THE LOS ANGELES LAKERS were still talking tough after the game, claiming they weren't intimidated, that it was just one game, that getting squashed into an oil spot didn't mean much. While that may be true, following the Jazz's 35-point win on Saturday there was one nagging question that wouldn't go away: Where were the new-and-improved, industrial-strength Lakers?
Despite the talk of maturing and growing, of coming of age, of enjoying the incredible lightness of being, the Playoff Lakers, circa 1998, are pretty much the same as the Lakers of 1997. Wasn't that Nick Van Exel doubling his pleasure by picking up a flagrant foul and a technical in the same night? Those clangers Kobe Bryant threw off the rim? We'd recognize them anywhere. Eddie Jones was more worried about roughing up JeffHornacek than repeating his series against Seattle. Robert Horry? Uh . . . um . . . what number was he?
For all the speculation that they have grown into card-carrying adults, having finally discovered the playoffs are different from the regular season, the Lakers looked strangely familiar. They were out-played, out-coached, out-psyched. Isn't this where we left off?
A year after the Lakers fizzled in the Delta Center in the Western Conference semifinals, Shaquille O'Neal is still barking like an indignant teenager, threatening to bring down the house with his might.
"To become a Hall of Famer, I'm just going to start flaring my elbows," he said. "We see how they're going to let us play, so we'll just have to adjust and come back. If they're going to let other people throw elbows, then we're going to throw elbows."
He added, "I just hope a couple people don't get their nose broken, 'cause of the flyin' elbows, 'cause they're coming up."
If the Lakers are short of the mature, unflappable veterans they want to be, it makes sense. They're still the second-youngest team in the playoffs. There's not a thirtysomething guy to be found. Kobe Bryant can do endorsements for Bud Lite, he just can't buy one. He can't even think of renting a car. The team breakfast is Fruit Loops.
Check around the NBA and there's nary a coach or player who won't admit the Lakers have the best talent in the league. They have people who can vault over John Stockton's Lexus in a single bound. They have at least one player who can lift Karl Malone and his truck.
They're fast enough to pick your pocket, check out a book with your library card, and have it back before you turn your head.
Then why do they lose by 35 points in the playoffs? Because they still kick and scream and throw tantrums. They still talk first, play later. They still take dumb shots, complain unnecessarily to the refs and draw flagrant fouls. They're still shooting themselves in the foot and cursing their bad luck, still promising to get their chores done if they can just go out and play first.
The Lakers spent the first part of the week complaining about the Jazz's dirty tactics. (It's never too soon to fire the first salvo.) Horry even went so far as to tell NBC the Jazz "do all the little dirty things." This time, though, the Lakers were determined not to fall into the trap and lose their composure.
But once the ball went up, they were back to shaking their heads in disbelief, arguing calls, fouling out of frustration. Utah's Greg Foster collided with O'Neal, then jumped up to yak in O'Neal's face in the first quarter. Instead of walking away, O'Neal yakked back, giving Foster a light shove. "He was just talking," said O'Neal. "All he does is talk."
By the second quarter the exit polls were in: Jazz in a landslide. The Lakers were thinking a little about basketball and a lot about room service. The final L.A. numbers were familiar: two technicals, two flagrant fouls and a whole lot of errant shots. After committing one of the flagrant fouls, Van Exel followed referee Hugh Evans to the scorer's table and applauded. He looked like a kid poking his tongue out while his mother's back is turned.
"We definitely got our butts whupped," said Van Exel. "We've just got to bounce back. No big deal."
Then again, maybe it is a big deal when the All-Grown-Up Lakers come to Salt Lake to avenge last year's playoff loss and are carried out in a bucket. And a big deal when you get out-rebounded and out-shot and out-executed. Indeed, the big deal is this: One year after losing to the Jazz in the playoffs, L.A. is still L.A. and Utah is still Utah.