After the Lakers' collapse last season, the internal direction of the franchise had already begun to change.
Once Jim Buss officially took control of basketball operations, one reality became increasingly obvious.
The Lakers were no longer fully committed to Dwight Howard.
Dwight was furious when he realized it.
For weeks, Howard had been waiting at home, expecting the Lakers to arrive with a maximum contract offer and a full commitment speech. Instead, what he received was silence, delays, and vague reassurances that never progressed into serious negotiation.
For the first time, Howard almost understood how Shaquille O'Neal must have felt years earlier.
In interviews, Howard openly expressed frustration with the organization, though even then, he never truly intended to leave Los Angeles.
From Howard's perspective, this was still part of the process.
A little pressure.
A little drama.
Then, eventually, the Lakers would calm him down and hand over the contract anyway.
That was how stars were supposed to be treated.
Unfortunately for him, the Lakers were no longer thinking emotionally.
Publicly, general manager Mitch Kupchak continued insisting the franchise remained confident about re-signing Howard.
Privately, the front office had barely taken Howard's demands seriously.
The biggest reason was simple.
Kobe Bryant never suffered the devastating injury that originally changed the Lakers' timeline.
That single difference altered everything.
In another timeline, Kobe's injury had bought the Lakers two years of transition space. Jim Buss could slowly reset expectations and rebuild patience internally.
But now?
Kobe was still healthy. Still productive. Still chasing records with the same obsessive intensity.
Jim Buss had no intention of waving a white flag while Kobe remained capable of carrying the franchise spotlight.
Once he took over operations, Buss immediately entered what the Lakers internally called a three-year window plan—a final attempt to maximize the Kobe era before restructuring the organization completely.
And because of that strategy, Howard no longer fit the long-term picture.
The Lakers wanted flexibility.
Cap space.
A clean financial reset heading into the summer of 2014.
A franchise like Los Angeles did not believe in waiting through years of slow rebuilding. Their identity depended on attracting stars directly.
To do that, they first needed room to maneuver.
That was when Daryl Morey sensed an opportunity.
The Rockets' general manager moved immediately, flying to Los Angeles as soon as he detected instability between Howard and the Lakers.
Last season had already convinced Morey that James Harden was a franchise cornerstone. Now he wanted the perfect partner beside him.
At the time, league philosophy still revolved heavily around the classic inside-outside pairing model.
Shaq and Kobe.
Duncan and Parker.
Dominant big paired with an elite perimeter creator.
Morey believed Howard and Harden could recreate that structure.
A dominant rim runner.
A foul-generating isolation scorer.
A combination powerful enough to challenge the Western Conference hierarchy.
But shortly after arriving in Los Angeles, Morey discovered another familiar face staying in the same hotel.
Donnie Nelson.
Morey immediately became alert.
Don't tell me Dallas is here for Dwight, too, he thought.
At nearly the same moment, Nelson noticed Morey as well and drew the same conclusion in reverse.
Is Houston trying to steal DeAndre from us?
The misunderstanding was almost perfect.
Dallas had arrived for an entirely different reason.
After another painful playoff defeat to San Antonio, head coach Rick Carlisle concluded that the Mavericks' interior defense remained too weak. While Amar'e Stoudemire still provided offensive production, Carlisle wanted a more athletic defensive anchor beside Dirk.
Their target became DeAndre Jordan.
The Clippers, meanwhile, surprisingly showed genuine interest in Stoudemire.
From Los Angeles' perspective, a frontcourt pairing of Griffin and Stoudemire sounded commercially irresistible.
Two explosive dunkers.
Constant highlights.
Full arenas every night.
After re-signing Eric Bledsoe and seeing Chauncey Billups retire, the Clippers suddenly had enough financial flexibility to explore the deal seriously.
There was also another important factor.
Stoudemire's contract still contained injury protection language. If his body declined further later, the Clippers could still clear flexibility through waivers and insurance mechanisms.
So both sides quietly opened negotiations in Los Angeles.
All of it connected back to one key change.
Kobe Bryant staying healthy.
Because Kobe never collapsed physically, the Lakers never fully disappeared from the center of Los Angeles basketball culture.
That changed the balance of attention across the entire city.
In another timeline, the Clippers gained momentum partly because the Lakers entered years of instability and tanking after Kobe's injury. Fans gradually shifted attention as one franchise declined and the other rose.
But now?
That shift never fully happened.
As long as Kobe remained active, the Lakers remained the dominant spotlight in Los Angeles.
The league might talk constantly about rebuilding, development, and patience.
But underneath everything, the NBA still operated on star power and visibility.
And nobody understood that reality better than the Lakers.
In a commercial league, the value of a superstar could not truly be measured with numbers alone.
Television ratings.
Jersey sales.
Sponsorships.
National broadcasts.
Everything eventually circled back to star power.
Take the Knicks, for example. Without Lin Yi, could they still maintain this level of attention every single night?
…Actually, yes.
Madison Square Garden would probably still be full regardless.
But that was beside the point. What mattered was that the balance of power in Los Angeles had changed far more than Lin Yi originally remembered.
The Clippers, in particular, were noticeably weaker than expected.
Without the Lakers collapsing completely, the Clippers never fully seized control of the city's basketball spotlight. That difference affected everything, especially ownership priorities.
Winning mattered, but business mattered too.
And because of that, the Clippers suddenly valued marketable stars even more aggressively.
Amar'e Stoudemire still carried All-Star recognition and an offensive reputation. From the Clippers' perspective, pairing him with Blake Griffin would create nonstop highlights.
Two explosive interior scorers.
Two dunk machines.
A guaranteed entertainment product.
That alone made the Mavericks' negotiations move quickly.
Of course, Los Angeles still wanted compensation.
DeAndre Jordan had the smaller contract, more defensive value, and a cleaner long-term projection. If Dallas wanted him, the Clippers expected draft assets attached.
Dallas had no intention of moving Kyrie Irving, the only young player the Clippers truly coveted.
That left picks as the obvious solution.
And so, while the actual negotiations were happening quietly behind closed doors, another invisible battle started elsewhere.
Daryl Morey and Donnie Nelson both believed the other side was chasing the same target.
Both teams needed rim protection. Naturally, each side assumed the other was direct competition. The funniest part was that neither of them actually knew the full picture.
Meanwhile, Dwight Howard sat at home listening to Houston's recruiting pitch with growing satisfaction.
The Rockets praised him relentlessly.
Franchise centerpiece.
Defensive anchor.
Perfect partner for Harden.
The more Morey talked, the happier Howard became.
I knew it, Howard thought smugly. I'm still that guy.
In his mind, the Lakers had made a massive mistake.
If Los Angeles wanted to choose Kobe over him, then fine.
Houston looked good, too.
Young roster.
Flexible system.
And most importantly, Harden was not the type of star who would constantly challenge him for leadership. Howard increasingly convinced himself that the Rockets were the perfect destination.
At the same time, he also grew more bitter toward the Lakers.
They think Kobe is their gold mine, Howard thought irritably. But they don't realize they just gave up something even bigger.
As negotiations approached the final stage, Morey allowed himself a rare moment of confidence. He genuinely believed he had outmaneuvered Dallas.
On the other side of Los Angeles, the Clippers and Mavericks were also nearing a final agreement. To the Clippers' surprise, Dallas quickly accepted almost every condition.
Additional picks?
Fine.
Financial adjustments?
No problem.
Contract protections?
Accepted immediately.
The Clippers' front office became increasingly pleased during the talks. For once, they felt like they were winning negotiations instead of surviving them.
Eventually, the organization informed DeAndre Jordan to prepare for a move to Dallas.
Jordan panicked immediately.
"Dallas?" he repeated.
Then came the second reaction.
"I'm not going."
From Jordan's perspective, he had already made a promise to Griffin. The two of them were supposed to keep building together in Los Angeles.
Loyalty and Brotherhood, they promised to each other.
At least initially.
Clippers general manager Lawrence Frank sighed before calmly delivering the final detail.
"Dallas is prepared to offer you a full max contract once your current deal ends."
Silence.
Then Jordan's tone changed instantly.
"You should have started with the full max, Frank," he replied. "I'll start packing."
The transition happened so quickly that it almost felt comedic.
Suddenly, loyalty became flexible and promises negotiable.
And Griffin could apparently continue his journey without him.
Because in the NBA, emotions often lasted only until the contract numbers arrived.
That reality never really changed.
. . .
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