Don't Let the Lipstick Fool You

by Lisa Leslie

  D, Toto, and Rhonda all gave me different looks and styles to deal with, and that made me a better player. I was challenged over and over on the practice floor. One of them might get the ball from me, but they all knew that I would be coming right back at them on my next trip down the floor. We were all relentless in our efforts, and because of that, we all became better basketball players.

  The 2001 season was the Sparks’ first in our new home, Staples Center, in downtown Los Angeles. It was an incredibly modern facility that seated almost nineteen thousand people, and it was completely different than the Great Western Forum. This arena had purple seats, luxury boxes, a restaurant, and so much more. Unfortunately, when the season began, we did not spend much time in our new building, because nine of our first thirteen games were played on the road, but when we did get to play in L.A., we took a quick liking to our new arena. And it was a nice complement to the strong season we were having. At the All-Star break we were 17–3 overall and 8–0 at our new home.

  The All-Star Game was in Orlando that year, and I was a little surprised to find out that the WNBA’s fans did not vote me to start for the West All-Stars. It was not really an issue initially. I did not look at it as though I had some God-given right to start in the All-Star Game. The fans did the voting, and I did not have an attitude about that, but a lot of people, including several commentators, interpreted the snub as a slap in the face for me, and they let me know about it. That made me think. Was it really an insult? I mean, the fans voted in some good players. It was not like the league, the coaches, or the players had picked the starters. But the more I thought about it, the more unfair it seemed. I started to wonder if I should go to the All-Star Game at all.

  It was crazy. Normally, a player would expect the hometown fans to vote her in, but for some reason, the All-Star balloting was not a big deal to the Sparks’ management. It was different for the Monarchs and the Comets. Their franchises really got into it. Game after game, they would make announcements in the arenas, hand out ballots, and then have workers go through the stands to gather up the forms and stuff them into the ballot boxes. Sacramento and Houston really worked at it, and in 2001 each of those teams had multiple players on the starting squad for the West.

  I did not think the Sparks did a good job of promoting the All-Star balloting. In fact, I can remember only one home game in which the ballots were put on the seats in the arena. Most nights, the ballots were available in the lobby, but there was no publicity or fanfare about it. The fans were expected to find the ballots on their own, fill them out, and then deposit the paperwork in the little boxes that bore the All-Star logo. We did not do any promos on the big scoreboard or anything. I did not know about the voting, and I never saw one thing that said VOTE FOR LISA or VOTE FOR TAMECKA. I do not even think that I voted for myself. Tamecka and I were both lucky that the coaches added us to the All-Star roster as reserves. It was not a priority in L.A.

  Now I try not to meddle in front-office business, but on this occasion, I let the Sparks’ management know that I thought our organization had dropped the ball and should not make that same mistake again. It would be one thing to have our fans vote for the All-Star starters and get outvoted by other WNBA fans, but it was ridiculous for the Sparks’ players to get left out because our fans were not made aware of the balloting process.

  After a lot of thought, I decided that I should go to the game. I figured, Okay, if I can’t start in the All-Star Game, then I will just be the MVP off the bench. That is my goal. I looked at the situation and tried to find the positive in it. In my mind, the plus was that the starters would only be playing about five or six minutes, and then I would come off the bench with some of the other reserves. I would still have the same opportunity and playing time that the starters got. It would be up to me to get in there and play.

  So I headed to Orlando right after my final Sparks game before the All-Star break, and I was happy to see Van Chancellor, the head coach for the West’s All-Star team. He was fun and my teammates were cool, even though one of them was Seattle rookie Lauren Jackson, the Australian player who had pulled my ponytail off at the previous Olympics. This marked the first time that we had ever played on the same team. Our interaction was limited. Lauren did not really know me, and I did not know her, but I was not a person who carried a grudge. I spoke. She spoke. That was pretty much it. We practiced, enjoyed the festivities, and got ready for the game.

  It was a little weird for me when the pregame introductions took place inside the TD Waterhouse Centre. In the two previous WNBA All-Star Games, I had been introduced with the starters, but this time I was not a part of all the noise, the pyrotechnics, and the excitement that accompanied the entrance of each starting player. This was a new and different feeling, but I was already focused on what I was there for and what I wanted to do.

  The East team was really pumped up for the game. The New York Liberty had three starters on the squad: Teresa Weatherspoon, Vickie Johnson, and Tari Phillips. Orlando’s Taj McWilliams-Franklin and Washington’s Nikki McRay joined them in the lineup. Our West team had won the first two All-Star Games, and the East was tired of losing. They were talking about kicking our butts.

  I sat on the bench and watched as the game got under way. Orlando Magic star Tracy McGrady was sitting courtside. He kept telling me, “Lisa, when you get in there, BALL!!” Coming off the bench was definitely motivation for me. I had found out that Glen Rice was the only player in NBA or WNBA history to win the MVP award as a nonstarter, and that was back in 1997.

  When I heard Coach Chancellor call my name, I went into the game, along with my Sparks teammate Tamecka Dixon. Tamecka was a first-time All-Star, and she was very excited to be there. I was happy for her, too. We got rolling with some nice passes, layups, jump shots, and three-pointers. Everything was clicking. I blocked a shot in the area near T-Mac, and I yelled, “Get that outta here!”

  He yelled, “Yeah! Yeah!” Tracy was going crazy. I love it when guys are into the women’s game. It shows that they appreciate our skills. They understand what it is like to play, so it is a huge compliment when NBA players come out and enjoy a WNBA game. I think it is great that they support women’s basketball.

  It was already set in my mind to win the MVP trophy, so during the game, I was thinking, Have fun and put on a show. I was excited. I hit a three-pointer and held up my fingers to count one, two, three. I drove and kicked the ball to Lauren Jackson. She hit a three-point shot from the corner. We slapped five and ran back down court.

  What I really wanted to do was dunk in that game, but a good opportunity never came up. I was focused on jamming one down, and the East was focused on making sure that I did not get a dunk and embarrass them. Tamecka tried to set me up with a pass, but it just did not happen, and I did not want to force it.

  When the final buzzer sounded in Orlando, the West had an 80–72 victory, and I was the unanimous choice as the All-Star Game’s most valuable player. I had scored twenty points, grabbed nine rebounds, and blocked three shots in just twenty-three minutes of play. I had accomplished what I had set out to do, even though the fans had not voted me in. That had been my motivation, and I think Coach Chancellor knew it. After the game he said, “See, you went and pissed Leslie off, so she came down here and got the MVP. She was on a mission.” He said it jokingly, but he was right. I thought that if nothing else, I needed to make the statement that I deserved to be an All-Star starter.

  The All-Star Weekend had interrupted the Sparks’ eight-game winning streak, but after the break, we got right back on track and won ten more games in a row. We finished the season with a 28–4 record, exactly the same as the year before, but this time we led the league in scoring, rebounding, and assists, and we closed out the regular season undefeated at home, earning home-court advantage for the playoffs.

  Our first-round foe was the Houston Comets, who had managed to work their way into the playoffs, despite playing the entire season with Sheryl Swoopes sidelined due to
an ACL surgery. We had taken two out of three games from Houston during the regular season, but our playoff history with them was not favorable. We had never been able to get past the Comets in the postseason.

  Every time that the Comets eliminated us, it forced us to reexamine ourselves and strive to improve. We just had to get over the hump. We had to be hungrier during the playoffs. We had to play more like champions and not leave the results up to chance. Houston knew how to go to that next level. They were a veteran team that had learned about maturity and intensity from their early years in the playoffs. As far as we knew, the Sparks did not have another level. What we learned from losing to the Comets was that we needed to have better focus and play with unrelenting intensity. We had to understand that the regular season was just that—the regular season. You want to play well during it, but you do not want to burn out your team. What you really want to do is create good habits and put yourself in the best position to be successful in the postseason. In previous years, we had played the regular season to get a great record. But, like my teammate Tamecka Dixon said at the time, “The regular season don’t mean anything. It’s just a good time for us to tune up for what we need to do in the postseason.”

  She was right. By the time the L.A. Sparks got to that first-round series with Houston, we were already in shape. Our shots and our moves were pretty much in place. We knew our offense, we knew where our teammates would be on the court, and our defensive principles were ingrained in our minds. The big difference in the playoffs is mental, not physical. The team that is best able to stay focused and limit mistakes usually wins.

  We took that philosophy into our series against Houston and won handily. The win gave us seventeen consecutive victories at home, and it set up a showdown with the Sacramento Monarchs for the Western Conference championship. After the final game, Lakers guard Derek Fisher, who had been sitting courtside and wearing my number nine Sparks jersey, started to chant, “MVP! MVP!” I felt a twinge of excitement, but I knew I had to keep my cool; we still had to beat Sacramento before getting to the finals.

  The Western Conference championship was a roller coaster. The Sparks and Monarchs had developed a very bitter, very physical rivalry over the years, and the Monarchs’ arena was always a raucous place to play. The fans really got behind their team and were extremely loud with their taunts and their cowbells. As a result, Sacramento was awfully tough to beat in their own building.

  Game One went down to the wire in Sacramento. We led by one point with two seconds left on the clock and managed to hang on. In Game Two, we were back in L.A., and I was awarded the WNBA’s Most Valuable Player trophy in a pregame ceremony at center court. I was very honored and grateful. The award meant a lot to me because the voters had recognized my talent, my hard work, and my value to the Sparks. We had a game to play, though, so the MVP trophy was carted off, and the playoff stage was set. But that is not the only reason I have such vivid memories of this game. It was also one of the most physical games of my entire career.

  The Sparks needed just one victory to move on to the WNBA finals for the very first time, and the way the game started out, our chances looked pretty good. The Monarchs missed their first six shots. We had them down by eleven points in the first half, but they got physical and stormed back. And I do mean physical.

  In diving after a loose ball, an opponent’s head crashed into my eye. Another Sacramento player swung her elbow and hit me in the same eye. And then, later on, I was elbowed in the face. I walked away from the game with a busted lip, rattled teeth, a black eye, and one very sore nose (which, thankfully, was not broken). I had been worked over and beaten up all game long. Coach Cooper later said to me, “Smooth, you feel like you got your butt whipped, don’t you?” All I could do was nod.

  We got beaten on the scoreboard, too. Sacramento won by twenty points, and our seventeen-game winning streak at home was over. This set up a major showdown for the final game of the series. The winner would advance to the WNBA finals.

  As I sat in our locker room after that loss in Game Two, the thought that would not leave my head was, I am not going to be the one crying tomorrow. That was my biggest motivation to get the job done in Game Three. The Sparks, as a team, had to decide if we were going to dig in for that game, play hard, and fight back, or let the conference championship slip through our fingers.

  Coach Cooper took me aside before Game Three and said, “Smooth, I need for you to show up. We need to see the MVP in this one.” I understood the challenge and the stakes. My teammates and I were determined to win, and we jumped out early. We beat Sacramento in the paint, time after time, and by halftime, we were up fifteen points. The second half was more of the same. I wound up with a career high of thirty-five points, plus sixteen rebounds and seven blocked shots. The L.A. Sparks were Western Conference champions for the first time, and we had earned our first ticket to the WNBA finals.

  Chapter 12

  To the Victor Go the Spoils

  It was August 30, 2001, and the L.A. Sparks were in North Carolina for Game One of the WNBA finals against the Charlotte Sting. My girl Dawn Staley was the starting point guard for Charlotte, and we met on the court before the game and hit hands. It was time to play. If this had been a regular-season game, we would have been out there stretching, joking, and laughing. Dawn and I were very close, and normally, I would have talked with her during warm-ups. But this was the WNBA finals. Not one word was said. We looked at each other, and we both knew that this was it.

  The first time I met Dawn was in the summer of 1989. I had just finished my junior year at Morningside High School, and she was a freshman at the University of Virginia. We were both in Colorado Springs, trying out for the U.S. junior national team, and we wound up being roommates. I had no idea who this short girl was, but I could see right away that she could really play. I was in awe of her talent. Dawn was exceptionally fast and a terrific passer, too. She called me Big Girl, and I thought that was the best thing since apple pie. She would yell, “Get down on the block, Big Girl,” and I would get to my spot in a hurry. Dawn fired me up when she called me that name, because whenever I heard it, I knew I was getting ready to score, and somebody on the opposing team was in for some trouble. “Big Girl, come on. We need one,” she would say. “Come here. It’s me and you. Pick and roll. Two-man game.” Dawn had an intensity level that made me want to be my very best every second that I was on the floor with her. Magic Johnson is like that, too. When I practice with him, I never want to mess up. I always want to be on top of my game, because I know that he will. Dawn was the same way.

  Both Dawn and I made the junior national team, and over the next fifteen years, we would go on to be teammates for numerous USA Basketball adventures. Every time we made a team, we roomed together and laughed and giggled all summer long. It was as if we had a routine: play basketball, win games, earn medals, and go back to our respective homes. We played all over the world together, earning gold medals at the Olympics, world championships, and Goodwill Games. I guess you could call us the Golden Girls. In any regard, that is a lot to accomplish with the same teammate.

  Dawn and I played so well together because we clicked in our understanding of basketball, and we could really communicate with each other. Dawn knew how I played, and she was confident about my skills. I knew that she was always the floor general. Whatever she wanted, whatever play she called, that is what Dawn Staley got from me. There was never a question about who was in charge. Dawn was always the captain, and I was her center. There would be no mutiny on our ship. I think that kind of respect made our relationship work. If Dawn did not throw me the ball, I knew there was a good reason. You could not find a stitch of selfishness in her, so there was never any doubt about her motives and never any room for thoughts of jealousy.

  But all the good memories and warm sentiment had to be put behind us when our teams squared off for the 2001 WNBA championship. Dawn was steering Charlotte’s ship, but now I was the opposing center, and we b
oth wanted what only one of us could have.

  The Sting had stumbled out of the gate in the regular season. They slumped to a 1–10 start, but Dawn kept telling me, “Don’t sleep on Charlotte. We’re coming.”

  I would tell her, “Y’all ain’t doing nothing!”

  Dawn and I were always talking trash to each other about our teams. I would say, “Y’all can’t get past New York, so I’m not worried about Charlotte.”

  She’d come back with, “Yeah, but you’ve got to see Houston.”

  We always got a good laugh out of it, but Dawn turned out to be right about her team. The Sting got their act together under head coach Anne Donovan, and they pulled off an amazing turnaround.

  Dawn and I had teased each other all season long, but once we hit the playoffs, all the kidding stopped. Everything got very serious, and Dawn and I never communicated again during the postseason. That was difficult for us. We had constantly joked about meeting in the finals, but when our Sparks-Sting matchup became a reality, there was no room for friendship, though there was no love lost. That was just the way it had to be. I could not let her spoil my chance to win a championship ring, and Dawn was not about to give up her big opportunity for me.

  Game One of the WNBA finals was at the Charlotte Coliseum, and we knew the Sting would be psyched to grab a win in front of their home fans. Dawn was Charlotte’s floor leader, and she had some excellent players to work with. Andrea Stinson was a solid frontline player. Tammy Sutton-Brown was a highly touted rookie playing the center position, and two of my former L.A. Sparks teammates, Allison Feaster and Clarisse Machanguana, were key contributors for Charlotte as well.

  The game was played pretty evenly through the first half, but Stinson canned a buzzer beater just before intermission, and the Sting took a four-point lead to the locker room. In the second half, Charlotte stretched its advantage to eleven points before the Sparks finally mounted a comeback. Our defense set the tone by holding the Sting scoreless for over seven minutes. I finished with twenty-four points, eight rebounds, and two blocked shots. DeLisha and Tamecka hit for double-digit points as well, and the L.A. Sparks took the first game of the WNBA finals by a score of 75–66.