WITH THREE MINUTES LEFT on a frigid February night in Philadelphia, the Lakers had the ball, a two-point lead and, if history means anything, a certain road win. Some 76ers diehards explored halfhearted "Beat LA" chants. But none did so with the glee you'd expect, considering that the man with the ball was Kobe Bryant, the suburban Philly native who once said of Sixers fans that he wanted to "cut their hearts out." The NBA's most celebrated closer was scrubbed in for the cruelest of surgeries.

Bryant held the ball beyond the three-point line and turned to face the defense. At 33 years old, in his 16th season, he's been famously banged up of late. But whether the result of German centrifuges or a surge of crunch-time adrenaline, you wouldn't have known that from his vicious slash to the left, threatening the precious territory in the middle of the floor.



Mirroring Bryant's every step was the Sixers' best on-ball defender, Andre Iguodala. Every inch as tall as Bryant and with arms as long, Iguodala is thicker through the shoulders and chest and five years younger. Physically, the matchup was no contest, and even Bryant seemed to sense it, retreating once again beyond the three-point line, chewing on his dribble like a piece of gum, building tension as his teammates watched the show, waiting for the explosion.

Two power dribbles toward the baseline and Bryant was into his signature move: rising and firing that floating, fading 15-footer. Iguodala stayed between Bryant and the basket and, even without jumping, reached his red-sleeved left arm into Bryant's face as the shot was fired.

Bryant works in grand scale. He's not a man prone to subtlety or to easily admitting defeat. And so, a mighty eight times in the final three minutes, the Lakers entrusted their offense to him, flying solo, almost always against Iguodala, with other Lakers in great position to score: Matt Barnes cutting hard to the hoop, Pau Gasol calling for the ball with deep post position solo-covered by a point guard, Derek Fisher alone on the perimeter -- and not even getting a look.

The plan failed miserably. That 15-footer? It clanked off the rim, not long before a Bryant turnover. A feathery baseline jumper over Iguodala's fingertips couldn't find its target, a heroically long three over Jrue Holiday bricked, a left-side jumper hit nothing but iron, a foray into the paint resulted in a miss over three Sixers and, in the closing seconds, a turnaround, fadeaway three had no chance. In all, Bryant scored two points in that stretch as the Lakers' two-point lead became a five-point loss.

The hearts of Sixers fans remained, to a person, firmly inside their chests. And another failure in the long and puzzling history of the least effective strategy in team sports -- a mass delusion masquerading as tradition -- was firmly in the books.