Chapter 330: Don't Elbow Me
"Give me that kid," Kobe barked the moment he reached the bench.
Kobe usually liked to take the toughest assignment himself after halftime, especially if a teammate was getting killed. But Chen Yan was different. If you let his rhythm breathe for even a minute, he could turn the arena into a volcano.
Garnett leaned in from the side. "If he uses a screen, I'll switch."
Phil Jackson nodded once, calm as ever. "Do it. And do not let him score again."
The 20 second timeout ended.
…
Lakers ball, baseline inbound.
Kobe caught at the elbow, turned, and faced up. He put his shoulder into Raja Bell and powered downhill.
Diaw slid over from the left to trap.
Kobe read it instantly, spun, and tried to split the pressure.
But Stoudemire was already on the other side with hands high.
3 bodies, 1 lane.
Kobe got walled off, and for a split second it looked like a turnover. Then he half spun again, created a sliver of space, and flicked a fading pass to Kwame Brown alone under the rim.
It was a highlight assist, the kind that makes you rewind even if you hate the Lakers.
Kwame, unfortunately, brought the comedy.
Wide open. Clean look. And he still fumbled the catch.
By the time he gathered himself and went up, Chen Yan was already there on the help, rising like he had springs in his shoes.
Kwame panicked.
In mid air he tried a scoop finish to avoid the block, like a heavyweight attempting ballet.
The scoop hit the backboard and kicked out.
Chen Yan turned, secured the rebound, and the Lakers got nothing, not because of a block in the stat sheet, but because the threat of it erased the play.
Kobe clapped angrily, palms sharp. He had served the meal on a silver tray, and Kwame had dropped the tray, the plate, and the fork.
Chen Yan outlet to Nash.
Nash pushed, saw the lane cut off, and slowed the pace into half court. Chen Yan drifted to the corner again, stretching the floor and pulling gravity with him.
Nash used Stoudemire's screen, drove left, and drew Kwame on the switch.
This time Nash did not feed the roll.
He kept it.
Near the paint he gave a quick burst, then stepped through with timing more than speed, finishing before Kwame could find the right angle.
13 to 11.
Phoenix took the lead.
The camera caught Kwame's face. Offense, nothing. Defense, late. Standing there, he looked like he had been invited by mistake.
…
Lakers possession.
Kobe demanded the ball again.
He backed down at the left elbow, shoulders twitching, selling fakes like he was reading from a script.
Raja Bell did not bite.
Then Kobe turned and faded anyway.
Swish.
Nothing but net.
Staples Center roared.
Bell did not lose position. He got a hand up, right in Kobe's line. It just did not matter.
13 to 13.
On the TNT call, Kenny Smith leaned forward. "This is what a pivotal Game 5 looks like. Both sides throwing punches early."
Charles Barkley grunted. "Nobody blinking. Nobody backing up."
Phoenix answered immediately.
Nash found Chen Yan, and Chen Yan attacked.
Kobe picked him up.
He leaned into Chen Yan with that heavy, veteran strength, cutting off the runway and denying the clean first step. Chen Yan could not win that battle by pushing harder. Kobe was built for contact.
So Chen Yan used leverage.
He bumped, sprang back off the contact, and created a pocket of space.
Kobe stayed attached, closing fast.
Chen Yan did not rush it. He pump faked, then bumped again, then drifted back, letting Kobe rise just a fraction too early.
Step back floater.
Swish.
15 to 13.
The Suns bench exploded, towels whipping like hurricane flags.
Chen Yan had just scored on Kobe with the kind of footwork Kobe loved to use himself. Same rhythm, same cruelty, different jersey.
Kobe's face tightened. He hated that. Not the bucket, the method.
Lakers possession.
Kobe caught and forced it, driving straight into a crowd and trying to finish through 3 defenders.
Clang.
Air ball.
That was pure emotion, not pure basketball.
…
Suns possession.
Kobe went full court on Chen Yan, fighting him before he could even touch the ball. It was physical, exhausting, and mentally suffocating. Little nudges, constant pressure, just enough to irritate without begging for a whistle.
Chen Yan refused to show a crack.
He gave Kobe a light shove near the baseline, then cut hard back up to the top.
Diaw hit him with a bounce pass.
Catch.
Instant change of direction.
Crossover.
Chen Yan gained half a step and hit the gas.
Kobe did not fully lose position, but it did not matter. Chen Yan's first step was too sharp, too sudden. He slipped past.
Posey came to help.
Chen Yan took 1 stride and went past Posey too, splitting the defense like a blade.
Now it was Garnett.
Chen Yan protected the ball with his left, finished with his right, and kissed it off the glass.
In.
17 to 13.
It looked like a lone knight charging through a line of defenders, a white horse and long spear cutting straight through the chaos.
Kenny Smith shook his head. "When he gets downhill like that, there's no single answer."
Barkley snorted. "Yeah, the answer is usually prayer."
Chen Yan ran back and barked across the floor at Kobe, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"You can't guard me. You'll need a double, maybe 3."
Rookie season or not, he talked like he belonged in the room with legends.
And Kobe loved that, the challenge, the disrespect, the fire. It lit him up.
…
Lakers possession.
Kobe isolated, attacked, and drew contact on Stoudemire.
Whistle.
It was Stoudemire's 2nd foul, and D'Antoni had no choice but to pull him early.
Kobe stepped to the line and knocked down both.
17 to 15.
…
Phoenix possession.
Kobe stayed on Chen Yan, body to body, pressure on every dribble, every cut. The crowd fed off it. Muscle, collision, and two stars refusing to yield.
Chen Yan dribbled at the top, legs churning, daring Kobe to blink first.
He burst again.
This time Kobe cut off the lane, chest square, taking away the clean path.
Chen Yan tried to slide around him with sharp footwork, twisting his hips, finding a seam.
Kobe recovered, quick and stubborn, staying connected and denying the lift.
Then Garnett arrived, right as Chen Yan took his 2nd step.
Now it was a trap, Kobe and Garnett squeezing the air out of the play.
Chen Yan hung in the cramped space and snapped a pass behind him to Diaw, wide open.
Diaw rose for the mid range look.
Clang.
Miss.
The ball kicked high.
As it dropped, Kobe and Chen Yan slammed into each other for position, fighting like it was the last rebound on earth. No inch given, no space free.
Then Kobe's arm moved, an elbow flashing in the scramble.
And Chen Yan's brain screamed the only thought that mattered.
Kobe, love me, do not elbow me.
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