LOS ANGELES -- The air was thick as the city's smog with energy, a kind of freneticism that buzzed through every ally and avenue in Los Angeles. In one of the crazed Fridays in recent memory, it felt like the city had lost its mind—in the best possible way.
There were four games: Dodgers, Lakers, Trojans and the East LA Classic at Sofi Stadium; two concerts: David Gilmore at the Intuit Dome and Jeff Lynne's Elo at The Kia Forum; and the kind of traffic that would strain Nelson Mandela's patience. But none of that mattered once you stepped inside the sweltering, purple and gold, neon-washed cauldron of Crypto.com Arena.
As the Lakers amassed a double-digit deficit, the Crypto.com crowd teetered on the edge of nervous tension.
Anthony Davis felt it, too. It wasn't the accustomed pressure of carrying the team's defensive load on his broad shoulders—it was now the expectation of having the offense flow through him as the weight of a fledgling season commences.
He is JJ Reddick's guy, after all. That was made clear when Reddick sat down for his introductory press conference, still sharp from his playing days, and said it outright: "Anthony Davis is going to be the hub of this offense." It was more than just a statement; it was a promise. And tonight, as the Lakers trailed the Phoenix Suns by 22 points in the second quarter, it was a promise he intended to keep.
The first half was as brutal as running a mile in quicksand. The Suns wouldn't miss, especially from three, and every time the Lakers mounted a response, a turnover or a rushed shot kept them under the Suns' thumb.
Reddick paced the sideline, hands on his hips, his mouth a tight line, but not panicked. It isn't in his nature to panic—he's seen too many games as a player and been in too many tough spots to let it show. Instead, he watched, ever pensive and calculated, and trusted his team would find its footing.
Halftime was a reset, not just for the players but also for the fans. The crowd, which had been silenced except for the occasional roar at a sudden burst of brilliance, finally found its voice again as the third quarter began. And it started, as it so often does, with defense.
Davis was everywhere, contesting shots, blocking drives and chasing down shooters along the perimeter. It was as if he decided that if the offense wouldn't find its rhythm, he'd drag the team back into the game through sheer force of will on defense.
The rally began subtly. After a couple of stops and quick buckets, suddenly, the Suns weren't getting their once-easy looks. Davis set the tone with a smooth, unbothered mid-range jumper and a putback dunk that jolted the crowd to life. There was a swagger in his step, a calm and controlled intensity with which he played. That's when the ball started finding Austin Reaves.
Reaves woke up that morning to a text from Redick. The coach has a habit of sending early-morning messages, cryptic notes that feel more like riddles but always have a distinct point.
"I see a big night for you," it said.
Simple, but in that coach-player shorthand, it set the tone for Austin's evening. It was a call to step up, be the spark and utilize his green light. So as Davis started to work, drawing double-teams and punishing mismatches, Reaves slipped into the gaps, ready to shoot. And as shooters do, shoot, he did.
By the time he buried his third three-pointer, you could feel the shift in momentum. Reaves played with a pace and confidence that belied the chaos of the game.
He played intelligent, patient and probing. He hit from beyond the arc, then drove hard to the rim, drawing contact and picking apart the Suns' defense. His game isn't flashy but efficient—26 points on just 12 shots. It was the kind of performance in which Redick shook his head with a knowing and glowing approval as if he had manifested this before he sent the text.
The Lakers were clawing back, down by nine, and Phoenix looked rattled. The ball found life, swinging around the perimeter, and skipped to Reaves, who pump-faked, sidestepped, and drained another triple.
The third quarter concluded with the Lakers up by two, courtesy of a relentless 35-24 barrage that sparked the crowd's rediscovery of its voice and energy.
LeBron James, who'd been relatively quiet in the first half, suddenly looked a decade younger. He imposed his will, took over in spurts, crashed the boards, and sparked fast breaks. He added 11 points in the quarter, but Davis and Reaves kept feeding the machine, which ensured that the Suns never regained their footing.
Reddick discussed using Davis as a hub, and it was working. When the offense sputtered, they returned to him, confident that he could get his shot or create an opportunity for someone else.
Davis scored 35 points, his second consecutive game of such dominance, and grabbed eight rebounds. His performance was a masterclass in commanding the game without forcing it, letting the flow come naturally.
He was patient and deliberate. Even when the game got "wacky," as Redick would say, Davis never rushed. He kept the ball moving, and the Lakers continued to find open looks.
The score was 123-116 at the final buzzer, and the Lakers completed their comeback. Los Angeles outscored Phoenix by 20 points in the second half, and the fans' muted indignation culminated in jubilant disbelief.
For Reddick's Lakers, their 2-0 start hasn't been done since 2010-2011, vindicated his vision—a testament to his belief that this team could win not just with star power but also with cohesion, patience, and trust. Not since Phil Jackson has a Laker coach begun his time at the helm 2-0 since 1999.
As Davis exited the court, a sweaty, white towel draped over his shoulders, he exchanged a knowing glance with Reaves. There was no need for words. They'd done it together in a manner that felt different and sustainable, like something they could build on.
As phones buzzed with notifications that the Dodgers' Freddy Freeman had hit a walk-off grand slam to give the Dodgers a 1-0 World Series lead, the city's imbalance of futility over the past few years started to dissipate.
It was that kind of night in L.A. that felt like everything was right. Things felt normal, and the teams around the city were once again winning.
With his wry smile, Reddick summed it up perfectly later in the press room. "We started bad, but we settled in, and we trusted what we were trying to do. We made a choice to compete, and once we did that, the game came to us."
Simple, yet profound in the way all good sports wisdom is. The Lakers might have started the night on their heels, but by the end, they were standing ten-toes tall, looking every bit like a team ready to reclaim its rightful luster.