Lakers still look like fakers

Poor play continues as dejected team searches for answers

I just finished following the Los Angeles Lakers for a story that will appear in this week's issue of Sports Illustrated, and I have arrived at the following conclusion: If, come mid-June, the Lakers have managed to win a fourth straight championship, it will be one of the most compelling sports stories I've ever followed.

NBA champions, in the years that I've been chronicling them, do not always have triumphant, joyful regular seasons, but what they almost always have is a swagger about them, a certain conquistador attitude that says, "Whatever is currently going wrong, we will straighten it out and kick butt in the long run." That described the championship Lakers of last season, a club that lost to a half dozen horrific teams, but never gave the impression that it was in real trouble. But this year's edition of the Lakers, its key personnel exactly the same as last season, is not that kind of squad.

It remains to be seen if the Lakers' 107-95 home win over Phoenix on Sunday night will kick-start the purple and gold, but what I saw over two weeks was a nervous and uncertain team, a team searching for answers, a team that gets more bad bounces of the ball than good ones, a sure sign that providence has switched jerseys. In a December game in Philadelphia, for example, the Lakers trailed the Sixers by one point with time almost expired in overtime when coach Phil Jackson designed an ingenious inbounds play. It utilized Kobe Bryant as a decoy (Shaquille O'Neal had fouled out by then) and got the ball back to inbounds passer Rick Fox near the basket. It worked to perfection -- Fox was wide open -- but the pass from Robert Horry was a bit behind Fox and Fox was a little too butter-fingered in grabbing it and the ball went awry. Lakers lose by one.

That sort of play has defined L.A. in this searching-for-answers season. At one point the Lakers were worse than last year in every single statistical category: turnovers, rebounds, second-shot opportunities, fast-break points and, of course, points-scored and points-surrendered. It was almost a total turnaround triggered by ... what? That is the question. The absence of O'Neal for 12 games doesn't explain everything. Neither does the collective fatigue of three extended seasons. Neither does overconfidence because, evidence to the contrary, the Lakers are not that kind of team. Perhaps Shaq and Kobe fit that description, but not the rest of them.

In fact, the antithesis is true -- the Lakers are going through a crisis of confidence that began at the start of the season. One saw in the defending champs the unassailable fact that fear and self-doubt are present at every level of sport, including the highest. Players such as Derek Fisher, Fox and Horry, solid pros who have been a part of three championships, are subject to the same anxieties as players who have never made a trip to the postseason.

They looked around and saw Shaq on the sidelines and doubt crept in. They listened to Bryant, a certified superstar, criticize them and doubt crept in. They missed a shot, then two shots, then six shots and doubt crept in. One can see it particularly in the eyes of Fox. He had a solid game against Phoenix on Sunday, but he has been living an absolute nightmare on the court over the last several weeks. His shots are delivered stiffly, his drives to the basket look uncertain. His professionalism and effort are, of course, beyond reproach, but that alone doesn't necessarily get it done in the NBA.

One of the interesting things about the Lakers -- and they have this in common with Jackson's Chicago Bulls of the '90s -- is that they run a structured offense that does not emphasize transition. Neither do they apply the kind of all-court pressure on defense that can cause turnovers near their basket. Therefore, layups and breakouts, the easy field goals that can boost a player's confidence and get him back in the groove, are at a premium. The halfcourt triangle offense will get a Fox or a Fisher open shots, particularly since Bryant and O'Neal draw so much attention from defenders, but those attempts are usually from the perimeter, some distance from the basket. You're either honing in and hitting them or you're not. This season L.A. is not.

I heard the Lakers (the supporting cast, at least) frame dilemmas that usually confront lesser teams. We need to expend maximum effort to start winning again, but sometimes when we do that we play stupidly. We don't want to panic and take every open look, but we need to keep shooting to develop a rhythm. We need to do something different on offense, but we don't want to overreact and undermine a system that has produced three championships.

The Lakers are at a crossroads. They need to start putting together a run now, during a January schedule that is custom-made for a revival. They could still do it. But when last I left them, they were truly searching for answers when once answers came so easily. That bears out one of the great things about sport -- it produces head-scratching mystery. Like it's supposed to.

After keeping one eye on the NFL playoffs this past weekend, I was struck anew by how much of a free pass pro football gets in this country vis-a-vis the NBA. During the hoops season, I must hear a hundred comments about "those jerks in the NBA." Yet the NFL, the ultimate corporate sport, packaged and presented for America's couch potatoes, gives us a weekly array of strutting, taunting morons such as Terrell Owens of the San Francisco 49ers and Jeremy Shockey of the New York Giants. Owens, to be sure, has taken some heat (all of it justifiable), but Shockey invariably gets off easy. (Gee, now why would that be?)

I can only imagine how NBA players such as, say, Allen Iverson or Rasheed Wallace would've been criticized if they had conducted themselves in the same chest-beating fashion as the receiver and the tight end, both of whom are terrific talents. Incredibly, on two different occasions the Giants retaliated against Owens' misconduct, racking up retributive penalties that cost them field position and, perhaps, the game. And they say that NBA teams are stupid.

By the way, in response to the question I'm frequently asked about why "nobody in the NBA can shoot anymore," I have my own question: Can't anyone in the NFL hike a football?

Sports Illustrated senior writer Jack McCallum covers the NBA for the magazine and is a regular contributor to CNNSI.com. Click here to send a question to his Mailbag.

To read more about the struggling Lakers, see Jack McCallum's feature in the Jan. 13 issue of Sports Illustrated.

 

Related information

Stories

Previous Jack McCallum Columns

Multimedia

Visit Video Plus for the latest audio and video