Chapter Sixty-Five: Winning the Game in One’s Own Way

Whenever the Lakers fell behind, all eyes would turn to one man—Kobe. Though the Lakers held a strong position in the West, there was still a considerable gap between them and the dream of 72 wins. Lin Fei, known throughout the league for his competitiveness, couldn't help but feel restless as his team lagged. The fans in the City of Angels longed for an explosive performance from the "Little Mamba." Everyone knew, of course, that he was no longer young; the unstoppable Black Mamba could no longer replicate the miracle of 81 points. Yet as long as he remained, the dream of a championship still flickered in Los Angeles.

The third quarter began without Lin Fei on the court. Even his brilliant passing in the first half couldn't guarantee him more minutes. In fact, on the Warriors, no single player was considered irreplaceable; their system dictated that no one held absolute tactical supremacy. Recent games had only reinforced the belief that the Warriors would not suddenly weaken just by missing one player.

Kobe took the court now, his gaze sharp and focused. Nelson barked at his players to pay close attention to Kobe. It was no secret that Nelson had once been an admirer of Kobe, but now, as an opponent, he was all the more wary.

As the Lakers moved into the frontcourt, they handed the ball directly to Kobe. He held it, dribbling slowly, clearly weighing the situation. Keynes shadowed him, staying close. Suddenly, Kobe lowered his body and accelerated—was he attacking the paint? Keynes quickly retreated, caught off guard by Kobe's sudden aggression. He hadn't expected this level of drive, especially since Kobe had seemed subdued in the first half. Could it be that dunk earlier had reignited his fire? In that fleeting moment of confusion, Keynes took a step back and realized he'd been deceived. Kobe shifted to the side and launched a jumper. Keynes did his best to contest the shot, but could only obscure a fraction of Kobe’s vision. The ball arced high and swished through the net.

There’s an old saying: everyone knows Kobe is about to shoot, but what can you do about it? His jump shot, it seems, is unguardable. In his younger days, Kobe was all about relentless drives, but as he aged, his mastery of the jump shot became his passport to dominance.

With the deficit so large, Kobe’s jumper seemed almost futile. But then he hit three more shots in succession, quickly tallying 8 points. Meanwhile, the Warriors, playing at their usual frenetic pace, missed three straight field goals. This sudden 8–0 run forced the Rockets to call a timeout and regroup.

Lin Fei anxiously hoped to get back on the floor—even if he didn’t score, he could still contribute with assists. Perhaps the most difficult thing for any player is to watch their team become passive while being powerless to help from the bench.

Nelson didn’t send Lin Fei in, instead instructing Aix and Keynes to switch up their defensive assignments on Kobe, trusting Aix’s greater experience might do the trick.

Kobe, eyeing Aix, seemed to disregard him entirely—his focus was fixed on the rim. He set up for his signature jumper, but at the very last moment, lobbed the ball inside to Bynum instead. Bynum rose up and slammed it home. The crowd burst out with thunderous applause—not so much for the beauty of the pass, but to recognize Kobe’s invaluable contribution to the Lakers’ score.

Watching from the sidelines, Lin Fei thought, had it been him, his instinct would have been to force the shot in that situation. But Kobe hadn’t. Was Kobe’s court vision simply superior? Lin Fei knew he could make good passes, but perhaps wouldn’t have considered passing in that moment. He was inwardly awed by Kobe’s elite star qualities.

After the timeout, the Warriors’ shooting woes continued, and the Lakers regained possession. Once again, it was Kobe orchestrating the offense. His string of points and assists left the Warriors reeling, and even Nelson began to feel the pressure.

Everyone on the Warriors knew Kobe would be the focal point of the Lakers’ next attack, but no one could stop him. He drained another three-pointer, leading his team on a 13–0 run, with 11 of those points coming from Kobe himself. That’s what it means to be a leader—to step up exactly when your team needs it most.

Nelson remained calm, even as the gap closed; he resisted making substitutions. It was only the third quarter, after all—the final battle was yet to come, and he figured the Lakers might as well use up Kobe’s energy. In previous games, Nelson might have brought Lin Fei in at this point, but now he trusted his tactics more than Lin Fei’s individual talent.

The two teams traded baskets as the third quarter wound down, and the Warriors managed to stabilize without losing the lead. The Lakers outscored them by 16 in the quarter, with Kobe alone contributing 24 points.

The Warriors trudged back to the bench, heads hung low, but still encouraging one another.

Nelson called Lin Fei aside—a privilege he had come to enjoy regularly.

“We need points. Do you understand?” Nelson said.

Lin Fei was thrilled—the old man finally wanted him to score.

“You, or anyone else—we just need points, doesn’t matter who gets them,” Nelson added.

Lin Fei nodded, silently repeating two words to himself: “Score. Assist.”

The fourth quarter began with both teams resting their starters. The Warriors’ backups were well-drilled, but the Lakers’ bench was also flush with talent. The game remained neck-and-neck. Four minutes in, the Lakers called a timeout and brought their starters back—the moment of reckoning had arrived. Nelson responded in kind, swapping Lin Fei in for Curry.

Lin Fei received a pass, dished it quickly, and ran to midcourt. Aix returned the ball, but Odom leapt out of nowhere and stole it. The Warriors hustled to get back, but Odom charged alone into the paint and finished the layup. There was a reason Odom was called a do-it-all warrior.

The score was tied! The game was reset. The true battle was about to begin.

From the sidelines, Nelson shouted to Lin Fei, “Lin, read the floor—score however you think best!”

Lin Fei steadied himself. This time, he caught the pass and kept it, dribbling fast, departing from the “ball moves faster than the man” philosophy. It made sense; as many have said, you only feel secure when the ball is in your own hands.

As Lin Fei dribbled past half court, Fisher and Kobe closed in. Once bitten, twice shy—the Lakers still remembered Lin Fei’s legendary outburst, scoring 28 points in three minutes, mostly from midcourt shots. Now, whenever Lin Fei crossed that area, Fisher and Kobe would swarm him, wary of another miracle. Lin Fei kept asking himself—“Should I shoot? Or pass?”

With Kobe closing in, Keynes was left wide open. The Warriors’ rapid movement kept Keynes unguarded. Lin Fei sent a bounce pass his way. Keynes hesitated, then let it fly—three points, right on target. Lin Fei ran over to high-five him.

The Lakers were down by three. Once again, their offense centered on Kobe. He orchestrated from the perimeter, signaling Gasol to set a screen and block Keynes. Kobe darted toward the basket, Jobs rose to help, but Kobe, old as he was, still had hang time. He switched hands midair and scored. Jobs’ defense also resulted in a foul. And-one! It was a costly mistake, and Jobs knew it.

Kobe calmly sank the free throw—the game was tied again.

Lin Fei took the ball up, orchestrating the offense—this was his most reliable way to play; the ball in his hands meant control.

Lin Fei sprinted forward, Fisher blocking his path. With a quick crossover and spin, he slipped past. Kobe appeared before him—unwilling to yield even as age weighed on him. Lin Fei stared him down, eyes sharp as a blade.

He crouched low and accelerated, faked a move, stepped back. His teammates kept cutting. Lin Fei spun again, burst forward, and Kobe still managed to stay in his sights. Forcing a shot now would be risky. Out of the corner of his eye, Lin Fei spotted Aix sneaking to the right baseline—his favorite spot. Lin Fei lobbed the ball. Aix cut in and dunked.

It wasn’t officially an assist for Lin Fei, but his contribution was undeniable.

Assist after assist—Lin Fei found a simpler way to attack: by creating for others.

Kobe, faced with the relentless challenge, gritted his teeth and hit another mid-range jumper. Tie game again.

This was the kind of game fans loved—basketball that kept their hearts pounding.

Lin Fei had the ball, pushing the pace. He could be checked, but not stopped.

Many expected another assist—Lin Fei was already nearing double digits in that category. It looked like another historic night for him.

The Lakers knew that with Lin Fei’s speed and skill, he could create assists at will.

Lin Fei crossed midcourt, and it seemed he was passing more because his shot wasn’t falling.

But within a second, it was clear that was wrong. Lin Fei took two steps forward, Fisher’s aging legs a hair too slow, and Lin Fei faked him out, finding open space for a shot.

It was Lin Fei’s only field goal attempt of the night, and his first real effort to score.

He felt it was the right choice. Sure enough, the ball went in. Lin Fei pounded his chest and pointed to the sky—a gesture known to all as his signature, though no one knew quite what it meant.

The Warriors led by three again, and Lin Fei’s long-range shot left the Lakers scrambling, unsure how to contain him.

Clutch shooting, assists—Lin Fei had once again proven himself.

The Lakers missed their next shot, and Lin Fei delivered another exquisite assist. The lead stretched to five.

Then came a blistering drive to the basket by Lin Fei, drawing a foul. Everyone marveled—tonight, Lin Fei was unstoppable.

The Lakers were lucky tonight; they wouldn’t taste the bitterness of a last-second defeat. With Lin Fei’s two free throws, victory was sealed. The Lakers had no Lin Fei, and Kobe was too old to conjure another miracle of “God’s tears.”

After the game, many said Lin Fei had grown. Some believed this performance meant as much as his 60-point explosion, because he recorded 13 assists—proof that he had learned how to blend into a team.

Asked how he felt, Lin Fei simply smiled and said: “I just tried to win the game my own way. That’s all there is to it.”