by Derek Fisher
In 2007–8 I had the opportunity to do what I’d always wanted to do with the Lakers—to be the starting point guard running the show through thick and thin. As always, expectations were high in Los Angeles, and losing the first game of the season against the Rockets and only going 9-6 in November had people outside the organization on edge. They were thinking that we could just dominate, but a 10-4 December and a 9-5 January didn’t have people dancing in the aisles. We were playing solid but unspectacular basketball, and though we didn’t run off a long string of victories as we had in my earlier glory years with the Lakers, we were making good strides at becoming a better basketball team at both ends of the court.
Our front line was banged up, and then when Andrew Bynum went down with a knee injury, we clearly needed some help in the front court. That help came in the February 3 trade that brought Pau to us in exchange for Kwame Brown, Jarvis Crittendon, and two draft picks. It was no coincidence that we had our best month of the season in the wake of that trade, going 13-2. Pau brought great energy to the team and he fit in well. Knowing that the organization was going to do whatever it could to ensure our success also gave us a boost. And believe it or not, the brief break for the All-Star game helps.
The NBA season is no sprint, and the marathon requires you to go to different places to tap various energy reserves. The inevitable “slump” hit us in March and had our critics crying foul. I’ll admit that a 9-6 March isn’t the greatest, but while someone once said that April is the cruelest month, for me it’s always been March that has fangs. By that time, we’ve been at it for seven months, the play-offs are still six weeks away, and that dip in energy seems inevitable. You can’t sustain the kind of high we were on in February for the whole season, and that little slip was offset by a 7-1 end of the regular season in April. We were like runners who saw the finish line, and that ray of hope was enough to bring us home strong.
One game in particular gave notice to the NBA and to ourselves what our new lineup was capable of. We traveled to Orlando on February 8, 2008, to face the Magic. Our records were similar, 31-17 for us and 32-19 for them. Dwight Howard, one of the bright young superstars in the game, was having a terrific year, and we knew we had to contain him if we had any hope of victory. Orlando came out smoking in the first quarter and put 44 points on the board. It wasn’t as if we’d been run over by a bus, but it had gone past our stop without us getting on board. We did put up 33 ourselves, and the up-and-down action of that game was admittedly fun, but the basketball purists and defensive preachers weren’t happy with that 77-point display in the first twelve minutes. The Magic were raining down threes on us, making seven of them from beyond the arc. Everyone was getting in on that action, and when a team is shooting that well from outside, even when you’re putting a hand in their face, you just have to tip your hat to them and know that eventually they are going to cool off. For my part, I had four assists in the first quarter, all to different players. It was nice to have other options, and for the first time since his acquisition, I was getting a better sense of where Pau wanted the ball and where he could score from. His ability to hit those midrange jump shots as a seven-feet-tall player was impressive.
And the Magic did cool off. We held them to only 19 points in the second quarter while we put up 31 to lead by 1 at the half 64–63. We also saw Pau’s floor game and his ability to get up and down the court, which led to a couple of fast-break layups and a particularly emphatic dunk. No knock on Shaq, but Pau’s versatility was something very different from what I’d experienced before. That game gave us a glimmer of what was to come the rest of that month and the rest of the regular season and into the play-offs. We played dynamic up-tempo basketball and won 117–113. We had an 11-point lead after three quarters and were outscored by 7 in the fourth, but we managed to hold on. That pattern of nearly letting leads get away would eventually catch up to us. With Kobe scoring 36 and Pau adding 30 and the rest of the starters in double figures, we were an offensive juggernaut. We all knew that come play-off time, defensive stops were going to have to come more into play.
In the play-offs, a similar pattern of what our critics called our “coasting” was best exemplified in the second round. We faced my old friends at Utah once again, and in the first five games each team held their serve on the home court. We narrowly lost both games in Utah, losing the second there in overtime, and heading into game six at the EnergySolutions Arena, we were riding high confidence-wise. We demonstrated that confidence in the first quarter, jumping out to 13-point lead 33–20. We followed that up with a strong second-quarter effort to go up by 19 at the intermission 62–43. None of us thought that Utah was going to roll over in the second half. Jerry Sloan’s teams just didn’t do that kind of thing, and we knew that with their backs against the wall in a potential elimination game, they were going to get after us hard in the second half. We held them off and they trailed by 16 going into the fourth quarter.
Kobe, who had tweaked his back in game four, wasn’t feeling great, but he was playing that way and, bad back and all, helped us to hold off a furious Jazz rally that saw them cut our lead to 2 with less than two minutes to play. Kobe’s 12 points in the fourth helped us to hold on. Fortunately for us, we hit 31 out of 38 free throws, many of those down the stretch when the Jazz took to fouling us to preserve the clock. That old fundamental skill made the difference in our 108–105 escape.
What can I tell you? The rest is history. We took a hard-fought and close series from the Spurs, winning in five games, with both teams winning a blowout game and the others being tightly contested. That set up the dream matchup that everyone on the coasts was looking for: Lakers-Celtics. I don’t have to tell you about the storied history of the two franchises, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think that MagicBird was a rare type of species found in the Amazon that picks fruit from the trees and drops it into its nest in spectacular fashion to feed its young. We were both top seeds in our conferences, and that was the first time since 2000 that both number one teams had reached the finals. In fact, it was the first time since 2003 that either top seed had made it to the finals. This was our first time in the finals since 2004 and the twenty-ninth time overall. This was the first time for the Celtics since 1987 and their twentieth overall.
Okay, enough with the history and the numbers. The only numbers and the only history that matters is that we lost four games to two. You know all that. You also know that game one was the wheel-chair game, in which Paul Pierce was taken off the court in one, then returned in the third quarter to score 15 points and lead them to a 98–88 victory. When he hit consecutive three-pointers to give them the lead for good, I thought the building was going to collapse around us from all the noise the Boston fans were making. Even though we lost that first game, the thrill of being in the NBA Finals after so long an absence and after having been through so much personally was not diminished by the outcome. Standing in the new Garden and literally feeling my rib cage vibrating from all the noise and my own excitement made all the years of hard work more than worth it. That sea of green and white wasn’t threatening to drown me, but buoy me to the surface and carry me. There is nothing like knowing that you are playing the game on the biggest stage in front of the largest audiences with everything on the line.
Game two was our turn to experience from another perspective the roller coaster of a big lead nearly vanishing. We had been down by 24 with less than eight minutes remaining in the fourth quarter. Our second unit was out there to start the fourth, with Jordan Farmar hitting a pair of threes and Ronny Turiaf making a couple of baskets in the first few minutes of the quarter. I came back in with about seven and a half minutes to go, and I could sense that the tide was turning after about a minute. The Celtics committed two turnovers, and Vladimir Radmanovic hit a three for us. I was fouled and hit both free throws to draw us within 16 at 96–80. We still had a long way to go, but we’d cut into the lead by 8 points in minutes. We weren’t playing particularly amazing ba
sketball, but we could all sense that an opportunity was there for us. With solid contributions from the role players, we knew that we didn’t need to (and couldn’t) rely solely on Kobe. We knew that we were onto something when Sasha Vujacic and I sandwiched three-pointers around a Ray Allen putback and Boston called a twenty-second time-out.
In the huddle, I looked the guys in the eye and could see the fire that had been lacking earlier in the ball game. As much as I’m sure fans are mystified about what happens when a team loses focus or seems to lack the energy or the firepower to do battle in a game, as players we’re equally mystified. Believe me, if we knew that answer on how to turn it on and leave it on, we would do it. We’re human beings playing a game, and as much as it is our skill that carries us, it is our belief in our skill that makes the difference between winning and losing. You could easily ask, “Well, why don’t you believe in yourself all the time?” It’s not as simple as believing. It’s the combination of belief and skill and execution and a little bit of luck. Why do some shots rim out and others roll around the rim, then drop in? I’m not a physicist and I don’t know the scientific answer to that, and I don’t believe that some spiritual agency out there decides who wins or loses. I do know this: the reason we play the games and the reason we watch them and care so much about the outcome is because what goes on on the court mirrors what goes on in our lives. Why does one salesperson get the big account and another doesn’t? Why do we invest in one company that we know has the best staff, the best price-to-earnings ratio, and then it goes into free fall for a while? It’s all a combination of skill, execution, luck, and a whole lot more. Knowing the outcome is not guaranteed is what makes it fun and frustrating.
When we got within 2 at 104–102 with thirty-eight seconds left, none of us stopped believing that it was possible for us to pull the game out. We fouled the Celtics and they hit their shots and we lost by 6. We missed an opportunity to win, but we learned a lot about ourselves and what we were capable of. We put up 41 points in that fourth quarter, but we’d dug ourselves too deep of a hole. Shooting success can come and go, and we knew that we had to play better defense if we were going to get ourselves back in the series by winning all three games in Los Angeles.
The Celtics got a notable contribution in game two from their reserve forward Leon Powe, who scored 21 points in just fifteen minutes of action. He’s a talented player, but no one would have expected that kind of wild-card contribution—another factor in the success or failure of a team. To have a guy like that step up in such a big way was crucial to their victory.
In game three, we limited the production of the Celtics’ so-called Big Three. Paul Pierce had a horrible shooting night, making only 2 of 14 and Kevin Garnett only chipped in 12. With that kind of production, and a more intense defensive effort, those defense-loving fans went home happy, just as we did, with our 89–81 victory. It wasn’t an artistic success, but in Hollywood terms, we opened big. We sustained that first-weekend box-office success in the first quarter of game four. We got out to a 35–14 lead, the largest first-quarter lead in finals history. We were playing nearly flawless basketball in front of one of the most boisterous crowds I’d ever played in front of. L.A. fans are often unfairly criticized for arriving late, leaving early, wanting more to be seen at the scene than to watch the game, but no one could say that about this bunch on that night—or ever as far as I’m concerned.
What happened in game four encapsulated everything that had gone on that season and to that point in the play-offs. I can’t get into the semantics of it. Was it a collapse? Was it a monumental stumble? A great comeback? Whatever it was, it was as surreal to those of us playing the game as it was to those watching. Unfortunately, I was both playing in it and watching it. Being out there on the floor was a role I far preferred to watching it. At least I was out there for a time doing what I could to stem the rising tide of the Celtics’ charge. We were up by 20 midway through the third quarter and still clicking on all cylinders.
What happened next is difficult to say. I’ve thought a lot about it, both because of how historic and important this was, and because I want to make sure it never happens again. Additionally, those kinds of dry spells seemed to plague us, though not to the extent they did in that game. I suppose that one way to look at it is that if it weren’t for their remarkable turnaround, everyone would be asking a similar question of the Celtics. How could everything have gone so wrong for so long in that game? How could they have been outscored in historic numbers in the first quarter? Of course, I understand that how they performed down the stretch was important and remarkable, but the points in the first quarter count for the same value as they do in the fourth. Yet, I also understand that a more intense focus is placed on the last part of the game (and should be) than on the first parts. That’s how you really measure yourself, and in any realistic sense we came up way short at the end of game four.
When the Celtics went on that 21–3 run to close out the third quarter and pull within 2, I was reminded of times when I would help my mom bring the groceries in. I hated having to make too many trips, so I’d often grab as many bags as I could at one time. It was hard to hold on to them all, but I was confident I could. When one of the bags started to slip or tear, I’d tell myself it was okay. I’d been in that situation before, I was able to get into the house and into the kitchen with them safely. I just needed to keep moving. As the bags slipped and tore even more, I’d pick up the pace and try to run. That put additional stress on the bags, and a few times things had come spilling out of them. I’d had the sense to lower them so the distance they fell wasn’t too great, and that limited the damage.
That’s how it was when I was sitting there or out on the court during that Celtics run. Even as we entered the fourth quarter, our attitude was “Hey, we’re still ahead by two. We had our bad patch. No pressing. Just do your job and we’ll be okay.” No real straw broke the proverbial camel’s back, and as much as has been made of P. J. Brown’s thunderous dunk near the end of the third quarter, or Eddie House’s jumper six minutes into the fourth that gave the Celtics the lead at 84–83, we were still thinking we were very much in the ball game, and we were.
Being a professional athlete requires you to be a realist and an optimist—pessimism can’t play a part in your game—and knowing when to let each of those tendencies take over is an invaluable skill. We knew we weren’t playing well, but we also knew that we had been playing great basketball before that. Who was to say we couldn’t recapture what we’d lost? That’s not an optimistic attitude, that is a realistic one. Yes, momentum factors into a game big-time, but who was to say that the Celtics were going to be able to sustain the energy and success they’d attained. They were playing out of their minds at that point, and we had to figure that they’d come down a notch or two down the stretch. That didn’t quite happen.
I reentered the game with 2:10 left in the fourth quarter. Kevin Garnett had just hit an eight-foot jumper to put them up by 5 at 88–83. Immediately after that, Kobe had gone to the line to make two and made a driving layup. Everyone figured he’d try to take over, and getting to the basket for a foul or layup was to be expected. The teams had been trading baskets, and James Posey’s three had kept their lead at 5 points with just slightly more than a minute to play. As he’d done so many times before, Kobe drove the lane, was met by the collapsing Celtics defense, and kicked the ball out to me beyond the arc. I let it go and sensed the shot was true. We were down by just 3 and the Lakers crowd went nuts. Unfortunately, those were the last points we’d score in the game.
I don’t want to imply that we would have won had I played more minutes down the stretch, or that if I’d got more opportunities to score, we’d have won, but I did want to be out there and I did want those opportunities. I hated being on the bench watching that lead dwindle. Ray Allen had stolen one of my passes and converted a layup to bring the Celtics within 11 with three minutes to go in the third. We were outscored 10 to 1 after that, and I t
hought that I was being rested for the crucial fourth-quarter minutes. I wish that I could have been out there for more than those last two minutes. We’ll never know how things might have turned out.
I’m proud that we came back in game five to win despite a near repeat of our game four performance. We led 43–24 before the Celtics came back on us to lead 62–60. We were a young team, and we’d learned a valuable lesson in game four, and we didn’t let another horrible third quarter do us in. I knew I had to be more aggressive going to the basket, and it paid off with me making 8 of 11 free throw attempts that contributed to my 15 points. Our 103–98 victory was sweet, and as Coach Jackson said of us, “We’re young enough and dumb enough to do this.” By “this” he meant to be the first team to come back from a 3-1 deficit in the finals to win. It wasn’t to be, and our 131–92 defeat was painful. The Celtics’ Big Three played as advertised, and their vaunted defense took hold. We would all have liked to have put on a better effort, and whether we lost by 1 or by 39 didn’t matter in the end. The Celtics were champs and we weren’t.
As disappointed as I was at not winning the championship, I can’t say that I was devastated by the loss as I would have been earlier in my career. Professionally, it was difficult to deal with, but personally, I didn’t take losses to heart in the way that I had for so many years before. It may be hard to understand this, but as much as I enjoyed winning game five at home on Father’s Day, I also enjoyed that my kids were at the game and came down onto the court afterward to be with me. That was the real victory, and even if we’d won games six and seven, I’d still say that. I take my job seriously, and I do everything I can to be a success at it, but keeping an eye out for what I need to do at home and how I can help the Lakers win has kept me in much better balance than ever before. In the past, I might have moped around and been miserable for weeks after the series ended. In this case, I had to put my mind on another goal immediately—Tatum’s ongoing treatment. In the back of my mind, somewhere on the periphery instead of at the forefront, was the thought that the Lakers still had another mountain to climb and I wanted to be there with them, at the summit, looking down to see just how far we’d all come.
