SIGNIFICANT OTHER

Now that Kobe and Shaq are a couple, their opponents will have a harder time finding a ring.

So here you are again at the Lakers pre-game scrum, the literal scene that captured the figurative standoff between Shaq and Kobe midway through last season. The last visit remains indelible—Shaq and the team hugging and jumping and chanting like a bunch of 12-year-olds, Kobe standing apart with his collar flipped and sleeves pushed up West Side Story-style, stalling in order to beat Shaq for top-dog, last-man-out honors in the single-file jog onto the floor. A year later, Shaq has a few more dings but remains a one-man ringmaster. The Lakers are about to play a March game against the Spurs when he gathers everyone into a frenzied group hug and sings a twist on the Outkast line meant to get everybody loose: "And the whole world loves us when we sing…" followed by a collective "Woo-wooo!" But what is this—Kobe clearly part of the swirl? Kobe hooting "Woo-wooo!" louder than anyone else? Kobe beaming as Shaq puts a big hand on his shoulder? Kobe jogging out to the floor in the middle of the pack, almost incognito with his uniform, uh, uniform?

It's no mirage. In fact, it's the reason—despite a weaker surrounding cast, Shaq's arthritic toe, stiffer competition and suspicions that they've lost their edge—that the Lakers feel more invincible than ever. The Kobe-Shaq fission last season was Chernobylian, generating ferocious energy that made the locals nervous. Kobe-Shaq fusion, conversely, has created a Dr. Seussian warm glow that chases every shadow. Not even consecutive mid-March blowout losses to the Spurs and Mavs, which prompted Phil Jackson to declare the Lakers "weak in mind and body," has dented their confidence or camaraderie. The climate is so rosy that Kobe affectionately refers to his coach as "PJ"—the same Jackson who added to last year's ill will by questioning Kobe's competitive integrity in high school. Jackson declined to talk to The Magazine, saying that last winter's story created the Kobe-Shaq rift. Actually, all three principals—Kobe, Shaq, Phil—have different views of what transpired. Phil, apparently, has taken the media-did-it angle. Kobe plays the challenged-team-coming-together card. Only Shaq concedes that he and Kobe disagreed over who should be first in the most lethal inside-outside combination since West and Wilt. "We've both grown up," Shaq says. "It was two guys struggling for power. One had power and wasn't willing to give it up. The other didn't have the power he wanted and wasn't willing to wait for it. But it was never personal."

Which means Shaq looks back at his "It's-him-or-me" talk last season as strictly business. Hey, the good feeling of a second championship trophy can cast everything in a different light. The rest of the Lakers are simply grateful the atmosphere has changed. "We had an entire week last year where our team meetings were all about, 'What's wrong with us?'" says forward Mark Madsen. "This group is tight now. We've got the collective swagger." Opponents have noticed a difference too. "They don't have any gray areas now," says point guard Avery Johnson, who played for the Spurs team that was swept out of the conference finals by the Lakers last May and is now part of the Mavs legion hoping to avoid a similar fate. "In years past, you could get them working against each other. Not now. Their body language says, 'Whatever you do, I'm supporting you.' And they're so good, it's like playing against three guys instead of two. Which makes it six on five."

This season, the two Laker stars have been as outspoken about their mutual admiration as they once were about the enmity that existed between them. Shaq started by saying he wanted Kobe to win MVP honors, then dragged a half-dozen teammates along to Kobe's high school uniform retirement ceremony when the team was in Philadelphia in January. When Kobe was booed by his hometown fans after being named All-Star Game MVP a month later, Shaq was the first to console him. When Kobe was suspended two games for his dust-up with Reggie Miller, Shaq wore Bryant's No. 8—tighter than shrink-wrap—in warmups. It was a sight so comically heartwarming that one Lakers employee has it as her screensaver. Shaq's always been like that—out front, over the top. "If you acknowledge how things should be, Shaq is the most generous person," says forward Rick Fox.

But Kobe isn't big on overt gestures, which made his PDA even more impressive. When Shaq was suspended for three games for swinging at then-Bulls center Brad Miller, Kobe wrote Shaq's No. 34 on his shoes. It's a common practice, but Kobe had written something on his shoes only once before. It was when he was at Lower Merion (Pa.) High and only at the behest of his coach. "He had us all put 27 on our shoes because that was the number of wins we needed for a state championship," Kobe says. "I just wanted to show Shaq I had his back, no matter what his critics say. No matter what, you have a soldier next to you to the end."

The question, of course, remains: How did it go from you a bitch to you my dog? How did two such disparate personalities and equally-if-diversely talented stars go from seeking a divorce to swearing their undying devotion? Getting a taste of life without the other when each was injured late last season certainly helped. A thinner supporting cast this season has also forced them to lean on each other more. But most of all, it was, and is, the unique summit they've climbed together. Bird and McHale, Magic and Kareem, Scottie and MJ—none were exactly best buddies. But they came to appreciate each other. As two-time champions and the league's new standard bearers, Kobe and Shaq are under pressure only a few can understand.

Shaq, simply called "Big" by his teammates, lived up to his nickname by making the first conciliatory gesture. Rick Fox had a front-row seat for the pivotal moment, parked directly next to Shaq on the Lakers' bus after Game 1 of the Western Conference Finals last spring against the Spurs. Shaq was only marginally effective but Kobe's 45 points and 10 rebounds pulled them through. After the game, the Daddy told reporters that No. 8 was his idol and the best player in the league "by far." More important, Shaq told Kobe directly when he climbed onto the team bus. Kobe stopped, let it sink in for a second, then said, "Thanks, man."

"Kobe was overwhelmed," Fox says. "It caught him off guard, but then, it caught everybody off guard. It was such a huge statement. I'm thinking, 'Man, if he said it for real, that's the respect Kobe was looking for.' And as soon as he said it, Kobe couldn't wait to pay back the respect." Just to show Kobe hasn't gone all Stepford on us, he insists Shaq's comment wasn't a big deal. Instead, he believes the Lakers' transformation occurred as they squeaked out a pivotal Game 2 win. "That was the biggest challenge we'd ever faced and the turning point for all of us," he says. "Every individual learned something about themselves, even Phil. I learned I could lead by doing little things. I learned to trust my teammates."

To understand how far Kobe's come and how much it has meant to the rest of the team, check out the Lakers' March 14 trip to Oakland and compare it to a similar encounter last season. A year ago the Lakers lost in OT to the Warriors, with Kobe and Antawn Jamison each scoring 51. Kobe and Shaq were at the height of their on-court snit, and Shaq was ready to strangle Kobe after having not touched the ball on a half-dozen consecutive pick-and-roll plays down the stretch. Fast-forward. Kobe is now the guard against whom every player measures himself. Warriors rookie shooting guard Jason Richardson is no different. The athletic Richardson, making a late run for Rookie of the Year, comes out firing. "Kobe is going to start jacking it up, just watch," says an LA TV reporter.

Two years ago, definitely. Last year, probably. Now—no chance. Kobe distributed the ball as if he wanted it autographed by the entire team, while still keeping JRich in his place by attacking the rim, scoring second-chance hustle baskets and snuffing the rook's aggression by swatting his baseline jumper. Not for one second did Kobe go to the I-have-to-do-this-myself 'tude. "It's still there," he says. "I've just learned to pull it out only when needed." No need this night. The Warriors are still down one after three quarters by playing Hack-a-Shaq, with the Daddy missing 12 of his first 16 free throws. Last year that's how he would have finished because Kobe wouldn't have trusted him with the ball down the stretch. This year Kobe pumps the ball into him like quarters into an arcade machine. The Warriors pound Shaq, but he responds, making 10 of his last 12 free throws for 20 fourth-quarter points. The Lakers win in regulation. Shaq is besieged afterward to talk about his 40 points, 13 rebounds and how the Warriors' rough stuff sharpened his eye at the stripe. He delivers, describing Danny Fortson as an "average high school player." But he's also effusive about the new Kobe, whose 21 points on 50% shooting, 7 rebounds and 6 assists and defense on JRich goes almost unnoticed. Better yet, Kobe couldn't be happier, backslapping and cracking wise on his way to the team bus. "Shows you what kind of individual he is," Shaq says. "Shows you he's real."

They remain starkly different personalities—"Frick and Frack," Shaq says—but at ages 23 (Kobe) and 30 (Shaq), their lives suddenly seem to be on similar tracks. Kobe lost a grandfather at the start of training camp; Shaq's grandmother died a month before the All-Star break, which Laker sources insist contributed to his losing his cool against Brad Miller. Shaq, who ribbed Kobe about getting married as much as anyone, is now bragging about being in a committed relationship himself. Both also are fighting for respect from the officials. That's long been the case with Shaq; NBA supervisor of officials Ed Rush freely admits he is the game's most difficult player to officiate. Kobe faces a similar challenge. The leaguewide strategy now is to platoon big, active bodies on him. He'd also like—but feels he doesn't get— that superstar attention from the referees. Considering he averages the fewest free throws per game among the league's top six scorers (even Jerry Stackhouse, at 13th, goes to the line more frequently), he appears to have a case.

In typical Kobe fashion, he's demanding respect from the officials, which is working about as well as you'd expect. When the Pistons doubled him hard and referee David Jones called traveling rather than a foul, Kobe picked up his 11th technical foul of the season by skipping the ball at Jones' feet. (Jones did a double-take when Kobe gave him a friendly wave after the final buzzer.) Earlier in the week against the Spurs, when referee Luis Grillo pulled Shaq aside to explain why he got T'd, Kobe followed them to midcourt. "Get out of here," Grillo said. "No, I'm the captain," Kobe said. "I'm staying." The ref run-ins, the dust-up with Reggie and the horseplay-turned-serious that left teammate Samaki Walker with a black eye have brought out the pop psychologists in force. All of it is being attributed to strife in his personal life, with rumors ranging from wife Vanessa falling ill to multiple lawsuits involving his aborted move from the Pacific Palisades to Orange County.

While declining to discuss any of those topics, Kobe scoffs at the notion they're derailing his composure: "I laugh at that stuff because I have total control over what I'm doing." He's taking extreme measures to make sure. Three years ago, he'd invite a writer to his hotel room and spend an afternoon talking and watching hoops on TV. Now, he is accompanied by a security detail, unofficially called the K Team, both at home and on the road. A guard sits next to Vanessa at the Staples Center and another patrols the other side of the floor, scanning the crowd. You can talk to Kobe by phone, but a security escort to his room is required if you actually want to see him. And while he is far more personable with his teammates than ever before, his ascension into the team-leader vacuum left by the departure of Ron Harper (retired) and Horace Grant (free agent signing with Orlando) has been as up and down as his interaction with officials.

In a loss to the Mavs, Kobe railed at Lakers guard Lindsey Hunter when swingman Adrian Griffin slipped out of their trap for an uncontested layup. The argument continued as they sat on the bench in an ensuing timeout, while Shaq, sitting stoically between them, stared straight ahead. But the next night, when a bad inbounds pass intended for Hunter started a Spurs fast break and Lindsey landed awkwardly racing back to challenge it, Kobe was the first there to help him out. He may have popped Walker on the team bus Feb. 21, but at the team's shoot-around before facing the Spurs, he pulled Samaki aside to share a joke.

Concerns about the Lakers overlook what the Bulls did in the third season of their two three-peats—57 wins the first time, 62 the second. That's not far from what the Lakers have accomplished after winning two straight titles. But also keep in mind that there are four newcomers this season—Walker and Hunter in the regular rotation, Mitch Richmond and Jelani McCoy in reserve—and none have champion credentials. "We still think we're the team to beat, but this isn't a championship team," says Brian Shaw. "We have too many guys playing roles who have never won anything." As with everything, Kobe is barreling ahead and repairing the damage as he goes. "It's new ground for me," he says.

So is the cozy relationship with Shaq, but it's already looking familiar. Before facing the Spurs, Kobe strolls into the locker room wearing jeans, retro adidas and a blue T-shirt adorned on the back with a cartoon pit bull and the words "Bring It On." That's a switch from last year too, when he was either in suit and tie or modeling the latest Kobe-brand adidas casual wear and Gucci shades. Shaq, dressed in only his jersey and underwear, suddenly bear hugs him. "Agggh, nasty," Kobe says, struggling to break free, then shaking his head smiling as he walks away. Seconds later, Kobe is waving a pair of tickets. "Big, you need two?" he asks. "No," Shaq says. "I'm good." Shaq then lifts that LA TV reporter who had questioned Kobe right off his feet—doesn't everybody warm up this way?—and playfully threatens to body slam him. Now that's having a guy's back.

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