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And so The Game bears down, this week at last, a sideshow distraction the surging Miami Heat and the inconsistent Los Angeles Lakers can collectively do without, a Jerry Springer Christmas Special that ABC Sports can not, and the Staples Center worth of buildup will still miss one of the key points. Kobe Bryant is not Shaquille O'Neal's biggest problem.

Shaquille O'Neal is.

Not just Saturday afternoon, either. Kobe-Shaq might be some cataclysmic event on the immediate horizon, but it has been this way for O'Neal through years and cities and conferences. Orlando to L.A. to Miami, and not a quiet entrance or exit to be found.

This is not all bad. Being drafted by the young Magic helped establish an entire franchise, a major accomplishment that can never be recorded among his stats. Signing with the Lakers titled an entire basketball nation to the left, signaling a new era, and in a moment when he would carry the burden of expectations alone since Bryant was an unproven rookie. Being traded to the Heat energized a team to the point of hyperventilating: We won 42 games last season, and this season we are a legitimate threat in the East. They are, of course, right.

The problem is, O'Neal overshadows himself. He demands increased scrutiny more than he demands the double team. Not from coaches and opponents, which obviously matters, but consider the perceptions.

He won three NBA championships, one MVP, two Finals MVPs in Los Angeles and clearly established himself as one of the best centers ever--and it wasn't hard to find someone to knock him. Even in Los Angeles.

He averaged 27.2 points and 13.2 rebounds and shot 56.2 percent in 158 playoff games with the Magic and Lakers--and it wasn't hard to find someone with the ready epilogue, "Yeah, how can a guy like that get swept in the playoffs five times?"

If only it were Big Man's Syndrome. This isn't everyone ganging up on the giant, though. This is a lot of people being tired of the act.

It comes with perspective. Bryant is someone who had real problems, tangible and with his image, especially last season with a 2004-05 carryover. O'Neal's problems are in the context of sports, but also obvious and, worse, too often overshadowing what should be the real self-promotion.

Shaquille O'Neal, the player.

He is still at an elite level, with averages of 20.9 points and 11 rebounds while shooting 60.6 percent through Monday. He just isn't as healthy or as flat-out overpowering as in the greatest of the seasons in Los Angeles, so the knocks come from the comparison of what he had been. His own biggest problem.

Twenty-one, 11 and 61 percent for a division leader should at least put him in any conversation for early MVP. It won't happen, though, because this is O'Neal slumping, years of injuries and allowing himself to slip from top condition ganging up at age 32.

He can't get out of his own way, and if only it were simply a matter of aging. As if the automatic pressure of massive body/massive contract wasn't enough, Shaq redirects more on his own. He clashes with coaches and management and Penny Hardaway in Orlando, ultimately leaves as a free agent and torches the town on the way out, calling it a dried-up pond. He has another ugly breakup to force a trade from the Lakers, trying to show up owner Jerry Buss last preseason to and ultimately criticizing general manager Mitch Kupchak at the end of the season. The minutes in between were pretty much devoted to the anti-Bryant movement.

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He should have been one of the greatest superstars in Los Angeles, a city that has known countless such sports treasures. He left instead as a flashpoint of controversy, much of which can be shared with Kobe, of course, but a man done in by his own words and actions beyond that locker room friction.

O'Neal can't help himself. Long before, it was playful and fun-loving, for he would be the first to label himself without apology a big kid. He said silly things, sometimes as a response to hurt feelings. Then it continued and grew mean-spirited and just got contentious, the power struggle with Bryant at the forefront, two superstars lobbing grenades back and forth and every other Laker watching the kingdom crumble.

The supposed alliance with Phil Jackson, united in the It Was Kobe's Fault campaign? This was the same O'Neal who one night last season had barely been in the locker room long enough to stand still, before anyone had asked about Jackson, when he said, "I had two Phils in my life. Now I've got one." Meaning his stepfather was the only one making the cut.

That bit about the dried-up pond? The truth is, O'Neal loves Orlando.

Last season was the ultimate. He was winning the battle. Bryant had fallen on the sword and was living a hellish several months. All O'Neal had to do was not cop to the Lindbergh kidnapping, and still Shaq couldn't bite his tongue. O'Neal shouted during an exhibition game about the lack of a contract extension and glared at Buss in the stands to make sure the message had been delivered, then later walked the hallway outside the locker room shouting, "Show me the money!" while making $26.5 million. Playful and fun-loving were long gone.

"He acts like it doesn't bother him, but it does," one O'Neal friend said at the time of Bryant getting so much attention, no matter the reason. "He's got a personality. But Kobe's got an effervescent personality. That flair. Shaq doesn't have the same personality. He doesn't try to impress people the same way. So he says some stupid things. But I think it does bother him."

Instead of stepping back.

"Let (Bryant) take it?" the friend said. "Sure. But it's ego."

It won't detour the deservedly easy ride into the Hall of Fame or the handfuls of millions to come, both as unavoidable as the microscope that will come Saturday afternoon at Staples Center. There is still time to appreciate the talent -- as long as he lets us.

Scott Howard-Cooper, who covers the NBA for the Sacramento Bee, is a regular contributor to ESPN.com.