Kobe Bryant disappeared down the player tunnel, taking all the light of the Staples Center with him.
An eerie silence fell over the arena.
The thunderous roar from moments earlier was replaced by a crushing sense of loss.
Phil Jackson chose to sub Sasha Vujačić in for the ejected Kobe.
Among the Lakers on the floor, aside from Lamar Odom, no one could truly create with the ball.
You could see the confusion and helplessness in their eyes.
The team's anchor.
The engine of the offense.
The answer in crunch time.
He was gone.
Dwyane Wade calmly stepped to the free-throw line.
The Staples Center unleashed the loudest boos it could possibly generate, trying to rattle the young star.
But Wade's nerves were steel. Expressionless, he knocked down both free throws.
94–96.
With 28 seconds left, the Heat took a two-point lead.
Lakers ball.
Lamar Odom was forced to shoulder the responsibility of initiating the offense.
He dribbled repeatedly on the perimeter, burning precious seconds, finally shaking his defender off a screen.
Then he drove hard down the left side.
The Heat collapsed instantly.
Shaquille O'Neal anchored the paint like a concrete wall, completely cutting off Odom's vision.
Under heavy pressure, the so-called "left-handed magician" missed the layup badly.
The ball slammed off the backboard and caromed away.
12 seconds left.
Shaq grabbed the rebound, and Andrew Bynum rushed in to foul.
The foul limit had been reached.
Bonus—Miami to the line.
Sighs rippled through the crowd. Some fans were already heading for the exits.
This 2005 Lakers team was being carried almost entirely by Kobe alone.
Without him—the unquestioned two-way centerpiece—there was no one left to raise the offensive banner.
The only silver lining?
The foul was on Shaquille O'Neal.
Given his infamous free-throw shooting, the Lakers still had a sliver of hope.
Shaq lumbered to the line with a lazy, confident swagger, his massive frame under the spotlight like a moving mountain.
He took the ball from the referee, no hint of tension on his face. Instead, he flashed a wide, teasing grin.
He even blew a playful kiss toward the fans behind the basket, drawing an even louder wave of boos.
Every Lakers fan was on their feet, arms and towels waving wildly, doing everything they could to distract him.
The noise hit Shaq like a tsunami.
He didn't care.
If anything, he seemed to enjoy standing against the entire world.
No real routine.
The same much-maligned free-throw motion.
A casual squat—then a shot-put-style push toward the rim.
First free throw.
The ball came out flat.
Clang! It smashed into the front rim and bounced away.
"YES!!!" The home crowd erupted.
Shaq shrugged, spreading his hands with a goofy expression.
Not a trace of frustration—just a "no big deal" attitude.
He took the ball again and, amid the chaos, shoved it toward the basket with that same ugly form.
Second free throw.
A little too much power.
The ball clipped the back rim and popped straight up.
It bounced once…
Twice…
Time seemed to stretch endlessly.
Then, under the collective gaze of thousands—
The ball wobbled…
And rolled out.
"BOOM—!"
Cheers and relieved celebrations exploded throughout the arena.
Andrew Bynum fought for position and wrapped both arms around the crucial defensive rebound.
The Lakers survived.
The game wasn't over yet.
Shaq shook his head helplessly, as if blaming bad luck.
That cocky, carefree grin never left his face.
Phil Jackson called his final timeout.
94–96.
9.8 seconds remaining.
One last shot.
The Lakers bench was suffocatingly tense.
Every eye was on Phil Jackson, waiting for the play that would decide everything.
For once, hesitation flickered in the Zen Master's eyes.
Without Kobe, no one on the floor was an obvious choice.
Odom avoided eye contact.
Tony Parker looked eager—but was ignored.
The rest simply didn't have that kind of shot in them.
The timeout clock ticked away.
Finally, Phil's gaze settled on Link.
The young guard had already hit four threes tonight—his hand was scorching hot.
With Kobe gone, Link's shot was the most reliable weapon they had.
"Listen up," Phil said, taking a deep breath.
"We're running Elevator Doors."
A few players froze.
Odom and Bynum, in particular, clearly only half-remembered the play.
Once Phil decided, there was no more hesitation.
He drew quickly on the whiteboard.
"Luke, inbound from the top.
Lamar, Andrew—you come up to the elbows.
Fast. Strong screens. No hesitation."
Finally, the marker pointed to Link.
Phil looked at him for two seconds. No long speech.
"Link—this is your play. Finish it."
Link nodded hard.
Timeout over.
Both teams returned to the floor.
The air felt frozen. Every fan stood, holding their breath, hearts pounding.
"We're seeing the Lakers set up for the final possession," the ESPN commentator said nervously.
"No Kobe—who gets the ball? Lamar Odom?"
"Maybe… the Lakers don't have many options right now," the other announcer replied, just as tense.
On the court, Luke Walton stood at the sideline.
Odom and Bynum lined up side by side near the free-throw line—like two stone guardians.
Link waited in the right corner, knees slightly bent, forcing every stray thought out of his mind.
The referee handed the ball to Walton and blew the whistle.
"Tweet!"
Play resumed.
The moment the whistle sounded, Link exploded into motion.
He didn't flare out immediately.
Instead, he took a sharp first step toward the rim—a hard fake cut.
James Posey bit on it, instinctively sliding back with him.
In that split second—
Link snapped back, ghost-like, sprinting toward the top of the arc.
At the exact same moment, Odom and Bynum reacted in perfect sync.
As Link passed between them—
Both massive bodies slammed inward.
BAM!
A solid human wall snapped shut.
Posey crashed directly into the "doors," his pursuit instantly stopped.
The elevator worked perfectly.
"What kind of play is that?!" the announcer shouted, jumping out of his seat.
"Posey's lost him—Link is wide open!" the arena commentator screamed.
"Perfect screens! Link is completely free!"
In the blink of an eye, Link arrived beyond the top of the three-point line—untouched.
Walton's pass hit him right in the shooting pocket.
In front of him—
Nothing but space.
The Heat reacted too late.
Wade and Gary Payton lunged to recover—but it was already over.
Link caught the ball with zero hesitation.
Focused Shooter Lv.2
Quick Release Lv.2
The world slowed.
The noise vanished.
All that remained was the rim—and his steady breathing.
Knees bent.
Up he rose.
Release.
One smooth motion, forged by tens of thousands of repetitions.
The ball left his fingertips on a familiar, perfect arc.
It spun slowly through the air, pulling every pair of eyes with it.
The entire Staples Center fell dead silent.
Time froze.
Wade and Payton stared upward.
Shaq stood under the rim, mouth wide open.
Phil Jackson watched with arms folded.
In the stands—Isabella covered her mouth in shock.
Every gaze followed the ball—
Like a meteor carrying the Lakers' fate.
Swish.
Clean. Pure. Heavenly.
Nothing but net.
97–96!
The horn sounded.
GAME WINNER.
BUZZER-BEATER.