Former NHL player Ryan Kesler said the lack of education about a popular anti-inflammatory medication led to his chronic digestive problems, which he revealed on a Canadian sports documentary.

Kesler and other former NHL players spoke out about overuse of medications like toradol, a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug, on a TSN news segment called "The Problem of Pain," which debuts Tuesday night.

Kesler, who played 1,001 games for the Vancouver Canucks and Anaheim Ducks, hasn't played in the NHL since March 2019 because of chronic hip problems. To manage the pain, he said he would frequently take toradol, a drug not approved for long-term use. "I never wanted to hurt the team, so I knew I had to play. To play, you have to take painkillers," he said.

In 2015, Kesler said he developed colitis, a chronic disease that causes long-lasting inflammation and ulcers in the digestive tract. Doctors told him the condition was most likely triggered by the toradol abuse.

"I had holes in my colon and ulcers, and basically my whole intestines went into spasm. It's very unpleasant. You've gotta go to the bathroom 30-40 times a day. And when you do go to the bathroom, it's pure blood. It depletes you. It's terrible. And it's all because I wasn't made aware of what this drug could potentially do to me," he said.

In fall 2019, Kesler was diagnosed with Crohn's disease, an inflammatory bowel disease.

Kesler said NHL teams have not educated their players about the risks of pain medications. "I never knew what it could do to me. Or the side effects. I feel like if I can talk about the dangers about it, it'll help everybody," he said.

TSN's Rick Westhead, who created "The Problem of Pain" with producer Matt Cade, said that overuse of toradol is widespread in the NHL, with multiple agents telling him they have players "who take it before every regular-season and playoff game" to manage their pain.

"A lot of this, in terms of accountability and responsibly, comes down to team trainers and team doctors," Westhead said. "If you believe what these players are telling us, how can it be that they're being given prescription medication that you're not supposed to take more than five days in a row for a full season and not telling them what could happen if you do this?"

Mike Davis, who came to prominence setting up U.S. Open courses and rose to become the USGA’s first CEO, announced Tuesday he will leaving the organization at the end of 2021 to pursue his lifelong passion for golf course design.

Davis, 55, joined the USGA in 1990. In 2011, he succeeded David Fay to become the seventh executive director in the organization's history. In 2016, he was named CEO, which under revised bylaws made that position, and no longer the USGA president, the most powerful in the organization.

The announcement comes in the aftermath of a well-received U.S. Open at Winged Foot, which due to COVID-19 was played in September for the first time since 1913, and without spectators.

“It’s just the right time for me,” said Davis. “I’m in a really good place. Part of me will indeed be sad because I’ve grown up in this organization, but I’m excited about the future. The USGA’s in a great place. And I think the game is moving in the right direction.”

Davis said that when he took the executive director job he promised his wife, Cece, it would be for 10 years. He  informed the executive committee in 2018 the timetable of his planned departure.

“I could tell, five or six years into it, that this is not a job where I would be doing myself or the USGA a favor by staying too long,” said Davis, whose job required him to spend about 200 days a year away from home. “I got into the position where I knew I could only keep this pace up and keep the enthusiasm for so long. I’ve had a lot of CEOs tell me this type of job kind of wears you out, and it turned out to be very true.”

Davis’ replacement will be chosen by a succession committee made up of several members of the executive committee, which has also hired a search firm to assist. Internal and external candidates will be considered. The goal is for a successor to be in place next May, before the 2021 U.S. Open at Torrey Pines.

“I’ll be part of process, but I’m not going to be choosing my successor,” said Davis. “I’m sure I’ll offer something about what the job entails and what I think is needed. When the time comes, I’ll make sure people know that this is the new person. I’ll be helpful, but also ready to say, 'Here you go. Take my office.' I think it’s a more comfortable thing.”

In his remaining 15 months on the job, Davis said his priorities will be to lead the organization through the challenges of COVID-19, advance the establishment of the recently announced Golf House Pinehurst, oversee the resumption of the ongoing Distance Insights Project, and ensure a smooth transition.

In his next venture, he will team with golf course designer Tom Fazio II to form Fazio & Davis Golf Design. The two have been friends for years. Fazio, whose father, Jim Fazio, and uncle, Tom Fazio, are both prominent course architects, recently helped Davis with creating a new master plan for the course he grew up on, Chambersburg (PA) CC. “We just clicked,” said Davis.

To those who know Davis best, his new direction is not a surprise. The former college golfer at Georgia Southern was doodling golf holes in high school even before he won the 1982 Pennsylvania State Junior. He acknowledges that his favorite task at the USGA was working on preparing  courses for all the USGA championships and the U.S. Open, in particular.

After several years of assisting former setup man Tom Meeks with that championship, Davis was named director of rules and competitions in 2005. His first U.S. Open setup at Winged Foot in 2006 was lauded. For the next 12 championships, including eight where he performed double duty after being named executive director, he willingly took on the challenge. But in 2019, he chose to hand the duties off to John Bodenhamer, who was appointed senior director of championships. “I was frankly stretched too thin U.S. Open week,” Davis said. “John has done a tremendous job.”

In large part because of the growth of social media (which also gave players a louder voice), Davis increasingly became a lightning rod for complaints about the U.S. Open. Setups at Merion in 2013 and Shinnecock Hills 2018 were criticized, as was the choice to take the U.S. Open to two new courses in close succession at Chambers Bay in 2015 and Erin Hills in 2017. It prompted some, including Jack Nicklaus, to question whether the championship was losing its identity, leading the USGA to conduct an extensive survey with findings that supported the U.S. Open returning more often to its most classic venues.  With Pinehurst becoming the championship’s anchor by being slated to play host five times between 2024 and 2047, more frequent visits to Oakmont, Pebble Beach, Shinnecock Hills and Winged Foot is establishing a de facto rota under Davis’ leadership.

It’s been a job full of endless challenges, but it’s also what made his next chapter possible.

“When I was running rules and competitions, it was just heart and soul for me,” Davis said. “It would have been easy to have finished out my career in that job in my mid-60s. But if I had done that and not taken executive director, I never would have gotten into golf course design and construction. Because these last couple of years I’ve told myself, ‘If I don’t do this, I’m always going to regret it.’ I look back and say I just lucked out.”

The Davis Decade will be marked by a variety of accomplishments, including the establishment of a world handicapping system, rules modernization, three new championships in the Women’s Senior Open and men’s and women’s amateur four balls, and a powerful fundraising arm with the USGA Foundation. Behind the scenes, but perhaps most significant, Davis played an important role in changing USGA’s governing structure, with the staff gaining fuller control of the day-to-day operation while the executive committee took on a more advisory role.

Davis is most proud of committing to solving controversial issues.

“I look at the things we knew would be hard and unpopular with some, like anchoring and distance,” he said. “I remember when the board talked to me about applying for the position, and one of the things I said to them was, ‘We have to be willing to take on tough issues if they need to be taken on.’ And I used distance as an example. Because I love golf courses. It’s just destroyed me to see what’s happened in some ways because of distance. I said, ‘I’m not interested in this [job] if you are not willing to take that on.’

“There were times, the USGA and R&A would admit this, where we thought, ‘Ok, everything that’s out there now, that’s good, let’s stop it right there.’ Instead of saying, ‘Wait a second. We’ve already gone too far. What’s best for the game?’  And I’ve always kind of thought that way. And every time I’m in an equipment meeting, I remind everyone, ‘Before we say, this is where we are, and we can stop it here,’ ask yourselves, is that the right thing for the game?’ If you are governing body, that’s your responsibility in the long term. Don’t take the easy way out.

"Governance is not a popularity contest.”

Davis said he isn’t worried that his departure will slow momentum on the Distance Insights Project, which because of the pandemic has been postponed until early next year.

“Our board is very aligned with the R&A leadership that this is something we have to solve,” he said. “We don’t yet know how we’re going to solve it, in terms of what we should do, how we do it, when we should do it. But that will work itself out.  We committed millions of dollars to this, and when you look at the data, so crystal clear. You just can’t argue it. It’s something that’s going to happen long after I’m gone, but that we know is going to happen.”

Stu Francis, the current president of the USGA, admires Davis’ ability to connect across the community of golf through what is unmistakably a genuine bond with the game.

“Mike obviously has tremendous golf skills – a passion and understanding of it,” Francis said. “And he’s had a great ability to think about what’s right for golf. To a degree, that takes a very unselfish person. He’s always been that way. It’s well known in the game and it’s a big part of why he has been effective.”

As for his venture into golf architecture, Davis says with an adamant smile that he will not be reprising of U.S. Open setups.

“I love Winged Foot, I love Oakmont. The architecture, the greens, the bunkers,” he said. “But the narrowness of them, I don’t like that kind of golf for me, and I don’t think it’s necessarily good for the recreational player. I don’t want someplace where you are constantly looking for golf balls. I don’t want a bunch of forced carries. I want to be able to bounce balls into greens. I like playable for the beginner, strategic for the better player. I think our courses will gravitate toward width, like a lot of great courses I know and like.”

“I know a lot about design, but I have a deficiency in the actual construction of course, in the build. So I’m going to learn a lot from Tom, but also go to Bill Coore and Gil Hanse and just get on one of their crews. Pete Dye would say, 'You can’t do effective design work until you understand construction.' I’m really looking forward to getting my hands dirty.”

For a lover of the game who personifies the sub-category of “purist,” overriding sentiment in what is generally considered a complicated career moment is one of gratitude.

“My whole career with the USGA, I’ve been so fortunate so often,” he said. “Seeing virtually all the world’s great golf courses, being part of a quiet dinner with just Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus, being the only person alive to have seen all of Tiger’s nine USGA victories. Just so many things, and it’s been an honor. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said to myself, 'I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.' What can you say? Right place and right time.”

And it seems he believes the theme will continue.

MLS announced the remainder of its regular season schedule, with each team playing nine more matches and concluding on Nov. 8.

The last day of the regular season -- which the league is calling Decision Day and will likely have a bearing on playoff qualification and seeding -- will see the 14 Eastern Conference teams kick off with seven simultaneous games at 3:30 p.m. ET, while the Western Conference teams will take part in six simultaneous games starting at 6:30 p.m. ET.

Due to travel restrictions imposed by the Canadian government, including a 14-day quarantine period for people traveling from the U.S. to Canada, the three Canadian teams will have to play their remaining home matches in the United States.

The Montreal Impact will play their home matches at Red Bull Arena in Harrison, New Jersey, Toronto FC's home base will be Rentschler Field in East Hartford, Connecticut, while the Vancouver Whitecaps will play their home matches at Providence Park in Portland, Oregon.

MLS clubs will continue to adhere to comprehensive health and safety protocols, including regular testing of players, coaches and essential staff for COVID-19.

MLS also stated that matches have been scheduled to minimize travel time, allowing visiting teams to arrive and depart on match day for the majority of games.

No team will have played the same opponent more than four times across all phases of regular season competition. This includes regular season games in MLS markets, as well as MLS is Back Tournament group stage games.

From a neutral standpoint, it would be absolutely thrilling if Luis Suarez joined Atletico Madrid. From an Atleti point of view, it might -- just might -- be sufficient to give them the natural, instinctive goal threat they've been missing for years. From La Liga's vista, retaining a world-class superstar and legendary talent -- rather than seeing him join Ever Banega, Santi Cazorla, Aritz Aduriz and Sergio Reguilon in disappearing from Spain's fields of play -- is gold dust.

From the Barcelona side of things, the whole idea is a small-visioned, deeply flawed, personality-based error of pretty huge proportions. Some may disagree, but I think it's blatantly obvious. More of that in a moment.

Let's start with the absolutely delicious prospect for those -- like most of you, and me -- who would stand back and expect the blue touchpaper to be lit if explosive Suarez meets abrasive Atletico. (Barca are apparently going to fight not to let this happen and might yet keep Suarez, which speaks further to their disarray.) You could begin it like one of those hackneyed old jokes: "Heard the one about an Argentinian, a Brazilian and a Uruguayan walk into a football club...?"

Why Suarez would make sense at Atletico

Diego Simeone may have lost his right hand, Mono Burgos, but his left still carries a powerful hook, jab and haymaker. The Argentinian has always been ferocious. As a player, like Suarez, he would do practically anything to win. This would make their union a meeting of like minds, but Simeone's most impressive components, like Suarez's, weren't pure dark arts -- they were his calculating brain and his relentless commitment to giving a bare minimum of 100%. That meant working hard every day in training, then upping the intensity in matches.

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You've witnessed what an electrifying, galvanising effect that's had on Atleti in the past decade, when he's achieved several things that will mark him down as, probably, the greatest individual figure in the entire, garlanded history of Los Colchoneros. He's earned the club many hundreds of millions of euros from relentlessly muscular performances in Europe -- hence a salary that is rumoured, and I believe it, to be the biggest for a manager anywhere in club football. He's consistently made any group of players the club has given him at least as good as the sum of the parts, and often greater.

That, I'd argue, is the No. 1 skill of any manager. And it's very, very rare.

He's completely catalysed the fanbase, drawing them like a Pied Piper, in ever more hungry, vociferous droves, to the Vicente Calderon, and then to the Wanda Metropolitano. Above all, he's won trophies -- seven of the beauties.

But Atleti are desperately short of scorers. Since losing Antoine Griezmann to Barcelona little more than a year ago, they've not had a proper lead striker (Alvaro Morata was top last season with 12 in La Liga) and since Kevin Gameiro scored 12 league goals three long years ago, Atleti's second-highest La Liga scorer, whoever it has been, hasn't managed to hit the net more than eight times. Not only is that not good enough, it's puny verging on pathetic.

Now the Brazilian. Diego Costa, for the moment, doesn't have any buyers. He's pretty static, reliant on trying to bully and frighten defenders because he's still one mean son of a gun. It's not that he doesn't have technique nor lacks ideas, but the cumulative weight fluctuations and injuries throughout the years have left him prematurely unable to make his body do what his mind and eyes can imagine.

What unifies him and his coach is their unwavering commitment to bulldozing all obstacles in their way in search of victory. Simeone and Costa represent the fiery, fighting, ferocious face of Atletico Madrid -- which is not to say, for one single moment, that the team, the squad, the coaching staff and the big bosses don't also possess football smarts, imagination, flair and athleticism. They do, but this remains a warrior club.

Whether Costa makes the cut and remains a Colchonero beyond the Oct. 5 transfer deadline remains to be seen. Frankly, I'd pay good money to watch him and Suarez gang up together; in training, in the dressing room, on away trips and, even if only occasionally, up front as a pairing. More often one would be replacing the other, given their age and the battle scars their bodies bear. But if there were a short series of months when Costa and Suarez were in the same team then it would be worth saying fervent prayers for goalkeepers, centre-halves and referees all over Spain and Europe.

What about Barca letting Suarez go?

Right now it's fashionable for disillusioned Barcelona fans to be ridiculously derogatory about Suarez. He's never had the most outstandingly athletic physique. Add to that the fact that he's turning 34 in January, that he's disconsolate at the way the Camp Nou authorities are running (down) his current club, and that he's constantly had someone poking or prodding with scalpels and sutures at one area or another in his knees and ankles in the past few seasons means that he's not in peak, peak shape.

However, and this is vital: Suarez is not due massively more respect and better treatment from Barcelona, and some of their disgruntled fans, simply because of his stats, though they are, of course, extraordinary. He's Barcelona's third all-time leading goal scorer (198 in 283 games), and winner of 13 trophies in six years. But crucially, he is, by far, the greatest, most mutually beneficial strike partner Lionel Messi has ever had. And despite any decline in athleticism, Suarez remains just about as smart, bright, technical and resourceful a striker as you'll find anywhere in Europe.

That brain, that tungsten-edged ambition, that vision -- Suarez has few peers. It's for that reason4 I would be fascinated to see what he can manage with Koke, Saul, Angel Correa, Joao Felix, Yannick Carrasco and, hopefully, Thomas Partey supplying him -- to say nothing of Atleti's flying wing-backs. To boil it right down, they do the running and the hunting, he finishes the job.

Assuming all this comes to fruition because the transfer market is quixotic beyond belief, it's true Suarez would suffer if "Professor" Oscar Ortega, Atleti's ruthless fitness coach, gets his hands on him. But you'd pay to witness that, too. All of which leaves Suarez's employers since 2014, a club he helped to a Treble and the squad in which he's become, with Messi, the reason that the Catalans have so successfully been able to rage against the dying of the light.

What the Suarez mess says about Barcelona

Barcelona have been an increasingly ill-run, badly focused, self-absorbed, money-obsessed mess for quite some time now. The fact that Suarez brings the absolute best out of Messi, as friends, as born winners, as teammates and as an instinctive anticipator of genius, has been crucial in the Blaugrana not sinking into their sticky, embarrassing morass long before now. But here's the rub: President Josep Maria Bartomeu is ruthlessly determined to prove that this is his club, completely set on breaking up the Suarez-Messi axis.

Bartomeu believes he can't be seen to let Messi leave, thus the axe falls on the axis by pushing Suarez out. That Ronald Koeman reportedly told the Uruguayan "I'd keep you but the club wants you out" tells the full story.

Bartomeu won't say it in public, at least until it comes to some self-justifying interview or paid memoirs when he's long out of office, but it's true that there are many people around Barcelona who resent the Messi-Suarez axis and who shrivel in their presence. Just the other day, in conversation with Vicente del Bosque for El Pais, ex-Barcelona keeper and ex-Camp Nou director of football Andoni Zubizarreta said: "Much depends on the generosity of [great] players. When Tata Martino was in charge at Barca he said to [Messi], 'I know that if you call the president, he'll sack me, but hell, you don't need to demonstrate that to me every day. I already know it.'"

That is a fierce, even startling, image.

Just last week Koeman, for the first time since taking over, felt the need to impose himself.

For the longest time -- certainly since Messi, Suarez and Neymar were routing Europe up front -- it has been traditional that Messi and one or more of his closest Praetorian guard wander out to training last. Often that's a noisy process; the laughter and clatter of studs on the concrete stairs up to the Tito Vilanova pitch indicating that, a handful of minutes after the penultimate players and longer after the eager ones, the little genius and his gang are ready to work.

Most accept it readily, some resent it and a few wish they could bring that state of affairs crashing down. It's an emblem of the fact that there's a bubble of "Thou shalt not" around Messi, best summed up with the phrase, "Don't tick him off unnecessarily."

But then greatness, especially greatness like this, carries privilege. Until now.

The rule now is that players must report to the training ground by 9.30 a.m. Training will usually be at 11 a.m. and one day last week, the new Dutch boss wasn't pleased that the last couple of his squad (guess who) weren't out on the field until 11.03 a.m. instead. Koeman took that as a disrespect, told them so and work commenced. But a marker was laid down. Like the reports of that first meeting between Koeman and Messi a couple of weeks ago: No more privileges, mate.

So where we stand is that Bartomeu thinks that he can win an internal battle by shooing Suarez off the premises. And he thinks he can do this at the same time as he's made Messi stay, by force, when the player claims he was repeatedly told that he could leave this summer and when Bartomeu said that very thing on television the season before last, he has opted to strip Messi of his third-greatest asset (Suarez) after that magical left foot and his brilliant brain.

The logical thing for a smart president to do, rather than to stick two fingers up at Messi by forcing out Suarez and paying to terminate the remainder of his Barcelona contract, would be to swallow pride and keep the Uruguayan. If there were financial resources to bring in a young, quick, ready-to-go striker like Inter Milan's Lautaro Martinez then the argument would be different. But there aren't.

Suarez staying would mean a happier Messi, a centre-forward for Koeman to plan around, a good supply of goals (21 in 5,670 minutes, meaning one every 122 minutes last season) and a structure whereby Griezmann wouldn't have to play either at centre-forward or left wing where he struggled last season. It's simple logic. But, instead, Bartomeu is determined to win this battle -- even if it means him losing the war.

I told you two weeks ago that Simeone wanted Suarez and that the Uruguayan's arrival might well make Atleti true title challengers. I haven't changed my mind. Now it's down to the bean counters, the lawyers and the agents. Suarez is furious that the club are seemingly backtracking on their willingness to let him leave now that Atletico have emerged as his strongest suitor.

But from this unholy mess something beautiful, dressed in red and white, might be born.

Rajasthan Royals 216 for 7 (Samson 74, Smith 69, Archer 27*, Sam Curran 3-33) beat Chennai Super Kings 200 for 6 (du Plessis 72, Watson 33, Dhoni 29*, Tewatia 3-37) by 16 runs

Sanju Samson, Steven Smith and Jofra Archer managed to out-hit Chennai Super Kings with 17 sixes between them as Rajasthan Royals opened their campaign with a win in Sharjah.

The tournament's first 200-plus score was fuelled by Samson's 32-ball 74, Smith's balanced 47-ball 69, and Archer's four sixes in a row in the last over and proved to be too much for the Super Kings whose chase meandered into near-surrender in the middle overs before bursting to life at the end. Rahul Tewatia's three wickets played a big role in that, but Royals' defence was aided by the Super Kings' experimental batting order and an ostensible lack of purpose in chase; by the time MS Dhoni came in, at No. 7, they needed to score at more than 16 an over. That proved too much on the night despite a late attack from Faf du Plessis.

Brand new Rajasthan, same old Samson

The area that the Royals really wanted to revamp at the auction was their opening partnership, but the experiment with Smith alongside debutant Yashasvi Jaiswal lasted a laboured 14 balls, in which they only managed to put on 11 trying to come to terms with what looked like a sluggish pitch. Jaiswal was out trying to pull one that gripped and got big on him.

And then, Samson, coming in at No. 3 made the early impressions of the pitch seem questionable. He did take a couple of attempts to get his pull shots right, but once he got the pace of the surface came two short-arm pulls to clear the shortest square boundaries in the tournament. It was the start of a torrent.

The Royals got to 54 for 1 in the powerplay, and in the immediate over after, Samson took to Ravindra Jadeja's quick, overpitched deliveries like they were throwdowns in training. Two sixes off his first two balls against him - one over long-on, one over long-off - started Samson off, and the exact feat was repeated against Piyush Chawla next over. Chawla, who was also hit straight off a full length, did try to pull his length back the next ball along with a wider line; even so, Samson produced one of his best shots of the night, reaching out to slap him over extra cover without even managing to get to the pitch of it.

That turned out to be the last real challenge until he got out. He completed a 19-ball fifty - equalling Owais Shah for the Royals' second fastest one - and by the end of that over, which went for 28 including a Smith six, had five sixes in his last nine balls. The Royals went into the first time out 96 for 1 in eight overs. It took another three overs - with three more straight sixes off spin bowling that continued to be too full - before the partnership ended via a short ball from Lungi Ngidi that Samson could only chip to sweeper cover.

Six or nothing

Smith had played himself in, in his usual busy manner, but he was reprieved at the long-off boundary, drilling one to Sam Curran who couldn't hold on to the flat hit on his left. He managed a cheeky ramp off Ngidi, falling over in to the off side while doing it, but those were rare highlights in what proved a downturn in the innings.

Miller was run out without facing a ball on his Royals debut, caught short at the non-striker's end as his bat plonked in the turf as he dived. Robin Uthappa, one of the those the Royals bought at the auction, came in at No. 5 and managed only five off his nine balls. Sam Curran and the spinners had adjusted their lengths, just behind a good length, to bring some control for the Super Kings in the second half. Paradoxically, the pitch seemed to be difficult to score on if the scoring shots weren't boundaries or sixes; until 19th over, the Royals only made 54 after Samson had fallen at 132 in 11.4 overs, and had lost Smith by then.

Then came what was probably one of Ngidi's worst overs in his life; it started with a reversion to the overpitched length. On hand to take advantage in the last over was Jofra Archer, who pumped the first ball over the straight boundary. The next ball, a short one, ended up over the roof at midwicket. Following those were two more sixes - both of which also happened to be no-balls - and a wide to immediately follow them meant Ngidi had gone for 27 runs off two legal balls. To his credit, he conceded only three off the next four, but the second 30-run last over of this edition lifted Royals to 216 for 7.

Super Kings get stuck

Super Kings' chase began with eight off the first two overs, no boundaries scored, and it turned out to be a precursor for the rest of the innings. The six-or-nothing theme stuck for them as well, and they did manage to more or less match the Royals' powerplay effort. But just after their most fluent batsman on the night - Shane Watson - had struck four sixes and a four and looked set to take on the spinners, the plan fell apart. Legspinner Tewatia skidded one on leg stump and Watson was bowled off his thigh, trying to pull him. M Vijay's run-a-ball 21 hadn't helped when he fell next over, and only the promoted Sam Curran's 17 off 6 seemed to be taking the Super Kings anywhere near their big target in the face of much better lengths from the Royals' spinners.

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But Tewatia had him and Ruturaj Gaikwad stumped off consecutive deliveries, and Kedar Jadhav's promotion meant Dhoni came in at No. 7 with 104 required off 38 balls.

Du Plessis had struck at less than run-a-ball for 19 balls at that point, and was dropped at long-on by Riyan Parag off Tewatia. That catalysed a late six-hitting surge from him - and a 21-run over off Jaydev Unadkat. But his second fifty of the season, 72 off 37, came at the other end of Dhoni trudging to 10 off 13 before hitting his first six and turning it into three in a row in the last over. But the chase had already been mathematically closed off by Archer - with the ball in the 19th over, after he had done the work with the bat earlier.

Tom Abell has defended Somerset's record for retaining players despite some high-profile departures in recent times.

Over the last few weeks, Somerset have seen Jamie Overton leave for Surrey and Dom Bess announce that he will leave for Yorkshire at the end of the season. Jos Buttler, who left the club at the end of 2013, is another who felt he needed to move away to win more opportunities. All three might reasonably be described as home-grown.

But while Abell admitted he was disappointed to see such talented players leave Taunton, he insisted it was a reflection of the club's success rather than a sign of any specific problem. In particular, Abell feels it demonstrates the depth of talent and the competition for places at the club.

Bess would appear to be a prime example. Aged just 23 and currently seen as the England Test team's first-choice spinner, he is clearly a player with a bright future whom Somerset would like to have retained. But with his opportunities for first-team cricket at the club blocked by the presence of Jack Leach, who remains Somerset's first-choice slow bowler in red-ball cricket, he has opted to join Yorkshire. He is, however, in Somerset's 13-man squad for the Bob Willis Trophy final which is scheduled to start at Lord's on Wednesday.

Jamie Overton's case is similar. He hasn't always been able to command a place in Somerset's seam attack - one that has excelled in this year's competition, conceding more than 200 just once in five group games. He has been offered more opportunity, with bat and ball, at Surrey, and has already left the club.

So while Abell, Somerset's captain, admitted he "would love" to have such players available, he understands their need to move.

"It's a by-product of the relative success that we've had," Abell said. "We've won a lot of cricket matches.

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"But within that individuals have their own ambitions and we can't necessarily guarantee them the opportunities they want in all formats.

"Jamie Overton has played a significant role for us in the competition and, in an ideal world, we would have him available. But he's not a Somerset player now and, you look at the way our bowling attack has performed right through the competition, and it's a huge area of strength for us so. We're very confident that we've got what it takes to take 20 wickets in this game.

"Of course as a club we want our best players. We want our young players playing for Somerset. But ultimately that's not always possible.

"We're gutted to see these players go. They're huge players for us and they're very popular members of the team. But equally we have to respect their decisions. We only wish them well."

Abell also had warm words for Tom Banton, who is unavailable to play in the Bob Willis Trophy final starting on Wednesday due to his IPL commitments with Kolkata Knight Riders.

While Banton's absence has the blessing of the club, it has attracted some criticism elsewhere. John Cleese, a long-time Somerset supporter, took to Twitter to tell his 5.7 million followers that he was "appalled that Tom Banton cannot find the time to play for his county in the most important match in their history."

"Shame on you, Tom", he added.

But Abell was adamant that Banton's commitment to the club remained absolute, he explained his "contractual obligations" rendered his absence inevitable.

"Tom is a great lad and a central figure within our team," Abell said. "And I know from talking to him that he's desperate to play in this final. He's a quality, quality player and we would love to have him available.

"But equally, he has commitments that he has to fulfil. That's the nature of the beast with the player that he is. You know he is in demand all around the world and it's great to see him involved in these high-profile competitions.

"But I would reiterate: he's desperate to play for Somerset but has to fulfil his contractual obligations elsewhere. We want what's best for him."

Before IPL 2020, MS Dhoni had batted at No. 7 - the lowest he's ever batted in the tournament - only six times in 12 years. In the two matches the Chennai Super Kings have played this year though, Dhoni has come out at No. 7 both times, in a winning cause against the Mumbai Indians first up, and in a losing one against the Rajasthan Royals on Tuesday.

Dhoni said his lack of time in the middle - his match against Mumbai was his first competitive game in 437 days after India's World Cup semi-final defeat to New Zealand in 2019 - was the primary reason he was coming lower down the order.

"Oh I haven't batted for a very long time, you know and the 14-day quarantine doesn't really help," he told Star, the host broadcaster, about his batting position. "[I'm] slowly trying to get into the tournament. Also at the same time, we want to try a few different things like Sam [Curran] or [Ravindra] Jadeja, sending them up.

"It's something we haven't done for a very long time and this gives us an opportunity to do that, at the start of the tournament. And as the tournament progresses you'll see the senior players stepping in and taking that responsibility, but otherwise we have been one team that has kept doing the same thing. I feel we have an opportunity over here where we can try a few different things if it works. If it doesn't work, we can always go back to what our strengths are."

Dhoni came in 114 for 5 in the 14th over, and was on 9 off 12 before ransacking 20 runs off the five balls he faced in the final over. That took the Super Kings to 200 for 6, a 16-run defeat after the Royals had piled on 216 for 7.

Stephen Fleming, the Super Kings coach, echoed Dhoni's words at the post-match press conference and held that in terms of overs remaining, the captain came in at the right time.

"We have this question every year," Fleming said on being asked if Dhoni had come in too late. "He was in in the 12th over [it was actually the 14th over], which is pretty much optimal time, and sort of batted accordingly. He is coming back from not playing a huge amount of cricket, so the expectations - to see him at his best - is going to take some time. But you see him towards the end, he was very good. Faf du Plessis carried the form, so we weren't too far away. It wasn't the batting that was the worry to be honest."

Dhoni felt that the start the Super Kings got wasn't good enough in a tall chase, and also said the team needed to do a better job at controlling the things they could, such as avoiding bowling no-balls. While not explicitly naming Lungi Ngidi, Dhoni pointed out that the Royals could have been restricted without the extras. Ngidi bowled the final over the innings, giving up 30 runs. He bowled two no-balls during the over, both of which were hit for sixes by Jofra Archer.

"I think with 217 on the board, we had to have a very good start, which was not the case," Dhoni said. "At the same time, we need to give credit to their bowlers also because there was a lot of dew. That's one thing you know, if you put runs on the board then you have seen in the first innings that what is a good length to bowl on that wicket, and I think that's what they did. They kept putting the ball in the same areas. Especially the spinners, they didn't try too many different things.

"It was important on this wicket to keep it away from the batsmen. Yes, they'll hit a few shots but at least you're not confused. A smaller outfield, you know you'll get hit a few from back of the length or short ones, then you'll get hit when you bowl up. I feel that was an error that our spinners committed in the first couple of overs that they bowled, two each. After that, we did come back nicely in the game.

"Without singling out anyone, I think what we could have done - which is a controllable - is [avoided] no-balls. Even when you're under pressure, try not to give no-balls because that's a controllable. You can't really control how the opposition batsman is batting. I feel that's one area we can improve in. If we could have maybe restricted them to 200, it would have been a very good game."

The Notre Dame-Wake Forest football game scheduled for Saturday has been postponed after the Irish announced 13 players are in isolation.

In a statement Tuesday, Notre Dame said seven players tested positive for coronavirus out of 94 tests done Monday. Combined with testing results from last week, 13 players are in isolation, with 10 in quarantine. As a result, Notre Dame has paused all football-related activities. The two schools are working on a date to reschedule the game.

"With student-athlete health and safety our primary focus, we will continue to follow our prevention protocols and ongoing testing procedures," Notre Dame coach Brian Kelly said in a statement. "We managed an increase in positivity rates in August, and the players handled it wonderfully.

"We knew COVID would present challenges throughout the season, and we'll always put student-athlete health and safety at the forefront of our decision making. We look forward to resuming team activities and getting back on the playing field."

Wake Forest athletic director John Currie said in a statement they are working on rescheduling the game for Oct. 3, an open date the two schools share.

"I know everyone involved is saddened to be unable to play this weekend, but based on the circumstances it is the right decision," Currie said in a statement. "We are already discussing options for rescheduling with the ACC and our future opponents, including the possibility of playing on the October 3rd weekend."

Notre Dame beat South Florida 52-0 at home last Saturday and opened the season with a win over Duke.

This is not the first time this season the Irish have had to pause practices. They also paused for three days last month after five positive results during two rounds of testing.

This is now the fourth ACC game impacted because of coronavirus issues.

Editor's note: The following story contains excerpts from Jeff Pearlman's new book, "Three-Ring Circus: Kobe, Shaq, Phil, and the Crazy Years of the Lakers Dynasty," published by Houghton-Mifflin. The book is on sale today, Sept. 22.

A young Kobe Bryant

Before Kobe Bryant was THE Kobe Bryant -- five-time NBA champion, 18-time All-Star -- he was a young boy growing up in Italy, the third of Joe and Pam Bryant's three children. His father, an eight-year NBA veteran nicknamed Jellybean, was playing out his career overseas, and his young son inherited the old man's athleticism and instincts. What he boasted -- far more than Dad -- was drive. Or, put differently, Kobe Bryant desperately wanted to be a superstar ...

"FROM DAY ONE I was dribbling," Kobe Bryant once said, in the nostalgic manner of a man appreciative of from where he once rose. "I just found basketball to be the most fun. It wasn't just watching my father play. It was the fact that you could dribble the ball around everywhere. You could play the game by yourself and envision certain situations." Kobe spoke fluent Italian, enrolled in ballet classes, excelled in organized soccer, developed a taste for bruschetta and panzanella. Basketball existed as a thing in Italy, but not a big thing. So when the Bryants installed a hoop at the end of the driveway, it was unusual behavior. As his Italian peers were watching Mio Mao and Quaq Quao, Kobe was absorbing the VHS tapes sent to him by his grandfather -- the ones showing Magic and Bird and a young Chicago Bulls star named Michael Jordan. "I loved the feel of [the basketball] in my hands," he once recalled. "I loved the sound of it, too. The tap, tap, tap of when a ball bounces on the hardwood. The crispness and clarity. The predictability."

As Kobe grew, Joe and Pam signed him up to play on Italian youth basketball teams. He was always the best player, and the least-liked player -- so superior to his teammates that he rarely looked their way. Peers would scream, "Kobe, passa la palla!" ("Kobe, pass the ball!"), and he would respond simply, "No" ("No"). Not unlike a good number of children with famous parents and a shiny silver spoon, Kobe was known to be arrogant, curt, dismissive of other children. He wasn't hated so much as he was disdained. The only arrow in the other players' quill was something they repeatedly told Kobe -- "Sei bravo qui, ma non sarai molto in America!" ("You're good here, but you won't be much in America").

Each summer, with the conclusion of Joe's seasons, the Bryants returned to Philadelphia. But it was a clumsy fit for Kobe, the African American kid with the European air and the slightest hint of an Italian accent.

In July 1991, shortly before his 13th birthday, Kobe Bryant was signed up by his father to compete in the summertime Sonny Hill Community Involvement League, where Philadelphia's best young basketball players went at it on courts in Temple's McGonigle Hall. Joe had starred in Sonny Hill games back in the day, and he thought the hardened stylings of the city's fiercest ballers would do his son good. So he filled out the application, then handed the sheet of paper to his son, who had to enter some personal information. When Kobe arrived for his first day of competition, a counselor read over his replies.

NAME: KOBE BEAN BRYANT
AGE: 12
HOMETOWN: PHILADELPHIA
FUTURE CAREER PLAN: NBA

"Are you being serious?" the counselor asked.

Bryant nodded. He was indeed -- which led staffers to pay extra attention to the boy with the oddball name and the written swagger. What they found was laughable. In Italy, the kids wore volleyball kneepads in games. So Kobe, thinking this was the norm, brought the style (or lack thereof ) to Philly. "I'm out there looking like the Cable Guy," he later recalled. In Italy, he was an unstoppable basketball force, driving in for layups with no worry. Back in America, he was a fish-out-of-water scrub with poor fashion sense and Osgood-Schlatter disease, which shot excruciating pain through his knees. In 25 games, Bryant tallied zero points. "I didn't score a basket, a free throw, nothing," he recalled. "At the end I sobbed my eyes out."

While Kobe Bryant stunk, though, he didn't plan on stinking for long. He was back at Sonny Hill the following summer, played passably well, scored a few baskets, performed admirably on defense.

The Bryants left Italy for good after the 1991-92 season, and Kobe's return to full-time American life commenced as an eighth grader, when he enrolled at Bala Cynwyd Junior High, in the leafy western suburbs of Philadelphia. The school was 70 percent Caucasian, and Kobe struggled to fit in with anyone. He wasn't white. His "blackness" felt forced. He spoke Italian, and nobody spoke Italian. All the faces were unfamiliar. He was far more poised than your average student, and this made him come across as aloof and arrogant. Thanks to his athletic gifts and his status as an American outsider, Kobe had spent most of his early years standing out. Now, back in the fold of the United States, he still felt as if he stood out. As if he were, somehow, better.

Which he was.

The rich talent that congregated at Sonny Hill every summer couldn't be found at Bala Cynwyd, and Kobe -- armed with increased skills, legitimate experience, dreamy genetics (not only was his father a former NBA player, but Pam's brother, Chubby Cox, spent part of the 1983 season with the Washington Bullets), and unyielding confidence -- dominated. Now standing 6-foot-2, he played for the school's eighth-grade team and owned the court, averaging 30 points per game. It was a laughable sight: the sleek, smooth Bryant having his way with the overmatched children surrounding him. Gregg Downer, the varsity coach at Lower Merion High, heard of the youth's exploits and invited him to participate in one of the Aces' varsity practices. Kobe entered the gymnasium accompanied by his 6-foot-9 father. "Holy s---, that's Joe Bryant," Downer whispered to an assistant. "Jellybean Bryant."

A former player at Division III Lynchburg (Virginia) College, Downer was 27 and immediately recognized that the boy was no ordinary basketball player. Bryant showed no fear. He threw elbows at the varsity players, set crushing picks. Five minutes into practice, Downer turned to someone and said, "This kid is a pro."

"I knew right away I had something very special on my hands," Downer said. "He was so fundamentally good at the age of 13, and I thought to myself that he was going to get nothing but taller and stronger."

As a freshman at Lower Merion, Bryant made Downer's varsity squad, starting and averaging 18 points for a team that went 4-20. What stood out was his ferocious intensity. Bryant didn't merely dislike losing -- he abhorred it. He didn't merely fret over missed free throws -- he burdened himself with their existence. Other players laughed off a poor showing, a sloppy pass, a lazy turnover. Not Bryant. He believed in perfection, and nothing short of that ever seemed to satisfy him. Once, during a practice, Downer barked at his freshman for failing to play defense the Lower Merion way. "Well," Bryant replied, "that's not what I'm going to do in the NBA!"

On a school trip to Hersheypark, a student named Susan Freedland asked his assistance in helping her win a stuffed animal at a free throw shooting stall. Classmates gathered around, laughing, giggling. But Kobe stoically grabbed a ball, lined up, stared down the rim, and shot -- swish.

Shot again -- swish.

Shot again -- swish.

Susan was handed a blue elephant with green tusks, and thanked Kobe for his assistance. But he wasn't done. He returned to the game, plunked down another $3.

Shot again -- swish.

Shot again -- swish.

The man running the booth -- agitated, defeated -- surrendered another elephant and told Bryant to bug off.

This wasn't fun for Kobe. None of it was. It meant something. Being the best. Finding greatness. Refusing to surrender. Over the next two decades, people questioned the desire's origin, wondered what had made Kobe Bryant a Jordanesque basketball killer. The answers, truly, can be found at Lower Merion, where in his relative isolation and solitude he committed himself to his closest friend: the game of basketball.

Kobe joins the Lakers

The Lakers possessed the 24th pick in the 1996 NBA Draft -- which meant they'd likely be adding (at best) a fringe role player or long-term project. But thanks to the wizardry of Jerry West, the team's executive vice president, Los Angeles swung a deal with Charlotte to acquire the rights to a high school kid out of suburban Philadelphia named Kobe Bean Bryant. When the Lakers reported to training camp in Hawaii, veterans were immediately taken aback by the newbie's arrogance. Though he was out with a broken wrist, Bryant made an immediate impression ...

THE ASSEMBLED TALENT before Del Harris was breathtaking. Harris asked each man to stand and introduce himself.

Shaquille O'Neal, jolly and giggly, stood first, nodded, said, "What's up? I'm Shaq. Let's do this."

One by one, the other men followed.

"Hey, I'm Derek Fisher. Rookie. From little ol' Arkansas. Ready to get to work."

Next.

"Nick Van Exel. Fourth year here."

Next.

"Eddie Jones. I'm from Florida. Went to Temple ..."

Next.

"I'm Jerome Kersey. This will be my -- what? -- 13th year in the league. Crazy."

Next.

"I'm Ced."

Next.

"Yo, I'm Kobe. Kobe Bryant. I'm from PA -- went to Lower Merion High School, dominated everything." (Pause.) "I just want y'all to know, nobody's gonna punk me. I'm not gonna let anyone in the NBA punk me. So be warned."

Awwwwkward.

"It was like 'Yo, Kobe, relax,'" recalled David Booth, who landed a camp invite off of a strong summer league showing. "He was trying to establish himself, which I understand. But it didn't play very well."

"Not the best way to start things," said Corie Blount, a reserve forward. "But you have to remember, he was a child."

His first-day introduction was received like spoiled milk, and as camp progressed, the veteran Lakers were taken aback by his perceived smugness. When Van Exel joined the Lakers out of Cincinnati in 1993, he had arrived humble and quiet. When Jones came a year later, he had arrived humble and quiet. Travis Knight, the rookie center, was humble and quiet. Fisher was humble and quiet.

Bryant was neither humble nor quiet. But he sat, unavailable, with a bum wrist. So he was deemed largely off-limits. "We did not get to haze him quite as much," recalled Cedric Ceballos. "Getting doughnuts and carrying bags and that sort of thing. Shaq did have him do some goofy things, like bust a freestyle rap for all of us.

"[Kobe] was different. Most rookies want the approval of veterans. He never really was that way."

Had Bryant been participating, he would have -- most veterans later agreed -- ruined camp. Or, if not ruined, severely damaged. Van Exel, Jones, and Ceballos, the three returnees with the greatest offensive responsibilities, needed to adjust to O'Neal's dominant low-post presence, and the addition of a can't-touch-this, better-than-the-best ball-hogging teenager was not a requisite ingredient. On the sidelines, and in limited drills, Bryant took pleasure in showing off twisting layups and off-balance jumpers. He wanted people to notice, desperately wanted teammates to see what all the hype was about. O'Neal began referring to him as "Showboat," and if the nickname wasn't direct ridicule per se, it was anything but a compliment.

"I knew right away I had something very special on my hands. He was so fundamentally good at the age of 13, and I thought to myself that he was going to get nothing but taller and stronger." Gregg Downer, then-varsity basketball coach at Lower Merion High

What struck some of the Lakers as most odd was the kid's mimicking of Michael Jordan, the legendary Bull whose VHS tapes Bryant watched growing up in Italy. It wasn't just a basketball thing. It was an everything. Bryant licked his lips like Jordan, shrugged his shoulders like Jordan, patterned his speech like Jordan. Homage was one thing. But this was not so much homage as stalker. "He clearly wanted to be Michael Jordan at the beginning," said Knight. "In every way imaginable."

With Bryant sidelined, the team jelled at a rapid pace. The Lakers opened the preseason on October 10 with an evening game against the Denver Nuggets inside Honolulu's Special Events Arena, and anyone expecting gradual growing pains was terribly mistaken. Wearing his new No. 34 purple-and-gold uniform and slimmed down from a week of sweaty gym work, O'Neal played 26 minutes, scoring 25 points on 11-of-13 shooting, with 12 rebounds and, in the words of Mike Fitzgerald of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, "several thunder dunks that could have caused tsunami warnings." During one thrilling second-quarter sequence, he scored 6 points in less than 60 seconds, with a blocked shot and a rebound tossed in. Los Angeles won 111-101, a meaningless victory that was anything but meaningless. With 10,225 spectators on hand, Van Exel and Jones seemed at ease dumping the ball down low, spreading out, letting O'Neal dictate the pace. Even Ceballos, selfish as the sun is bright, stayed free of the paint, granting the big man his space. Afterwards, O'Neal stood in the joyous locker room and bragged of his greatness.

"No one can out-surf me!" he said. "I am the Big Kahuna!"

Six days later, after the Nuggets and the Lakers squared off one more time before returning to the mainland, Bryant finally became an active NBA player -- at 18 years and 55 days of age, the youngest man in league history. The Lakers traveled to lovely Fresno, California, to battle the Dallas Mavericks in an exhibition, and in the leadup Bryant was like a puppy seeking table scraps. He paced the locker room, paced the hallways. During warm-ups before tipoff, Byron Scott stood by Bryant's side, advising him to take it easy, relax, enjoy the moment. Scott loved the kid's passion and drive, but he recognized a familiar eagerness to run before walking. "Your time will come" was a familiar mantra. "Your time will come."

Harris viewed Bryant as a deep reserve whose minutes would be limited. He allowed him to enter the game with 7:49 remaining in the second quarter, and the 10,274 fans at Fresno's Selland Arena chanted, "Ko-Be! Ko-Be!" The first time he touched the basketball, Bryant -- nervous, a bit clumsy -- mishandled it. He recovered, then passed to center Sean Rooks under the basket for a quick score. Moments later, his sneaker (the Adidas EQT Elevation he was paid millions to wear) fell off, and he fumbled to return it to his right foot as action resumed. Late in the game, after scoring his first-ever bucket on a three-pointer, followed by a turn-around jumper, a breakaway dunk, and a 16-foot jumper, Bryant dribbled and dribbled and dribbled some more, until the mild-mannered Harris screamed, "Hey, pass the ball! This isn't high school anymore!"

It was, overall, a strong debut -- 10 points on 4-for-4 shooting. In the Lakers' locker room, teammates were largely complimentary. They understood that a high school guard making his NBA debut was the story that needed to be told, so Van Exel said that Bryant had "shot the ball pretty well. He's real active." Harris added that he'd "made some mistakes and he did some good things."

When O'Neal emerged, he was asked to add his assessment. He began to sing -- tune by Whitney Houston, lyrics by Shaquille O'Neal.

"I believe that Showboat is the fuuuture ... "

It was going to be an interesting season.

The fight

Though no one expected a teenaged Kobe Bryant to immediately carry the Lakers toward the promised land, his first two postseasons ended in bitter disappointment. In Game 5 of the 1997 Western Conference semifinals, his four late airballs against Utah sealed a Los Angeles defeat. One year later, the Lakers were demolished by the Jazz in the conference finals -- another embarrassment.

The 1998-99 season was delayed by a lockout that cut 32 games off the schedule and left at-home players bored, agitated, exasperated.

And a bit angry.

IN THE WEEKS and months that followed yet another disappointing conclusion to a Los Angeles Lakers season, the NBA decided to lock out its players. Unlike, say, Milwaukee or Cleveland, life in Los Angeles without the NBA continued relatively smoothly. No one was happy about the lockout, but there were distractions and, in regard to the Lakers, interesting subplots of varied importance to whet the celebrity appetite. For example, Magic Johnson, the team vice president and hoops legend, had been hired by 20th Television to host an hourlong talk show, The Magic Hour.

The program featured a comedy troupe, a house band fronted by Sheila E., and not one single shred of redeeming entertainment value. If Johnson isn't the worst host in television history, it's only because Gabrielle Carteris walks the earth. The show lasted eight weeks before suffering a necessary death. When it was canceled, a nation exhaled and returned to watching Love Boat reruns.

The indignity was profound. But at least Johnson's embarrassment was in a secondary field. The same could not be said for Shaquille O'Neal, who -- around the same time Magic was landing that big interview with Vanessa Marcil -- was facing a very public and painful rejection. After six years of paying him to be their superstar endorser of athletic shoes, Reebok cut the Lakers center loose. Dave Fogelson, the company's spokesperson, said Reebok and O'Neal had "mutually agreed" to not renew a five-year, $15 million sponsorship deal -- and this was pure fib. What the company had learned through its failed partnership with the 7-foot-1, 325-pound mountain was that sneaker buyers don't relate very well to 7-foot-1, 325-pound mountains. When Sports Marketing Newsletter projected its top 10 endorsement earners for 1998-99, O'Neal was nowhere to be seen. He was cold product. Or, put simply, he was unrelatable to the average consumer.

More on Kobe Bryant

• Detail: From the mind of Kobe Bryant

• MacMullan: Remembering Kobe Bryant: Relentless, curious and infinitely complicated

• Lowe: Kobe Bryant's greatness was both beautiful and maddening

• Shelburne: Inside Kobe Bryant and Michael Jordan's private friendship

It was that sort of run for O'Neal, who was also accused of grabbing a woman by the neck while waiting outside a club on the grounds of the Disney World resort. The charges were quickly dropped, but the PR blowback was harsh. Among peers, meanwhile, O'Neal was not making any friends with his I'm-rich-so-I-don't-care-about-the-lockout outlook on things. "I don't really know what they're fighting about," he told the Associated Press. "I make good money and I'm happy with my life."

All of this contributed to O'Neal's out-of-the-norm grouchiness. It hardly helped that, midway through the lockout, Los Angeles Magazine published a 4,646-word story headlined KOBE BRYANT: PRINCE OF THE CITY. The article, written by Mark Rowland, was a glowing puff piece about a man the newspaper was all but anointing the next Michael Jordan. Wrote Rowland:

Right now, by NBA standards, Bryant is a pretty good basketball player. By the standards of marketing and entertainment, he's a global superstar, the most popular commodity in the league after Mr. Jordan. His visage is omnipresent, hawking for Adidas, Spalding, Sprite, his own Nintendo game and God knows what else. Already Bryant's story is the stuff of myth, proof biblical that even after Jordan, God's divine plan for his favorite sports league continues to unfold.

By now, O'Neal was no Bryant fan. He had tired of the selfish play, of the single-minded life approach that excluded any Laker not named Kobe. Peter Vecsey, the New York Post basketball guru, had it right when he wrote, "Kobe's all-around splendor is unquestionable and, obviously, he's willing to outwork anybody to improve. But because he's so good, he's impossible to play with, because he always feels he can beat his man. Everybody else gets to watch him hoist up pot shots, hurried shots and contested shots. That's not good when you've got Shaq, bigger than an industry, posted on the low blocks waiting impatiently to get plugged into the play."

O'Neal wanted to be the king, ruling over his loyal subjects. "Jerry West wanted that, Shaq wanted that," recalled J.A. Adande, the Los Angeles Times scribe. "But Kobe always bristled at that. He was no man's little brother."

"You have to let people be who they are," O'Neal recalled years later. "Some people do different things to make it. He wanted to be the Will Smith of the NBA. He wanted to work out seven, eight, nine hours per day. That's fine. That's you. I wanted a relationship that he wasn't really interested in. I get it."

The animosity mounted. Not in Bryant's mind -- he had bigger things to worry about than the big man's acceptance. But to O'Neal, the slights stung. A few months earlier, People magazine had featured Bryant in its World's Most Beautiful People issue, and the kid seemed to lap it up. "He's quickly becoming one of the main marketing tools of the NBA," Rick Fox, the Laker forward, observed. "Which means that someone else isn't." Dating back to his rookie season in Orlando, no one rejected Shaquille O'Neal. If he offered to buy a rookie teammate a suit, the rookie teammate took the suit. If he wanted you to come over and party at his mansion, you came over and partied at his mansion. "As Shaq went, we went," recalled Fox. "It was his show. But Kobe didn't care about that. He just didn't."

Without NBA games to turn to, players all across the United States spent a good amount of their time running high-level pickup at various gymnasiums and sports clubs. In New York, one might find scores of Knicks and Nets at the 92nd Street Y. And in Los Angeles, home to the Lakers and the Clippers, the place to be was Southwest College, a school of 8,200 students and an oft-available gymnasium.

One never knew who, exactly, would show up from day to day. It could be members of the UCLA and USC teams. It could be some players from UC Irvine or Long Beach State. It could be a handful of Clippers, a handful of Lakers, some NBA vets who lived in L.A. when they weren't deployed to Denver or Miami. Whatever the case, the games were high-level and highly competitive.

On one particular day, both O'Neal and Bryant arrived at Southwest College, ready to play. It was the first week of January, not long after the Kobe-is-the-next-Jordan piece ran in L.A. Magazine. Some other Lakers were in attendance, as was Olden Polynice, the veteran center who'd spent the preceding four and a half seasons with Sacramento. He was hoping the Lakers would sign him to a free agent contract, and had been told that Mitch Kupchak, the team's general manager, was planning on showing up. Though they'd battled for years, Polynice and O'Neal enjoyed a friendly relationship. "All I wanted to do was go there and play with Shaq," Polynice recalled. "The Lakers were my favorite team as a boy. It would have been a dream. I wanted to show Mitch I was serious."

The players straggled in, loosened up, stretched, shot some jumpers. They proceeded to divide into teams -- some guys over here, some guys over there. O'Neal and Polynice -- dueling 7-footers -- were on different sides. "Kobe was on my squad," Polynice recalled. "Opposite Shaq."

It was just another run, until it was no longer just another run. As he was prone to do in pickup, O'Neal called a series of iffy fouls whenever he missed a shot.

Miss.

"Foul!"

Miss.

"Foul!"

"I'm tired of this s---," Bryant finally said. "Just play."

"One more comment like that," O'Neal snapped, "and I slap the s--- out of you."

A few possessions later, Bryant drove toward the rim, leaned into O'Neal's body, and scooped the ball beneath his raised arm and into the hoop. It was a pretty move, but nothing otherworldly.

"F--- you!" he screamed at O'Neal. "This is my team! My motherf---ing team!"

It felt edgy. Everything stopped. "He wasn't talking about the pickup team," Polynice recalled. "He was talking about the Lakers."

O'Neal wasn't having it. "No, motherf---er!" he screamed. "This is my team!"

"F--- you!" Bryant replied. "Seriously -- f--- you! You're not a leader. You're nothing!"

What did he just say?

"I will get your ass traded," O'Neal said. "Not a problem."

Several of the participants stepped in to separate the two, and the game eventually continued. But it no longer felt even slightly relaxed or friendly. "We probably went up and down the court two more times," Polynice said. "Kobe goes to the basket, scores, screams at Shaq, 'Yeah, motherf---er! That s--- ain't gonna stop me!'"

O'Neal grabbed the ball in order to freeze action.

"Say another motherf---ing word," he said, staring directly at Bryant.

"Aw, f--- you," Bryant said. "You don't kn--"

Smack!

O'Neal slapped Bryant across the face. Hard.

"His hands are huge," said Blount, who was playing in the game. "The noise was loud."

Here is Polynice's recollection: "Then Shaq swung again at Kobe, but he missed. S---! I run over and grab Shaq, because I'm big enough to do so. And Shaq keeps swinging, but everything's missing because I have his arms. I'm grabbing on to Shaq, holding on for dear life, yelling, 'Somebody grab Kobe! Seriously -- somebody grab him!' Because I'm holding Shaq and Kobe's taking swings at him. At one point Shaq gets an arm loose and he pops me in the head. Seriously, no good deed goes unpunished. And I'm telling you, if Shaq gets loose he would have killed Kobe Bryant. I am not exaggerating. It was along the lines of an I-want-to-kill-you-right-now punch. He wanted to end Kobe's life in that moment."

Bryant was undeterred. "You're soft!" he barked. "Is that all you've got? You're soft!" Blount begged Bryant to stop talking. "You're not helping," he said. "Just shut up." The altercation was finally broken up when Jerome Crawford, O'Neal's bodyguard, walked onto the floor and calmed his friend down. O'Neal was furious. "You can't touch him in practice," he wrote of Bryant. "He's acting like Jordan, where some players thought you couldn't touch Mike. Whenever somebody ripped Kobe, he'd call a foul. After a while, I'm like, 'Listen, man, you don't have to start calling that punk s---.'" As he walked from the court, Polynice looked at a shaken Kupchak and said, loudly, "You should sign me just for that."

He did not -- Olden Polynice spent the 1998-99 season with Seattle.

"They were just two alpha males who couldn't coexist," Polynice said. "Shaq's mindset was, 'This is my team.' Kobe's mindset was, 'Nobody's gonna punk me.' You can't have two alpha males. It doesn't work."

He paused, reflecting on the insanity.

"It never, ever works. Even when it does."

The battle for the Lakers

When the Lakers finally broke through, defeating the Indiana Pacers in six games to capture the 2000 NBA Finals, one would be justified in believing any hostilities between Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant would now vanish. Yet one would also be wrong. If anything, with success came greater strife. O'Neal was now firmly established as the NBA's most dominant player -- and he expected to be acknowledged as such. Bryant, on the other hand, eyed his larger-than-life teammate skeptically. He didn't think he worked hard; didn't think he took the game seriously. As a result, hostilities were tangible heading into 2000-01.

ONCE UPON A time, O'Neal loved the big brother-little brother model, where he'd guide and mold and encourage young Kobe in a sort of Batman and Robin setup. But now he realized it was an impossibility. Bryant was, truly, unbearable. The way he needed to challenge veteran guard J.R. Rider from the day he arrived. The way he needed to belittle rookie free agent Mike Penberthy. The way he, once again, was hogging the basketball, dribbling without looking up, turning the triangle into a piece of warped cardboard. Bryant wanted other players to share his intensity, but no one shared his intensity. O'Neal, in particular, had spent the months after his first ring celebrating as he had never celebrated before. "While Kobe shot jumpers," the author Elizabeth Kaye wrote, "Shaq feasted on the fried shrimp, mayonnaise, ketchup, and cheese concoctions he called Shaq Daddy sandwiches. He took his posse to Las Vegas, gave them $10,000 for the gambling tables, and kept hours that gave him headaches. ... That summer, as Shaq sightings occurred at what he called gentlemen's clubs and at Fatburger at three in the morning, that notion -- you are what you repeatedly do -- still had application."

The Lakers opened their title defense with a 6-4 record; the locker room felt cold, hostile, detached. O'Neal refused to hide his disdain for Bryant, especially after the kid launched 31 (yes, thirty-one) shots in a 91-81 loss to San Antonio. "We need to play smarter," O'Neal said to the assembled reporters -- a not so subtle euphemism for "It'd be lovely if the child passed the ball on occasion."

Thus commenced one of the most interesting internal mini-dramas of the season -- the Shaq v. Kobe Media Shuffle. After every game, reporters entered the locker room and encircled one of the stars. Then, when that man was done talking, they'd shuffle to a nearby stall and encircle the other star. Usually, O'Neal spoke first, and he'd subtly (and occasionally not so subtly) rip Bryant for selfishness, for childishness. Some of it would be off the record. Most would be on. Then Bryant would be told of O'Neal's words and subtly (and occasionally not so subtly) respond. It was the most passive-aggressive teammate-to-teammate behavior scribes had witnessed, not unlike two toddlers arguing over a lollipop. O'Neal's locker and Bryant's locker were separated by approximately 15 feet. They could have directly uttered the complaints to each other while rolling on deodorant. That, however, would take courage. "It was babyish, and it was really more Shaq," said Adande. "Shaq would say to us 'You guys know what's really going on' all the time. He didn't want to come out and say it, so he'd have us do the dirty work. Kobe wasn't as cryptic. He'd bide his time, then unload."

Writers were quickly designated "Shaq guy" or "Kobe guy," based upon perceived allegiances. Ric Bucher, the ESPN The Magazine writer who covered a large amount of Laker basketball, was once in the running to co-author O'Neal's autobiography. Then he wrote a piece deemed sympathetic to Bryant. "From then on I was a 'Kobe guy' to Shaq," Bucher recalled. "That was it for me with him. I didn't want any allegiances. But in Shaq's mind you were with him or you were with that guy."

Adande was considered "a Shaq guy," and with good reason. "I tried not to take sides at first," he said, "but they forced you to. So I was on Shaq's side, mainly because for that team they were better off when the ball went through him. And Shaq was more accessible and -- despite his size -- more relatable. I also was closer in age to Shaq, I knew him longer. He allowed me in. Kobe never really did."

Said the Times's Bill Plaschke: "Kobe had nobody. He had a bodyguard, but that was it. So I would wait and walk him to his car. Every night when I was there. The same competitiveness that made him great on the court kept people away off the court. He was always snarling. Always biting. And he would see who you were talking to. You had to pick a side -- Kobe or Shaq. And I picked Shaq. You would be talking to someone about Kobe and Shaq would be listening. I'll never forget one time I was talking to Rick Fox about Kobe in the hallway. And Shaq came bursting through the curtain: 'What are you talking about? What's going on?' After the games they would see who you went to first. They were watching after shootarounds to see who you went to. You had to clearly choose."

Shaq was jealous of Kobe. Kobe wasn't jealous of Shaq. Kobe just wanted to kick everybody's ass.

Those who knew both men well found the dynamic fascinating, in that what people thought they were observing wasn't entirely accurate. Because he was bigger, stronger, more accomplished, more boastful, O'Neal was largely considered the secure veteran dealing with the insecure kid. In reality, O'Neal could never fully get past Bryant's refusal to embrace him. Everyone loved Shaq. So why didn't Kobe? He was supposed to come and seek advice -- but never did. He was supposed to sing O'Neal's praises -- but never did.

Even worse, Bryant didn't give two craps what O'Neal said or thought about him. O'Neal could ramble on about Bryant's flaws, and it felt raw. Bryant's replies, though, were often accompanied by shrugs and smirks. The body language screamed: Seriously? Who cares what he thinks? -- and it drove O'Neal insane. Before every game, the Laker players huddled in the hallway leading to the court, and O'Neal would lead them -- in the words of Bucher -- "into a bouncing frenzy, bodies ricocheting on each other turning the circle into a mosh pit." Every man participated, from Fox and Horry to Penberthy and Madsen. But not Bryant. Never. Why? Well, why should he?

Phil Jackson, for his part, kicked back and let it unfold. Though he preached Zen and had his players sit in rooms together as incense burned, the coach was a firm believer in letting conflicts play out organically. He actually believed there was value to Shaq v. Kobe, in that two angry stars oftentimes brought that ferocity to the court. If they were mad in the locker room, wouldn't they be mad against Portland and Sacramento? Jackson didn't like the word "manipulation," but it was manipulation.

The beginning of the end

Although they were anything but friends off the court, Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant were dominant NBA forces who teamed to lead the Lakers to three straight titles. In 2002-03, however, the wheels began to fall off. Shaq was slowing down a bit. Bryant was tired of his teammate's laziness and perceived indifference. They were men with similar on-court goals but opposite methodologies. When Los Angeles fell to San Antonio in the 2003 Western Conference semifinals, it was clear an upgrade was in order. Hence, the team added a pair of future Hall of Famers -- longtime Sonics point guard Gary Payton, and longer-time Jazz forward Karl Malone. The concept made sense: What's better than two superstars? Four superstars. But even Payton and Malone couldn't overcome the decaying partnership of Shaq and Kobe. Who, by 2003-04, absolutely loathed one another.

ON APRIL 11, 2004, the Lakers visited Sacramento for a game that -- thanks to recent history -- now felt like some sort of blood war.

Over the preceding six weeks, the team had (sort of) managed to regain its footing, at least enough so that a 54-25 record had Jackson's squad feeling relatively good about itself.

Was everything roses and peaches? Hardly. Gary Payton, the new point guard, butchered the triangle. Bryant continued to fly in and out of Colorado for his hearings, and on the afternoon of March 24 he had the pleasure of sitting for three hours as his accuser (in a closed-door session) testified all about their encounter. The team suspended contract talks with Jackson. O'Neal was sued by a company that claimed he took $63,000 to promote a youth basketball clinic and then failed to attend. Outside of Derek Fisher, the bench was woefully thin. It had been a long, winding, uncomfortable road of raised, lowered, then once again raised expectations. "A joyless ride," wrote Plaschke in the Los Angeles Times.

Now, however, there was reason for optimism. Karl Malone, the legendary power forward, and O'Neal were back, and the postseason was in sight. Once they dispatched with the Kings, the Lakers could focus on what they were here to do. Namely, capture another NBA championship.

Only nothing for Los Angeles would come that easy.

The Lakers and the Kings tipped off at 3:30 p.m. inside Arco Arena, and fans anticipating a highly competitive afternoon between bitter rivals were broadsided with a harsh dose of reality. Sacramento jumped out to an 8-0 lead, and by the end of the first quarter they were up 31-15. The lopsided score was eye-opening, but what really stood out (especially to the Los Angeles players and coaches) was the play of Bryant, who did ...

... absolutely nothing.

This is no exaggeration. A man who loved to shoot the way a horse loves to gallop let loose precisely zero shots in the first quarter. Even when O'Neal was placed on the bench after picking up two quick fouls. Even when Devean George, Slava Medvedenko, and backup forward Bryon Russell combined to shoot 1 for 11 in the first quarter. Why, Bryant didn't so much as attempt a field goal until there was 6:41 remaining in the half, when his three-point try clanged off the rim. By then the Lakers were trailing 40-23, in a key game tossed into an incinerator thanks to a player who -- to cite Plaschke -- "didn't shoot, didn't penetrate, didn't create ... didn't care?"

The final score, 102-85, featured a Kobe Bryant statistical line (3-for-13 shooting, 8 points, 4 assists) that didn't read as appallingly as it truly was. But inside the Laker locker room, enough was enough. The belief among his teammates, as well as the coaching staff, was that Bryant was making a statement to the men in purple and gold who devoted their lives to criticizing his shot selection, his need to take over a game, his desire to be the alpha. Just a few days earlier, Jackson had complained to the media that "Kobe is doing too much again." Now, by refusing to shoot, Bryant would show them all. It was the ultimate "f--- off" to people he deemed unworthy of his presence, and when, in the immediate aftermath, he said the Kings had "doubled me every time I touched the ball," teammates had to laugh to keep from punching a wall.

"I can't tell you what he was thinking," Payton said afterwards -- even though he knew exactly what he was thinking.

"I thought he was feeling the team out, which was good," Jackson said -- even though he was merely protecting a player who warranted no such protection.

The only honest take came one day later, when Tim Brown of the Los Angeles Times was standing with a player after practice. Provided a guarantee of anonymity, the Laker told Brown, "I don't know how we can forgive him." A second member of the team, also assured his name wouldn't be used, said that Los Angeles could no longer be certain of Bryant's mentality. When, on the morning of April 13, Bryant saw Brown's 838-word front-of-the-sports-section piece, headlined AIR IS HEAVY FOR BRYANT, LAKERS, he lost his mind.

He stormed into the practice facility on Nash Street in El Segundo, a rolled-up Los Angeles Times sports section tucked beneath his arm. He walked from player to player, shoving the article into each man's face. "Did you say this?!" he screamed.

No.

"Did you say this?!"

No.

"Did you say this?!"

No.

The furor was palpable. So was the awkwardness. Someone had uttered the words. Later, during a team meeting, Bryant continued with the questioning. "Right here and right now!" he said. "I want to know who said this s---!"

Again, silence.

Uncomfortable.

Awkward.

Painful.

Silence.

Finally, Malone cleared his throat. "Kobe," he said, "obviously no one said it or no one wants to admit they said it. You've just got to let it go." Bryant was not prepared to let it go. He told Malone to f--- off. Malone suggested that perhaps Bryant should f--- off. This was not a discussion, but a screaming match with the potential to turn physical. It wasn't altogether un-reminiscent of the summer 2001 fight between Bryant and O'Neal -- the scrappy guard blind to the fact that the man he was agitating could physically destroy him.

At long last, Jackson stepped in. His grasp on the team -- once as strong as a vise -- had all but vanished. The triangle was a thing of the past. Bryant (who'd recently told John Black, the team's media relations head, that he didn't "have long to be in the gold armor") had one foot out the door and would refuse to speak with the press for the next 11 days. O'Neal wasn't sure whether he'd be back. Malone would certainly retire at season's end. Payton was miserable. His backup, Fisher, was frustrated over limited minutes.

The Lakers would finish out the regular season with a pair of victories and -- thanks to a rare dose of good fortune -- enter the playoffs as the second seed.

They had won 56 games in the ugliest of manners, and by now many of the players just wanted it all to end.

One way or another.

The Los Angeles Lakers completed the 2004 playoffs with a nightmarish five-game Finals loss to the underdog Detroit Pistons. Shortly after the Game 5 loss, Bryant sat across from a teammate and declared, "I ain't playing with that motherf---er again."

The motherf---er was Shaquille O'Neal.

Jerry Buss, the franchise owner, had no choice. He desperately wanted to keep Bryant, who -- despite being in the midst of a sexual assault trial that had the potential to land him in prison for up to two decades -- was arguably the game's best player. So the Lakers let Phil Jackson walk off into retirement, then traded O'Neal to Miami, where two seasons later he would team up with Dwyane Wade to bring the Heat their first title.

When Kobe Bryant died earlier this year, he did so as the Lakers' all-time leading scorer, as well as a man with five championship rings wrapped around his fingers.

LOS ANGELES -- Vanessa Bryant, the widow of basketball star Kobe Bryant, has filed a lawsuit against the Los Angeles County sheriff, claiming deputies shared unauthorized photos of the crash that killed her husband, their 13-year-old daughter and seven other people.

After the Jan. 26 crash, reports surfaced that graphic photos of the victims were being shared. Vanessa Bryant was devastated by the reports, her lawyer said.

The suit seeks damages for negligence, invasion of privacy and intentional infliction of emotional distress.

Sheriff Alex Villanueva previously told news media that eight deputies took or shared graphic photos of the scene and he ordered the images deleted. The sheriff said the department has a policy against taking and sharing crime scene photos, but it does not apply to accident scenes.

"That was my No. 1 priority, was to make sure those photos no longer exist,'' Villanueva previously told NBC News. "We identified the deputies involved, they came to the station on their own and had admitted they had taken them and they had deleted them. And we're content that those involved did that.''

Bryant's lawsuit alleges the sheriff's actions constituted a "cover-up'' of the misconduct. The suit claims the photos could still exist.

"Mrs. Bryant feels ill at the thought of strangers gawking at images of her deceased husband and child and she lives in fear that she or her children will one day confront horrific images of their loved ones online,'' the lawsuit states.

California Gov. Gavin Newsom has not yet signed a bill that would make it a misdemeanor for first responders to take unauthorized photos of deceased people at the scene of an accident or crime. The legislation was prompted by the crash photos.

A statement from the sheriff's department Tuesday claimed that Villanueva sponsored the bill, which only lawmakers can do, and incorrectly said such actions are now criminal. The bill has not yet been signed into law.

"Shortly following this tragic crash, Sheriff Villanueva sponsored legislation which now makes it a crime for public safety personnel to take and share non-official pictures of this nature," the statement said. "Due to the pending litigation, we are unable to offer further comment.''

Bryant's attorney, Gary C. Robb, declined to comment.

Bryant previously filed a claim, a precursor to a lawsuit, in Los Angeles County Superior Court. The suit was filed Thursday.

Separately, Bryant has also filed a lawsuit alleging the helicopter's pilot, Ara Zobayan, was careless and negligent to fly in the fog and should have aborted the flight.

The brother of the pilot has said in a court filing that Bryant knew the risks of helicopter flying and his survivors aren't entitled to damages from the pilot's estate, while the helicopter company, Island Express, said it is not responsible for damages, calling the crash, among other things, "an act of God'' and "an unavoidable accident'' that was beyond its control.