HOUSTON––The Los Angeles Lakers tried to do something they haven't done since Barack Obama was finding his rhythm in the Oval Office — sweep an NBA playoff opponent — the basketball gods looked down from the Toyota Center rafters and laughed.
Then coughed.
Then, it reminded JJ Redick and his purple-and-gold soldiers exactly how long 16 years really is. Sixteen years since Pau Gasol and Andrew Bynum swallowed every Utah Jazz rebound.
Sixteen years since Derek Fisher hit corner threes with that weird high-arcing flick. Sixteen years since Kobe Bryant — that beautiful, ruthless assassin in black and gold — decided that sweeps were for brooms and brooms were for legends.
The Los Angeles Lakers have not swept a playoff series since May 10, 2010. Let that land.
Let it settle in your chest like pneumonia.
Sunday night in Houston, with a chance to vanquish that demon and send the Rockets packing, the Lakers instead reminded everyone why sweeps are the rarest commodity in professional basketball.
The final: Rockets 115, Lakers 96.
The feeling afterward: exhaustion wrapped in confusion, smothered in a gravy of what-just-happened.
Throughout the contest, the Lakers turned the ball over 24 times.
Twenty-four times, LeBron James shook his head like a disappointed uncle at a family cookout.
Twenty-four times, the ghost of sweeps past whispered not tonight.
"We turned over what, 23 times for 30 points?" James said. "Yeah, 24. Twenty-four turnovers killed us from start to finish."
The math is simple, even for math-haters. Twenty-four possessions flushed down the toilet. Twenty-four chances to be the team that finally ended the drought. Twenty-four reminders that when you chase history, history doesn't always cooperate.
James finished with 10 points on 2-of-9 shooting. Two of nine. That's not a stat line from the King. That's a stat line from a guy who forgot his crown at the hotel. He added nine assists sure, but eight turnovers — eight little white flags waved at the Houston defense.
"I'm not worried about that," James said. "But the turnovers obviously killed us."
Amen Thompson, the 21-year-old with the kind of bounce that makes old knees ache just watching, scored 23 points for Houston. Tari Eason added 20 points. Alperen Sengun — that slippery Turkish delight in the paint — contributed 19 points. Reed Sheppard poured in 17 points, and Jabari Smith Jr. had 16 points.
Their entire starting lineup scored at least 16 points.
Los Angeles' entire starting lineup? Well, Deandre Ayton had 19 and 10 before the officials decided he'd had enough fun for one evening.
Five minutes and thirty seconds remained in the third quarter when the elbow slipped.
That's the story. That's the explanation. That's the defense everyone wearing purple and gold offered Sunday night.
Ayton, the 7-footer with the soft touch and the even softer reputation, rose up to contest Sengun. Both men were sweating through their jerseys, fighting for position like it was the last plate at a buffet. Ayton's left arm — his "off arm" in the language of basketball people — came up. It slipped off Sengun's shoulder. It caught Sengun in the face.
Flagrant foul 2. Ejection.
"I was really just trying to brace for the contact," Ayton said. "We both sweaty guys. I just slipped off his shoulder. I'm not no guy who's a dirty player. The outcome of what the results were, I accept it. But definitely wasn't intentional."
Here's the thing about intentions: they don't matter much when the replay shows an elbow meeting a face. Here's another thing: this was Ayton's first ejection in eight NBA seasons.
Eight years. Zero ejections. Until Sunday.
"I think it is my first ejection," Ayton said. "Eight years later, it's my first one."
Marcus Smart, the defensive bulldog who has seen more flagrant foul debates than a Supreme Court justice, put it more bluntly.
"We all understood it was some BS. That's what we felt. He was just trying to brace himself. Two guys sweating their butts off playing the game, his arm slipped up," Smart said.
Redick chose his words carefully.
"DA's got such a sweet kind soul," Redick said. "No, that wasn't dirty or intentional. From our vantage point, he was trying to brace himself with that off arm. His arm just kind of slipped. I don't know that a two was warranted. I don't think DA would ever do anything malicious."
But the flagrant stood. The ejection stuck. And whatever chance the Lakers had of crawling back into the game left the building right along with their starting center.
Here's a number that will make any Lakers fan want to look away: five.
Five three-pointers netted on Sunday night.
In Games 1 through 3 of this series, Los Angeles combined for 35 triples. Thirty-five. That's almost 12 per game.
That's respectable. That's competitive. That's modern NBA basketball.
Sunday, the Lakers made five. James was 0-for-3 from deep. Marcus Smart missed both his attempts. Luke Kennard — the man whose entire professional existence revolves around shooting basketballs from far away — went 0-for-3.
"We've been a low-volume shooting three-point team since we lost our two big dogs," Smart said. "Tonight the ball didn't fall. Get back in the lab and turn it around."
The lab. The laboratory. The place where shooters go to find themselves.
The Lakers need to find their way there before Wednesday because right now they are lost.
Let's go back in time.
May 10, 2010. Staples Center.
The Utah Jazz arrive for Game 4 of the Western Conference semifinals down 3-0 and playing like a team that knows exactly what's coming. The Lakers beat them 111-96.
Kobe had 32 points, Gasol had 33.
The sweep was complete. The Lakers were 8-0 in that postseason. They would go on to beat the Boston Celtics in seven games — in one of the greatest Finals.
Since that night in May, the Lakers have played 17 playoff series. They have both won and lost.
They have gone to Game 7s and Game 6s and Game 5s.
Los Angeles has experienced the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
They have never — not once — swept another team. Sixteen years. Seventeen series. Zero brooms.
"That's the biggest challenge we have," Redick said. "Ball handling and downhill drivers, not having those guys."
But here's the thing about the 2010 Lakers: they didn't have modern spacing. They didn't have analytics telling them to shoot 40 threes a game.
They had Kobe's will, Gasol's grace, Fisher's clutch gene and Ron Artest's beautiful chaos.
They swept the Jazz because they played harder, smarter and meaner.
Sunday night's Lakers played sloppier.
With 7:30 remaining, the game was essentially over––the Rockets led by 23.
Redick waved the white flag and sent in the bench warmers, the deep reserves, the guys who usually see minutes only when the game is already decided. Bronny James got run. Adou Thiero and Nick Smith Jr. did too.
Redick was asked after the game about giving those young players postseason experience.
"I think any experience you can get in the postseason is great," Redick said. "Noah had asked me about getting confidence from the postseason. My third year, I got thrown into the fire a little bit because of injuries. Ended up making the Finals. I got a lot of confidence from that."
Redick was talking about his own playing days — the Orlando Magic years, the unexpected Finals run, the feeling of being a young gun when the lights shine brightest.
But here's the difference between 2009 and 2026: those Magic had Dwight Howard in his prime.
These Lakers have a 40-year-old LeBron James, an ejected Deandre Ayton and a whole lot of hope. T
After the final buzzer, something happened at midcourt. Nobody could quite explain it.
Not Redick. Not James. Not Smart, who called it "hilarious."
Players from both teams congregated near center court.
Words were exchanged. Nothing happened. Nothing physical.
Just the kind of posturing that happens when grown men wear shorts and adrenaline floods their bloodstreams.
Redick was asked about it and delivered the quote of the night.
"I don't know if you guys have ever walked down a street like Bourbon Street or Beale Street in Memphis," Redick said. "Sometimes when you walk down those streets, you see something going on inside one of the bars or clubs and you kind of want to peek your head in. I didn't know what was happening, so I walked over there to peek my head in. Didn't feel like anything was happening, so we left."
That's the thing about this Lakers team: they don't take themselves too seriously.
Even after a 19-point loss. Even after 24 turnovers. Even after a flagrant foul that might get reviewed by the league office.
They peeked their heads in. Nothing was happening. They left.
Game 5 is Wednesday in Los Angeles, with the Lakers leading the series 3-1.
That's the good news. The better news is they're going home. The best news is they've already won three games against this same Rockets team.
But here's the question that will linger for the next 72 hours: can this team close? Not close out a series — they've done that plenty of times in the LeBron era.
Can they close out a series without letting it get complicated?
Can they finish what they started without turning the ball over 20-plus times?
Can they be the team that finally — finally — breaks the 16-year sweep drought?
"There's no such thing as being comfortable until a series is done," James said. "None of us are comfortable." Smart echoed that sentiment: "Now they got to come to our house and we get our home crowd behind us. But no, definitely no let up."
Ayton, despite the ejection, sounded like a man hungry for Wednesday.
"I'm licking my chops," Ayton said. "Trust me. I've been here before. This was supposed to be an elimination game, but I love what the crowd brought. Tonight definitely made us angry. I'm pretty angry. Honestly, I wish we could play tomorrow."
But they can't play tomorrow. They have to wait. They have to sit with this loss.
They have to watch film of 24 turnovers and five three-pointers and one flagrant foul that changed everything.
They have to think about 2010––about sweeps. About the ghost that follows this franchise like a shadow.
The Rockets had 90 points after three quarters. The Lakers had 65. That third quarter — that beautiful disastrous disastrous beautiful quarter—saw Houston outscore Los Angeles 31-20.
The lead ballooned. The energy deflated. The brooms stayed in the closet.
Ime Udoka, the Houston coach who looks like he could still guard someone right now, put it simply.
"The focus was good today. Guys have pride. You obviously don't want to get swept," Udoka said.
They didn't. They won't be swept. The streak continues.
Sixteen years and counting since the last Lakers sweep.
Sixteen years of close-out games and clinch opportunities and moments that slipped away.
Sixteen years of almost and not quite and maybe Wednesday.
The Lakers will try again Wednesday night. They will try to be the team that finally ends the drought. They will try to be the team that sweeps.
But Sunday night in Houston, surrounded by 24 turnovers and five threes and one flagrant that might have been nothing or might have been everything, they looked like a team that forgot how.
"We didn't have it tonight," Smart said. "That's part of it."
Part of it.
Part of the 16-year part.
Part of the ghost that won't leave.
Wednesday night in Los Angeles, we find out if the Lakers can finally bury it.