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committed say a lot about the outcome of a game, the things that don’t appear in the box score on your favorite Internet sports site or in your local newspaper often really tell the tale of W’s and L’s. Coaches will frequently talk about those “intangibles” and the “little things” in their postgame press conferences, but sometimes even we players forget the things that determine the razor’sedge margin between going home happy and replaying repeatedly the moments when the game slipped away. I’ve been in both positions, and believe me, I’d much rather look back on what went right than on what went wrong.
    Chalk it up to genetics, to good teachers, or what have you. The thing that has kept me in the game of basketball for thirteen professional seasons isn’t my blinding speed, my stunningly quick first step, my prodigious hops that allow me to take a quarter off the top of the backboard, or my possessing the wingspan of a jumbo jet. Instead, what has made me a valuable part of three different NBA teams and what brought me back to the Los Angeles Lakers, where I was privileged to be on three championship teams, is my ability to execute the fundamentals of the game. Whether it’s putting a body on my man to box him out, taking a charge, or doing any of a dozen other “little things,” those are among the skills I bring to the court each night. As all coaches will tell you, your shooting touch will come and go from night to night, but the energy you bring, the intensity with which you compete, and your ability to focus on doing the little things shouldn’t vary from game to game.
    So many people focused on the three-point shot I hit in overtime in the game the night following Tatum’s procedure; what I remember, and what many of my teammates and coaches recalled, was the turnover I forced in overtime. That little thing produced big results. Similarly, the eighteen-foot jump shot I hit in the 2003–4 Western Conference semifinal at the buzzer to beat San Antonio still looms large in people’s imaginations. Some people referred to me as the Fish That Saved L.A. for making that basket. What they don’t remember is that in that game I grabbed a couple of rebounds that led to opportunities for us to score. Regrettably, I also missed one of two free throws—and making free throws is another of what I consider to be the game’s fundamentals. Not that I’m hard on myself and demand perfection, but that missed free throw stands out in my mind almost as much as those made shots—more on how I deal with that tendency later.
    Just as important fundamentals must always be kept in mind on the basketball court, similar kinds of fundamentals exist in life. I’ve been fortunate that from my earliest days I was surrounded by people who instilled in me the values and beliefs—and showed me how to put those intangible things into action—that have led to success in all phases of my life. The most influential people in my development as a human being also happened to be devoted to basketball as well. Had I been born into a family of mathematicians, musicians, or mechanics, I would likely have succeeded in those fields and been much the same person I am today. It just so happens that my career is basketball.
    Well, maybe “just so happens” isn’t the best way to put it. My mother, Annette, played basketball all through school, as did my father, John. He played for a couple of years at Southern University, but then he left school and joined the air force—more on that bit of influence in a while. My father was a Lakers fan from the beginning, and my earliest memories of growing up in our house on West Twenty-second Street in Little Rock, Arkansas, are the sounds of radio and television broadcasts of various games. Those were the Magic Johnson years, and he was my favorite player. My dad was also a huge Oakland Raiders fan. Why the California connection I have no idea, since Dad was originally from Louisiana.