October 9, 2017, published on

Everyone is waiting for Lonzo Ball.

Reporters box each other out, jockeying for position, their arms outstretched with recorders, their bodies shoulder to shoulder. One woman complains that a man, over six feet tall, is blocking her view. He turns around, angrily, and refuses to budge. Members of the antsy crowd need the best view of Ball, the one who throws bullet passes 94 feet; the one who weaves through traffic with be-quick-but-don’t-hurry speed; the one who has been anointed savior of the NBA‘s most storied franchise.

It’s Lakers media day, in late September, but it could have been called “Lonzo Day.”

He’s here. The 19-year-old is wearing his black ZO2 Prime Remix sneakers below a grape-colored sleeve over his knee and calf. “My swag pad,” he says, smiling with all of his teeth, calm in a way only he can be: reserved, yet warm; cold-blooded competitively, yet composed.

Reporters fire off question after question. Ball doesn’t look bothered; he never really does. But you can tell he’d rather disappear into the hardwood. No cameras. No questions. Just the ball and the hoop, jumpers and jab steps. (READ FULL STORY HERE).