Lakers' postseason hopes rest with L.O.

by Mark Kriegel

Updated: April 18, 2008, 1:55 PM EST

Holiday Kriegel is crazy for Lamar Odom.

"He hooked us up," she giggles.

Actually, it was his friend R.J. who hooked us up. More on that later. For now, it's enough to know that my kid understands that expatriate New Yorkers in Los Angeles are obliged to root for their own. Odom is from Jamaica, Queens, and Christ the King High School.

But he is also, objectively speaking, the determining variable in figuring the Los Angeles Lakers, the best team in the best conference and a favorite to win the title.

Kobe Bryant will be Kobe Bryant, which is to say, almost Jordanesque. Likewise, you pretty much know what you'll get from Pau Gasol and Derek Fisher. But the key is Odom. If he plays his best basketball, the Lakers win it all. I think it's that simple.

I hear people in L.A. complain that he's not what he could be, or even what he should be. Translation: He's not Scottie Pippen. No, he's not Pippen. And yes, his jumper has a tendency to flatten out. But if he isn't perfectly suited for the triangle offense, at 6-10, Odom remains the most diversely talented player in the game. He's also the reason that the Lakers won 57 games despite losing their center.

Andrew Bynum went down on January 13. Some weeks later, Mitch Kupchak traded for (some would say stole) Pau Gasol from the Memphis Grizzlies. Gasol is a fine player, a great second option, but not a true center. Still, the Lakers got better.

It was able to happen, in large part, because Lamar Odom raised his game. Consider his numbers when Bynum injured his knee: 13.5 points, 9.2 rebounds. 2.5 assists, 48 percent from the field. In the time since: 14.7 points, 11.6 rebounds, 4.2 assists, 55 percent from the field.

Only nine players in the league averaged double figures in points and rebounds. For the record, these would be Tim Duncan, Antawn Jamison, Carlos Boozer, Dwight Howard, Al Jefferson, Emeka Okafor, Tyson Chandler, Samuel Dalembert and, of course, Odom. Of those, however, Odom is the only one who can bring the ball up the court, the only one who can create a play off his own dribble, and the only one who can be counted on to distribute the basketball. He's unselfish, perhaps to a fault, though as a Laker, his numbers have gone up in the playoffs. If that happens again, Los Angeles wins a championship, and Bryant is declared the NBA Finals MVP.

In the meantime, my kid will be rooting for L.O., as she calls him. A couple of weeks ago, I got a call from the aforementioned R.J. His name is Rob Johnson. He, too, is from Queens, and used to describe his occupation as "basketball consultant."

Some years ago, while writing about St. John's, I tore him up pretty good, calling him a hustler and a street agent and all the rest. Truth is, he's a good guy — a lot better than most of what's out there — and St. John's hasn't been worth a damn since it stopped taking his players.

Now Rob, who's such a hustler he has to work nights, says he's out of the basketball business. But he's still tight with Lamar, and it's a source of no small pride that the ninth-grader he knew at Christ the King has grown up to be a stand-up guy, putting him up in a suite where movie stars stay.

You may be the star, Kobe, but your playoff fate rests in the hands of Lamar. (Kevork Djansezian / Associated Press)

"I got tickets," he tells me. "Bring your daughter."

So I brought her — me, Holiday and R.J. sitting on the floor.

"Daddy," she says, "these are Lamar's seats."

Lamar. Like they're old friends.

"I know, honey. R.J. hooked us up."

My journalistic integrity, such as it is, has been compromised by a lot less.

I go to the concession stand and return with R.J.'s dinner. I notice that every time his guy touches the ball, he's calling out, "L.O."

Pretty soon, Holiday Kriegel is doing the same. L.O., Daddy, L.O.

It's not much of a game, what with the Trail Blazers in town. But my daughter's having such a good time she might as well be at Hannah Montana.

Then it occurs to me that this June will be two years since Lamar Odom lost a child. His son, Jayden, was six-and-a-half months old when he suffocated in his crib.

No one ever talks about that. But try playing through that pain.

Now I want to cheer for the guy, too. L.O., L.O., L.O.