and we knew that one defensive stop, which likely meant preventing Reggie Miller from scoring, and we would be one game away from a championship. Phil told us in the huddle that he’d been in this situation before and told us what the Pacers had run—a play to free Reggie Miller for a three.
When the teams left the bench to play it out, Reggie went to the scores’ table and applied talcum to his hands. I know that I wasn’t the only one with my eyes on him. Jalen Rose inbounded the ball to Mark Jackson at the top of the key. He took a few
dribbles to his right, then found Reggie a few yards above the right baseline just inside the arc. He stepped back and put up a high-arcing jump shot. I remember that the ball didn’t have a lot of spin on it, and it kind of knuckled up there and fell just short, bouncing high off the iron as time expired. Game four was ours.
We suffered a huge letdown in game five, and the Pacers smacked us 120–87, forcing a game six back in Los Angeles. Phil told us in the locker room before the game that it was important to stay focused and not get too giddy with the prospect of being one game away from realizing a dream. Easier said than done. We’d had trouble closing out series throughout the play-offs, and with Reggie Miller raining down threes on us (and even a 4-point play when he was fouled on a trey), Phil was not happy. He called us out by saying that he didn’t like that a championship team could suffer its worst defeat of the season and lose by 33 points in a game in which the title was ours for the taking. He didn’t need to say it since we all knew it ourselves. Nothing was going to be handed to us, and we had to prove to ourselves and to everyone else that we did indeed have what it took to win it all.
