Eleven Rings: The Soul of Success (25 page)

Although Shaq rallied, this was Kobe’s moment. With 6:28 left and the Lakers ahead, 81–80, Kobe scored 7 points in an 11–2 run that sealed the win. Afterward he sounded as if he’d just returned from a meditation workshop. “I was more centered and focused on all the stuff around me,” he said. “If you get too emotionally wrapped up in a game, you overlook the little details. You have to step outside the circle.”

That game showed me just how good this team could be in the fourth quarter. In game 4, we were behind by 10 points with 4:55 left, and Kobe came alive again, hitting 2 three-pointers, then making a rebound and put-back in the last 5.1 seconds to put the game away, 87–85. Two nights later we went on a 10–4 run in the final minutes to win the series, 4–1. This team was finally finding its identity as one of the great closers in the game. It was not a moment too soon.

—

The fans in Sacramento—home to our opponents in the Western Conference finals—loved to hate the Lakers. Ever since I’d joked a few years earlier that the state capital was a semicivilized cow town, the fans had been trying to get back at me, clanging cowbells and screaming obscenities behind our bench, among other diversionary tactics. Of course, it didn’t help that we had eliminated the Kings from the playoffs for the past two years.

But this time the team’s faithful had reason to be optimistic. Their boys had finished the season with the best record in the league (61-21) and had home-court advantage through the playoffs. The Kings were one of the best shooting teams I’ve ever seen. In addition to All-Star power forward Chris Webber, the team had a balanced lineup of shooters who could hurt you from all directions, including Vlade Divac, Predrag Stojakovic, Doug Christie, and Hedo Turkoglu, plus a quick new point guard, Mike Bibby, who was fearless when it came to penetrating defenses and putting up clutch shots.

We won the first game in Sacramento, setting a record for consecutive playoff wins on the road (12). But the Kings struck back in game 2, taking advantage of Kobe, who was recovering from an attack of food poisoning. The big surprise came in game 3, which the Kings won handily behind Bibby and Webber, who combined for 50 points. Unfazed, Kobe joked with reporters after the game, “Well, we’re not bored now.”

The miracle shot happened in game 4. It looked bleak in the first half, when we fell behind by 20 points and couldn’t get our offense moving. But we shifted the momentum in the second half, slowing down their fast-paced offense and eating away at their lead. With eleven seconds left, we had narrowed the lead to 2. Kobe drove to the basket and missed. Shaq grabbed the rebound and also missed. Kings center Vlade Divac batted the ball away and it ended up in the hands of Robert Horry, who was standing alone at the three-point line. As if everything were scripted, he squared up, released his shot, and watched it drop perfectly as the buzzer sounded. Lakers 100, Kings 99.

This was vintage Robert Horry, the kind of shot that young boys dream about. But we still had a long way to go before we could silence the cowbells. The Kings roared back and took game 5 on their home court, going ahead 3–2 in the seven-game series. But the Lakers didn’t panic. At 2:30
A.M.
on the morning of game 6, Kobe phoned his new best friend, Shaq, and told him, “Big fella, need you tomorrow. We’ll make history.” Shaq was still up, of course, mulling the upcoming game, and they revved each other up. “Facing elimination, this is nothing for us,” Kobe later told reporters. “He felt the same way I did.”

Shaq was unstoppable that night. He scored 41 points with 17 rebounds and completely dominated in the paint. The Kings threw everybody they could at him, and in the closing minutes both Divac and Scot Pollard fouled out, and all they had left was backup center Lawrence Funderburke, who was helpless against Shaq’s inside moves. “You have to foul me to stop me—period,” Shaq said later. Kobe was also on fire, scoring 31 points, including four critical free throws in the final seconds that nailed down the victory, 106–100.

The following Sunday a welcoming committee of Kings fans bared their butts as our bus arrived at Arco Arena for game 7. The players laughed. If nothing else, the prank helped take some of the edge off what may have been the toughest game they’d ever faced. This was an excellent road team, but playing a seventh game on an opponent’s court is the most drop-dead-challenging test. The last time I had been in this predicament was as a player in 1973 when we had to beat the Celtics in a seventh game in Boston to win the Eastern Conference finals. That was one of the most unnerving—and exhilarating—moments of my career.

The Lakers were remarkably calm. Earlier that day we had meditated together at the hotel, and I’d been pleasantly surprised to see that everyone was seated and ready to go when I walked into the room. As we sat in silence, I could sense that the players were pulling themselves together, preparing mentally for the showdown that awaited them. These men had been through a lot together and knew instinctively that their connection with one another would be the force to dispel anxiety as the pressure mounted during the game.

They were right. This wasn’t just a basketball game; it was a grueling marathon that lasted more than three hours. But in the end, it was the Lakers’ collective composure that won the day. The lead changed seventeen times, and the game went into overtime when Bibby made two free throws to tie the score at 100, and Shaq missed a fourteen-footer at the buzzer. It was a brutal test of wills, and, as Fish told Bill Plaschke, we had to dig “deeper than we’ve ever dug before.”

I was more animated than usual because I wanted to keep the players focused. Kobe said he thought the Kings were playing better basketball than we were. But we scrambled harder, which paid off in the final minutes of the game. Fox pulled down a playoff career record of 14 rebounds, and Horry grabbed 12 more. Meanwhile, the Kings were visibly shaken. Normally coolheaded, they misfired on 14 of their 30 free throws, while we hit all but 6 of our 33. And during the final two minutes of overtime, they squandered a 2-point lead by missing 5 shots in a row and turning over the ball twice.

The closeout was a group effort. Shaq hit a short jumper, then nailed two free throws, while Fish and Kobe each hit two from the line to put the game out of reach. Afterward the players were so weary they could barely celebrate, but they weren’t surprised by the outcome. “We’ve been playing together for five years,” said Horry. “If we don’t understand what to do by now, something’s wrong.”

Shaq, who played a grueling fifty-one minutes, seemed less buoyant than usual after the game. But as our bus was pulling out of the parking lot, he spotted a crowd of Sacramento fans cursing at us and, lowering his pants, decided to give them a fond farewell, Sacramento style. One of our guys called it “a full moon rising.”

In my mind that was the title game, but we still had the championship finals to get through. Our opponent, the New Jersey Nets, had one of the best point guards in the game, Jason Kidd, and an impressive power forward, Kenyon Martin, but they didn’t have an answer for Shaq. They tried to have rookie Jason Collins cover him, but Shaq walked all over him, averaging 36 points en route to his third straight finals MVP award. Riding on Shaq’s shoulders, we swept the Nets and became the first Lakers team to win three rings in a row since the club moved from Minneapolis in the early sixties. Now we could legitimately call ourselves a dynasty.

With this victory, I tied Red Auerbach’s record for most championship titles won: nine. The media made a big deal about this, especially after Auerbach said it was hard to consider me a great coach because I’d never built a team or trained young players. I said that I was dedicating the victory to my mentor, Red Holzman, who would have been thrilled to see me tie his archrival, had he still been alive.

What mattered more to me, though, was what had happened to the team. When I started with the Lakers I thought we could accomplish great things if we could get to the point where the players trusted one another enough to commit to something larger than themselves. Midway through that long, hard season, when we were being embarrassed by the Memphis Grizzlies, I’m not sure I would have bet money on our chance of making history. But in the final hour, when it really mattered, the players dug deep and formed themselves into a championship team built on trust.

The player who understood this best—surprisingly—was Kobe Bryant. Not long before, he would have scoffed at the idea. But he had grown, and the team had grown with him. “We’ve been through so many battles,” he said, “the trust naturally grows. The more wars you fight together the more you understand the people you’re in battle with.”

One breath. One mind. One spirit.

THE WISDOM OF ANGER

Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

THE BUDDHA

I
t was supposed to be a peaceful summer. As I tooled through the Rockies on my motorcycle in late June, I was glad to put the 2002–03 season behind me. It had been a tough year, marred by a lot of injuries—from Shaq’s toe to Kobe’s knee to Rick Fox’s foot. We’d limped into the playoffs and barely survived a grueling first-round series against the Timberwolves. The capper, injurywise, for me took place during the semis against the San Antonio Spurs. That’s when I learned that one of my coronary arteries was 90 percent blocked and I required an emergency angioplasty. As it turned out, the heart procedure had a much happier ending than the contest with the Spurs. For the first time in my four years with the Lakers we didn’t even make it to the Western Conference finals, let alone capture a ring.

Yes, I was more than ready to let go of that season. Since my surgery I’d been feeling better than I had in years, and I welcomed the chance to contemplate the next chapter as I sailed across the mountains. Although the team had lost Robert Horry to the Spurs in the off-season, we’d acquired Gary Payton and future Hall of Famer Karl Malone. Malone was the quintessential power forward who could score 20-plus points and get 8 to 10 rebounds per game, while plugging up the lane with his sizable body. Payton was not only one of the best point guards in the league but also a tenacious defender (hence his nickname, “the Glove”) who I hoped would slow down some of the league’s pesky small guards. I had some concerns about how to mesh these big talents with Shaq and Kobe without creating a lot of bruised egos. Still, this was a good problem, and I was jazzed.

I took my time riding my BMW from L.A. across Arizona, up through Four Corners and into Durango, Colorado, where I caught up with a friend and a cousin. After crossing the breathtaking mountain pass into Ouray, my next stop was Eagle, Colorado, a small town near Vail. I was there to pick up a buddy from high school—we were heading to our fortieth reunion in Williston, North Dakota. When we left I had no idea that in a few days Eagle would make headlines and embroil me in a nightmare of pain and misinformation.

My friend and I had passed through Deadwood, South Dakota, and had just checked into a motel in my hometown of Williston when I got the phone call.

—

It was Mitch Kupchak calling to tell me that Kobe had been arrested in Eagle for alleged sexual assault. Without informing me or anyone else on our staff, Kobe had scheduled knee surgery with a specialist in Vail. Apparently, the night before the operation he had invited a nineteen-year-old woman to his hotel room in nearby Edwards for what he termed “consensual” sex. The following day the woman went to the police claiming that she’d been forcibly raped.

Watching the story unfold over the next few weeks, it was hard to assess what had actually happened. I had difficulty believing that Kobe was capable of committing such an act, and the evidence seemed superficial at best. On July 18, the day he was formally charged, he held a news conference with his wife, Vanessa, by his side. Kobe vehemently denied raping his accuser but admitted tearfully to having had an adulterous sexual encounter with her.

I was not without sympathy for Kobe and tried to reach him, without success, after I heard the news. This was a lot to handle for a young man who had just turned twenty-four—especially someone who often boasted to his teammates that he planned to be monogamous for life. Now he was being charged with a crime that could put him behind bars for years. What’s more, Kobe had always been meticulous about his public image, and suddenly he was fodder for the tabloid media and late-night comedians.

For me, the incident cracked open an old wound that had never fully healed. Several years earlier, when my daughter Brooke was in college, she had been the victim of an assault while on a date with a campus athlete. I had never felt entirely clear about my response. Brooke expected me to get angry and make her feel protected. Instead I suppressed my rage—as I’d been conditioned to do since childhood. In truth, there wasn’t much I could have done; the case was in the hands of the police, and meddling on my part would probably have done more harm than good. Still, burying my fury and maintaining a calm exterior didn’t give Brooke any comfort; it left her feeling vulnerable. (In the end, after filing a report with the police, Brooke chose not to press charges.)

The Kobe incident triggered all my unprocessed anger and tainted my perception of him. I discussed my inner emotional wrestling match with Jeanie and was surprised by her pragmatic take on the situation. In her view, this was a legal battle, and Kobe was one of our star employees. We needed to provide him with the best support possible to help him fight this battle and win.

To me, the way forward wasn’t so clear-cut. Although I knew it was my professional responsibility to help Kobe through this ordeal, it was hard for me to shake my anger because of what had happened to Brooke.

My struggle to come to terms with my anger reminds me of an old Zen story: One rainy evening two monks were walking back to their monastery when they saw a beautiful woman who was having difficulty navigating the puddles in the road. The elder monk offered to help and carried her over the puddles to the other side of the road.

Later that evening the younger monk approached the elder monk and said, “Sir, as monks we’re not supposed to touch women.”

“Yes, brother,” replied the elder monk.

“So then, sir, why did you lift that woman by the roadside?”

The elder monk smiled and said, “I left her on the side of the road, but you are still carrying her.”

Like the younger monk, I had a fixed idea in my head and it distorted my view of Kobe throughout the 2003–04 season. No matter what I did to extinguish it, the anger kept smoldering in the background. Which, unfortunately, set the tone for much of the weirdness that followed.

—

Of course, Kobe’s alleged crime and my reaction to it weren’t the only factors at play that year. When I returned to L.A. in September, there was a perfect storm brewing with the team. Not only did we have to deal with Kobe’s legal issues, but he was also due to become a free agent at the end of the season. This, in turn, would force Dr. Buss to make some tough decisions about the future of the organization. The early signs indicated that Kobe wanted to move to another team where he could be the main man and not have to compete with Shaq for that honor. The team he seemed most interested in was our local rival, the Clippers. Early in the season he made an awkward attempt to discuss his future with Clippers coach Mike Dunleavy—a violation of NBA rules. To his credit, Mike didn’t let the conversation get very far.

Meanwhile Shaq wasn’t feeling the love. He came to training camp asking for a two-year, $60 million extension on his contract, due to run out in 2006. That would be a high price to pay for a star who was already beginning to lose some of his edge. Dr. Buss, who had always been generous with Shaq, balked at the price tag. So Shaq acted out as only Shaq could. During an exhibition game against the Golden State Warriors in Hawaii, he slammed down a dunk and shouted to Dr. Buss, who was sitting courtside, “Now you going to pay me?”

Another aspect of the gathering storm was my contract, also scheduled to expire that year. Dr. Buss and I met before the season started to discuss the general outline of a deal and agreed to hammer out details later. Part of me wanted to take some time off from basketball to clear my head and focus on other interests. To a large degree, my decision would depend on the outcome of negotiations with Kobe and Shaq. If the Lakers had to make a choice between the two stars, I favored keeping Shaq because it would be easier to build a championship team around him than around Kobe. As the season progressed, however, it became clear that Dr. Buss didn’t share my view.

Before the start of training camp, I met with Kobe and tried to get a read on how he was doing. He’d lost weight and appeared tired and gaunt. He’d also developed a hard edge that I hadn’t seen before. I assured him that I would make it as easy as possible for him to get through the season. When I asked Kobe how he was feeling, he was not especially forthcoming; his way of handling stress was to retreat inside. Toward the end of our conversation, however, he told me, with a determined look, that he wasn’t going to put up with Shaq’s bullshit anymore.

He was serious. After Kobe’s shaky debut in a late exhibition game, Shaq suggested that Kobe needed to modify his game and rely more on his teammates until his leg got stronger. Kobe snapped back that Shaq should worry about his own position, not the guard spot. But Shaq wouldn’t let it go. “Just ask Karl and Gary why they came here,” he said. “One person. Not two. One. Period. So he’s right, I’m not telling him how to play his position. I’m telling him how to play team ball.” Shaq also said that if Kobe didn’t like him voicing his opinion, he could opt out next year because “I ain’t going nowhere.”

A few days later Kobe hit back with a searing critique of Shaq’s leadership in an interview with Jim Gray on ESPN. If this was going to be Shaq’s team, Kobe said, he needed to set an example. That meant not coming to camp fat and out of shape and not blaming others for the team’s failures. “‘My team’ doesn’t mean only when we win,” Kobe said. “It means carrying the burden of defeat just as gracefully as you carry a championship trophy.” Kobe also said that if he decided to leave the Lakers at the end of the season, a major reason would be “Shaq’s childlike selfishness and jealousy.”

Shaq was furious and told Mitch Kupchak that he was going to mess Kobe up the next time he saw him. So Mitch and I decided to separate Shaq and Kobe when they arrived at the training facility the following day to prevent one of them from doing something stupid. I took Shaq and Mitch took Kobe. Later when I spoke to Kobe, he revealed that what really angered him about Shaq was his decision to have toe surgery too close to the start of the previous season, which Kobe believed had put our chances of winning a fourth ring in jeopardy. I’d never heard Kobe mention that before.

Fortunately, after the last round of heated exchanges, things quieted down for a while. It helped to have on the team veteran players like Karl and Gary who had little or no patience for this kind of juvenile one-upmanship. It also helped that we got off to a brilliant 19-5 start. Alas, our success was short lived. In December Karl injured his right knee in a home game against the Suns and was out for most of the season. We didn’t have a strong backup for Karl, and we went into a period of malaise until we rebounded late in the season.

—

My strategy of giving Kobe space didn’t seem to be working. The more liberty I gave him, the more belligerent he became. Much of his anger was directed at me. In the past Kobe had been passive-aggressive when he didn’t want to do something I asked of him. Now he was aggressive-aggressive. He made sarcastic cracks in practice and challenged my authority in front of the other players.

I consulted a psychotherapist, who suggested that the best way to deal with someone like Kobe was to (1) dial back the criticism and give him a lot of positive feedback, (2) not do anything that might embarrass him in front of his peers, and (3) allow him to think that what I wanted him to do was his idea. I tried some of these tactics and they helped somewhat. But Kobe was in heavy-duty survival mode, and when the pressure became unbearable, his instinctive reaction was to lash out.

I realized there wasn’t much I could do to change his behavior. But what I could do was change the way I reacted to his angry outbursts. This was an important lesson for me.

Managing anger is every coach’s most difficult task. It requires a great deal of patience and finesse because the line between the aggressive intensity needed to win games and destructive anger is often razor thin.

In some Native American tribes, the elders used to identify the angriest braves in the village and teach them to transform their wild, uncontrolled energy into a source of creative power and strength. Those braves often became the most effective tribal leaders. That’s what I’ve tried to do with the young players on my teams.

In Western culture we tend to view anger as a flaw that needs to be eliminated. That’s how I was raised. As devout Christians, my parents felt that anger was a sin and should be dispelled. But trying to eliminate anger never works. The more you try to suppress it, the more likely it is to erupt later in a more virulent form. A better approach is to become as intimate as possible with how anger works on your mind and body so that you can transform its underlying energy into something productive. As Buddhist scholar Robert Thurman writes, “Our goal surely is to conquer anger, but not to destroy the fire it has misappropriated. We will wield that fire with wisdom and turn it to creative ends.”

In fact, two recent studies published in the
Journal of Experimental Social Psychology
demonstrate a link between anger and creativity. In one study, researchers discovered that feelings of anger initially improved the participants’ ability to brainstorm creatively. In another study, the same researchers found that subjects who were prompted to feel angry generated more creative ideas than those who experienced sadness or a nonemotional state. The conclusion: Anger is an energizing emotion that enhances the sustained attention needed to solve problems and leads to more flexible “big picture” thinking.

No question, anger focuses the mind. It’s an advance-warning system alerting us to threats to our well-being. When viewed this way, anger can be a powerful force for bringing about positive change. But it takes practice—and no small amount of courage—to be present with such uncomfortable feelings and yet not be swept away by them.

My practice when anger arises is to sit with it in meditation. I simply observe it come and go, come and go. Slowly, incrementally, over time I’ve learned that if I can stay with the anger, which often manifests itself as anxiety, and resist my conditioned response to suppress it, the intensity of the feeling dissipates and I’m able to hear the wisdom it has to impart.