Kobe Bryant strolls into the cavernous hotel ballroom right on time, a bounce in his step. He shakes hands with the crew: two groomers, a wardrobe stylist, a photographer's assistant. He huddles with the photographer, claps his hands and says, "Let's get this show rollin'!"
Phil Jackson arrives 30 minutes later. If you think that's by accident or an oversight, you don't know Phil Jackson. The room is cluttered with light stands, backdrops and the rest of the equipment that goes with a magazine cover shoot. Jackson stops a few feet inside the door. "What do we have going on here?" he asks. The player he once described as "uncoachable" is closing on him. "There's Kobe," Jackson says. He says it out loud as if to affirm this is really happening. As if he's surprised that Kobe is actually following through with their first photo shoot outside of a media-guide cover or postchampionship celebration.
Jackson extends a palm and Kobe lunges at the coach he once couldn't stand. "What's happenin'?" he asks, raising his hand over his head before giving an enthusiastic low five.
The two will spend the next two hours together. They will trade places in front of the camera and occasionally pose side by side. Jackson steps forward when called upon, but otherwise stands in mute observation. Kobe is everywhere, asking uestions, making suggestions, whispering. "It's amazing how much lighting and a facial expression can say," he says, as Jackson stares sternly into a lens a few feet from his nose.
They don't exchange another word the entire time. Rest assured, Bryant says later, the two men talk. It's simply not for public consumption anymore. "The relationship has done a 180 since Phil's been back," Bryant says. "We've been able to have conversations and keep them private. That's what I've always wanted."
There are many who can't fathom Kobe and Phil's being on the same team again. Their five-season stint together was a Hollywood soap opera, and their battles overshadowed the three titles they shared. When Jackson revealed in his book, The Last Season, that Kobe had told him he would not re-sign with the Lakers unless they moved Shaquille O'Neal, it painted Bryant as the architect of the team's demolition. The conclusion: these guys couldn't wait to get away from each other.
So how is it that they're reunited and, get this, professing a shared vision of how to get the Lakers back into the playoffs?
Well, there's the love story, with Lakers executive VP Jeanie Buss (team owner Jerry Buss' daughter) quietly paving the way for her boyfriend, Jackson, to return to the team. Then there's the coming-of-age story, with Kobe having his invincibility challenged by injuries and losses-personal and professional-and the prospect of life in prison.
But the biggest reason for this hand-in-glove vibe? O'Neal. No one mentions the world's biggest sheriff-in-training, but Buss says his departure was strictly based on future salary-cap flexibility.
"Trading Shaq had nothing to do with Phil or Kobe," Buss says. "Shaq wanted max salary and max years on his extension, and I thought that would eventually take us to the absolute bottom. But it's true, triangles in love affairs have never worked out."
Not having Shaq parked between Jackson and Bryant changes everything. A student of the game, Kobe knew the interchangeable parts of the triangle offense had to mutate to take advantage of Shaq's dominance in the post. That put Kobe in a supporting role. Now, with Lamar Odom, Kobe is the central figure and Odom is the sidekick. Kobe will be in the post more and spread his wings outside, and with Odom running the show, he believes the Lakers can re-create what Phil had in Chicago with Michael and Scottie.
And off the court? Kobe knows the locker room is his. And Phil knows Kobe is his go-to guy all the time. "I've always enjoyed being coached by Phil," Bryant says. "We've had our disagreements and not always seen eye to eye, but for the most part we've been on the same wavelength."
Preseason workouts have suggested just that. Kobe's opened up to his teammates, giving encouragement during games and pushing players in practice. Meanwhile, Jackson is telling reporters Kobe could be the league MVP. "They walked by each other in the course of practice and kind of smiled at each other," says assistant coach Frank Hamblen. "That's when it really clicked with me."
A recount of the photo shoot shocks Warriors guard and ex-Laker Derek Fisher. "I'd have to see the tape," he says. "That never, ever happened when I was there. I'm 90% happy, while 10% of me is, man, I wish that was the Kobe I spent eight years with. I hope he takes himself out of the way and lets his greatness shine. Be the kid Jerry West saw in Pennsylvania who just loved to play."
Bryant will never be that kid again, but he's no longer the bitter, guarded young man of the past few years, either. Asked how he manages to keep his patience with teammates who are new to the triangle, Bryant says he's giving them only what he once asked for. Reporters, once fearful of even mentioning Vanessa Bryant, now hear about the family's two incorrigible Pomeranians, Gucci and Gio. And about how their daughter, Natalia, has her daddy's talent for trick shots, flipping pieces of paper into the trash without looking.
Lawrence Sivils, a Navy SEAL chief petty officer in Hawaii, knew the Lakers were holding training camp in Honolulu this year and e-mailed the team, on a lark, asking if Kobe would be a witness for his reenlistment ceremony. Bryant, still cooling down from a morning practice, spoke to the assembled crowd about how honored he felt and how playing ball is so "miniscule compared to" defending your country.
Jackson believes the Colorado rape charges and the Lakers' demise prompted the change. He says a similar growth occurred for Jordan after his gambling became a national story. "It's been a tremendous lesson for Kobe that he can't control everything," Jackson says. "Great players are used to imposing their will and controlling the things that allow them to succeed. All of a sudden, they come up against an out-of-control situation and realize there are things beyond their control. And that's a very maturing situation."
AS BRYANT sits on the balcony of his eighth-floor room at the team's Waikiki hotel, soaking in the night view of Diamond Head and the glistening Pacific, he concedes that he had some growing up to do. The dustups with Ray Allen and Reggie Miller. Cheating on his wife. Implicating Shaq in extramarital affairs while being interviewed by investigators about the incident that led to the rape charges. Accusing Karl Malone of making advances on Vanessa. Complaining about the kind of plane the Lakers provided for him to fly to and from his Colorado court appearances. It's an extensive list.
"That was me at the time," he says. "My growth and maturation process was no different than any 17-year-old kid's who gets to 27 and looks back and sees those peaks and valleys. At the end of my career, everybody will look back and say, 'Yeah, he had his bad moments, but for the most part he handled everything with class.' That, at least, is what I'm shooting for."
Some, though, see Kobe as simply trying to resurrect his image so he can recapture the millions he's lost in endorsements. With a few losses and hits from the media, the theory goes, he'll raise the drawbridge and deepen the moat once more. Sneaker impresario Sonny Vaccaro, one of many who were close to Kobe but no longer speak to him, believes being discounted as a player (Bryant was third-team All-NBA last season) and watching LeBron and Dwyane Wade get the accolades he used to receive have been the major catalysts for Bryant's makeover. "Kobe is the smartest player I've ever dealt with," Vaccaro says. "Is the change sincere or calculated? I'm not sure it matters. Kobe wants to be on Mt. Rushmore, and he realized he can't get there being a villain."
Granted, there is a dark side that Bryant still embraces. He's known in his inner circle as Mamba, which, he is happy to explain, is a kind of snake that can grow to 13 feet and is the world's quickest, and one of the most venomous, serpents. He referred to this summer as "the blackout," in which the snake grew a new skin through a seven-days-a-week conditioning program that began on a track at 5 a.m. and ended around 11 a.m. at the Lakers' training facility.
He put that persona on display in August, as motivation for a select group of LA high school players and coaches. The group was provided all-black gear and shuttled over in an all-black bus at 5 a.m. to watch Bryant in a three-hour solo workout. "The mamba can strike with 99% accuracy at maximum speed, in rapid succession," Bryant explains. "That's the kind of basketball precision I want to have. Not being able to train the past two summers, I was in a gunfight with a rusty butter knife. I did my share of killing, but I was just fighting to survive."
He has another persona, that of the father who trained at the crack of dawn primarily so he could be around to take Natalia to swim class. He wears a diamond-shape pendant inscribed with her middle name, Diamante, along with an intertwined K and V studded with amethysts and diamonds. He takes walks at night to clear his head of troubling thoughts, focusing on a familiar star. Bryant scans the southern sky above the ocean. "There it is, as a matter of fact," he says, pointing. "That's my homey up there."
Jackson seems to have changed as well. Last season was his first full one away from the game since he was drafted by the Knicks in 1967. He sat out the lockout-shortened 1998-99 season after leaving the Bulls, but a disintegrating marriage hardly made it a reprieve and he never stopped keeping tabs on the league. This time he disappeared, taking a trip to the Australian Open and a motorcycle ride across New Zealand.
On his return, he committed himself to extensive rehab on his back, which has been a problem since he had several vertebrae fused in his second year with the Knicks. He is moving more easily, sitting on giant exercise balls in practice and higher-cushioned chairs during games. He had the team acquire more ergonomically friendly buses for the preseason exhibitions. Says Jeanie, "The time off allowed Phil to get some things out of his system and discover how badly he still wanted to coach."
But how badly did Kobe want to be coached? When Jackson reached out to his former player and the proposed meeting was reported, Bryant balked. Was Jackson setting him up to be the fall guy again should his return be aborted? Was he trying to put pressure on Kobe to bless his return?
In the end, they settled for a phone call. Kobe stressed that he did not want to be seen as influencing the Lakers' next hire. "That was mature on his part," says Jackson, who then explained his vision of Kobe as a post-up scorer and playmaker, with Odom as the setup man. "That's what I had to feel good about," Jackson says. "I can say this: Kobe's and my visions, and the direction we see this team going, do match. The biggest challenge will be to protect the best interests of the team while Kobe is trying to reestablish himself as the best player in the league. It's real tricky, because we don't have proven people and Kobe is proven. He's going to have to trust his teammates."
Kobe's response: "It's a concern of mine as well. What I've learned from Phil is to put those individual agendas on the back burner, try not to think about them and just stay within the chemistry of the team, and then those things will come."
Still, the question remains: why get Kobe and Phil back together?
Actually, there was never a complete break. Buss offered to keep Jackson on in the front office even after he stepped down as coach. And for all their problems, Kobe never said Phil had to go for him to stay. "Kobe always had great respect for Phil when he talked to me," Buss says. "I never thought there would be a problem getting them back together."
So far, anyway, Buss is right.
Jackson maintains that any team with Bryant has a chance to win a title, and Jeanie says Jackson believes he can win another one before his new three-year deal is up. For Bryant, it's simple: who else can build a championship team around a 2-guard without an All-Star big man?
Of course, none of this is to say that Jackson and Bryant are now best of friends. There's too much bad history for that and not enough good present, at least not yet. Their practice exchanges consist of Jackson saying things like, "That should be a switch" during a defensive drill, and Kobe saying, "Okay." Before their first exhibition, Kobe sat at one end of the bench and Phil sat at the other, lost in their respective thoughts.
Mirrored thoughts, they insist. After the Warriors jump out to a 24-8 lead, Kobe bottles up Jason Richardson and 13 different Lakers score in an eventual 101-93 win. In the waning minutes, Kobe flashes the triangle sign to Luke Walton and Tony Bobbitt. "Keep running the offense," he shouts from the bench. When Bobbitt takes a quick three and Jackson pulls him, Kobe counsels him on the bench: "If you're going to take an early shot, you better make it or it's a bad shot." Bryant's line: 28 points on 10-for-19 shooting, five assists, one turnover. Even the next night, when the Warriors deliver a 112-81 payback, Bryant is 4-for-8 in 24 minutes. "The unfulfilled hope I have is for Kobe to shoot 50%," Jackson says. "It's reaching for that goal that's a step above. That really will reestablish his credibility."
The relationship is tender enough that both remain cautious. The Mag's original cover idea was Phil, Kobe and Jeremy Piven, who plays the agent Ari Gold on HBO's Entourage and is known for the reconciliatory line, "You wanna hug it out, bitch?" Kobe squashed it, calling it "gimmicky." Jackson, meanwhile, refused to have any ESPN cameras on hand for behind-the-scenes footage.
"People believe that's an implosion waiting to happen," Fisher says. "That could be the motivation for both guys: 'Everyone says this is impossible. That's why we're going to do it.'"
As Jackson slips away with a backward wave, Kobe asks The Mag's photo director to make sure the pictures used in this story reflect the focus he and Phil have this season. "We've never, ever done anything like this," he says, "so why dilute it?" He studies a Polaroid of himself and Jackson melded into one.
"Let this," he says, tapping the photo, "speak for everything."