#and Robin slowly relearns what it's like to have a family again

[ailendolin]

I just made myself sad with the thought that the flea in Robin's ear was probably his only friend for a very long time - certainly the only one apart from Moonah who never left.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Strings of Fate

Soulmate!au. I mess with the canon timeline for the plot. Jason's an unreliable narrator, and I practice writing the Batfamily. ~2.2k words

Jason Todd used to love the idea of soulmates. To watch a colored string form between him and someone he's only just met– knowing that they're going to be a part of him for the rest of his life– was a rush. A thrill that made him giddy every time.

His first soulmate is Batman. He'd never had a soulmate before that alley. It had made his skin itch when he heard other kids talking about their strings, beautiful ropes tying them to loving families that had existed from the moment they were born.

But now he understood the allure, the promise of having something that was his.

He'd dropped the tire iron in shock when a shimmering blue line formed between him and Gotham's Bat. Blue. So dark it was almost black. A blue glowing string that showed a family tie, one wrapped around the index finger of his right hand. (This will haunt him later, when he starts using the same finger to pull the triggers of guns)

The string didn't stop him from trying to run, but it did stop Batman from letting him go.

There's no hiding a string from your soulmate, and Jason likes to think he took Batman removing his cowl very well. (He did not. It took a long time to trust Bruce Wayne)

His second soulmate is Alfred Pennyworth. He's hardly had time to look around the famed batcave and grapple the fact Batman's his soulmate, when his attention is drawn by an elderly man carrying a silver tray. Another blue string. Lighter than his first, it's vibrant around his right wrist.

He's never had a grandfather before, he decides he likes it when the string shimmers as he turns pages of books, when he helps stir the batter for cookies.

His third soulmate is Batgirl. She's pulled him out of the way of a stray bullet, and he thinks he goes a little starry-eyed at the purple string forming on his right forearm. A friendship string. He's never had one of those before he was Robin.

He smiles brightly at her, and he definitely swoons when Barbara Gordan smiles back, nudging him towards the fight and telling him to keep up.

His fourth soulmate is Nightwing. Jason's only been Robin for a handful of months, but he's good at it. He's quick and knows the streets like the back of his hand.

He preens under Batman's smiles and affectionate ruffles of his hair. He wants Nightwing to be proud of him, too. He wants to live up to Robin.

So, he's not exactly sure what to do with the look on Nightwing's face. There's another blue string forming around his right thumb, this one so bright it's nearly neon. Jason's nervous. He hasn't been nervous for a long time.

But, Nightwing speaks up, nodding towards Penguins goons, "Think you can handle these guys?"

"I can," he tells his soulmate confidently, because it's the truth. And even if it wasn't, he's going to impress his new brother.

Nightwing smiles at him, and Jason ignores how strained it seems, "C'mon then, kid, try to keep up."

When Jason meets Dick Grayson, weeks later, his smile is less strained, and he ruffles his hair almost the same way Batman does. It's nice, and they take turns seeing who can do the craziest trick off the training equipment in the batcave.

He likes having a brother.

Jason doesn't meet any other of his soulmates until he's dead, buried, and alive again. There's no strings around his fingers and wrists when he wakes up, and nothing seems real as he slowly relearns his body.

He follows the blue line leading him to Thalia like a puppy. It's grounding, he thinks, to have something that was his again.

Then, he meets Damian. The navy blue string that forms on his left index finger doesn't help much. It just reminds him of what he doesn't have anymore. He flinches when Thalia tells him the baby's last name. He doesn't stay in Nanda Parbat for much longer. He's not much of a soulmate anymore, anyway.

He goes by Red Hood now. He's a crime lord and a villain and the million other things the news calls him. It's almost comical, that his third soulmate of his new life is the Bat. The dark blue string reforms on his right hand, and he doesn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

His fourth soulmate in this life is his replacement. In the future, he won't be proud of the way he reacts to the royal blue string that forms on his left middle finger. But in the moment, in the middle of the hurt and the rage, he takes it out on Robin.

He takes it out on Tim Drake, and the kid just laughs in his face even with the bruises and broken bones. (It'll make bile rise in his throat one day, when he learns how many soulmates Tim Drake has lost)

His fifth soulmate in this life is Nightwing. Five is more soulmates than he's ever had. Jason hides the fresh scar on his throat under armor and leather. He doesn't say anything when Dick talks. Only listens as he's told about the frayed, grayed string that haunted his soulmates after he died.

He swallows the knot in his throat when Nightwing admits quietly that he still has nightmares over the last tug he felt from Jason's string, before watching the blue fade.

Dick tells him to go see Alfred as he stands to leave, and Jason shoves down the bile that rises over it. (He definitely doesn't end up in Blüdhaven later that month on purpose. He definitely doesn't end up working the case with his brother by choice)

His sixth soulmate is Alfred Pennyworth. He leaves the exchange with enough food to last a week and a familiar glowing blue string.

He seeks out his seventh– third– soulmate on his own. Oracle hugs him as the purple string reforms. He doesn't have the words to explain the feelings stuck on his tongue. She maneuvers the wheelchair expertly. Babs gives him a comlink to the clock tower as he's climbing out the window and tells him to keep in touch. (He won't. Not really. But he does check in.)

Jason leaves Gotham after that. He gets more purple strings wrapped around his body then he ever believed he deserved to have.

The Outlaws mean more to him than he's willing to admit, and it's harder than he expected to watch them go their separate ways. He doesn't try to fool himself into thinking they feel the same way, even when he feels the familiar tugs of their strings.

His next soulmate is unexpected. She introduces herself as Spoiler, and he eyes the purple string matching the color of her cape forming on his left bicep wearily. He tells her to stay out of his territory.

He learns quickly that Stephanie Brown doesn't listen to anyone. She brings him coffee every time he starts to think she's going to stay out of Crime Alley.

He doesn't say much back when she visits. But, if he redoubles his efforts against Black Mask when she admits she knows how weird it is to watch a soul bond reform, it's not because the string means anything. (It is)

His next soulmate nearly makes him jump out of his skin when they first meet. Batgirl. Or Black Bat. He's not really keeping track at this point. She's taken out half of the men he was fighting before he's even realized she was there. He stares at her when she pokes at the blue string connecting him to her on his left ring finger.

He prides himself on not flinching when she pats his arm and disappears into the shadows.

Cassandra Cain shows up at his apartment unannounced more often than he likes, and he definitely doesn't enjoy her presence, especially when she calls him 'baby brother'. (He doesn't really mind)

There's a new Robin hovering at the edge of his territory, and Jason recognizes the blue string between them.

"Mother told me to seek you if I ever needed anything," the kid says, and Jason doesn't miss the shake in his voice that he tries to hide.

Jason knows he's not a very good soulmate, so he's not exactly sure why Robin is here instead of with anybody else. He lets the kid hideout in his safehouse anyway, and follows Damian Wayne dutifully into a nest of Talons the next night.

If he takes a few more punches than he would on his own, it's not because his little brother had bags under his eyes, or a stomach wound he tried to hide. (It is)

His next soulmate seeks him out with a purpose. The Signal. Duke Thomas nods at him as they both watch a blue string manifest between them.

"Did you need something," Jason asks, and he definitely doesn't feel the familiar rush of a bond, of something that's home and his.

Duke just grins at him and asks if he's ever tried the chili digs on the corner of third and main. Jason's not sure why he lies and says he hasn't. They both eat enough that it makes them sluggish on patrol.

Jason's pretty sure he's faking his laughter at Duke's quips as he throws another punch at the unfortunate goons. But the number he hands Signal at the end of the night for emergencies isn't fake. (Jason tells him it's just a burner phone number. It's not the truth, and his personal phone is filled with more memes by the day)

Jason has more shades of purple and blue tied to his body than he's able to keep track of. (This is a lie) After dying a hero and becoming a crime boss only to become a vigilante, the idea of having a red string, having a partner, is something he hasn't thought about since he was a kid.

He doesn't need one, it. would only make his life difficult and the life of whoever he was tied to dangerous. So, when he meets your eyes in the streets of Gotham, surrounded by the motionless bodies of the men that tried to mug you, he freezes.

The familiar rush makes his stomach drop, and the bright red string connects his pinkie finger to yours. He blinks at you, and you blink at him. He wonders what you see.

It can't be anything good. He doesn't think any one of his soulmates saw something good when they found out they were tied to him.

It must be worse, so much worse, to know the universe thinks you're meant to love something terrible. He wavers when you step closer to him, and wonders vaguely if he should make a run for it.

You say a name, and his attention snaps back to you, "What?"

You repeat the name again and thank him for saving you. Oh. You're introducing yourself. Jason stares at you, frowns behind his mask at the uncertainty in your eyes, the nervousness and hopefulness set in your face.

"Red Hood." He says, as if it wasn't obvious. He winces silently at the way your face falls. He really is the worst soulmate, and you're a civilian. You shouldn't be mixed up with him. He might be some kind of masochist because he offers to walk you home.

He's definitely asking for trouble when he keeps showing up on your fire escape. He knows he's in trouble the first time he takes off his mask, knows he's in even more trouble when his stuff finds a home in your apartment, and yours in his.

He's waiting for things to go south when he accidentally spills that he has another soulmate to Steph over coffee on their favorite roof. Knows he's risking your safety when you're curled on his couch, and Cass comes over.

Knows the other shoe's going to drop anytime now, when you offer to dog sit Haley for his brother. Knows this is all too good to be true when Alfred offers to share his world-famous cookie recipe with you.

He's staring at the red string tied to his hand when Bruce offers him a tiny velvet box, a peace offering, Jason thinks, a show of approval for you. Not for him. He's still staring at the red string connecting him to you when you fall asleep against his chest that night.

He can't have it this good. He's never done anything that should have allowed the universe to tie him to so many people, to you. His eyes trail over the shimmering purple and blue strings. He tugs on the purple one around his right ring finger. Something soothes in his chest when Roy tugs back.

He focuses back on your string. It never really made sense to him, that whatever magic created the strings is always right about his soulmates. Even with all the ups and downs, the strings lead right back to his family, his friends, the love of his life.

Jason wants to be a good soulmate. He doesn't think he ever will. But he must be doing something okay, because you're cuddling against him and smiling in your sleep.

The myriad of shades and glowing strings eventually guide him to sleep at your side, and Jason silently promises to do his best by his soulmates. He drifts off with more vows of working up the courage to show you the little velvet box hidden in his jacket.

Part Two

[aethelar]

Please can I have a sprawling romance set against the backdrop of a wisteria-laden English castle estate? Specifically the wisteria-laden castle estate that belongs to the Scamander family and that Percival Graves, the young American soldier wounded in action in the first world war, is staying at as he relearns how to walk.

It could happen. A lot of old English estates were offered as hospitals during the war, and wisteria suits castles. It’d be down in Kent somewhere, with a stone Tudor keep and rolling grounds covered in trees just coming into leaf as the seasons change. Lord Scamander won’t be around, I don’t think - he was Lady Scamander’s third husband and she divorced him when he was boring enough to protest her training as a nurse for the VAD. Lady Scamander though, she’ll be there, running the hospital with an iron fist and covering night shifts when the new arrivals were brought in. Graves met her, once, when he’d only recently woken up from surgery. She asked him how he did in a cut-glass accent and checked the dressing on his leg; he spent the whole time tripping over his tongue and half-believing it wasn’t real.

But Lady Scamander isn’t the focus of this romance. The focus of this romance is Graves, of course, and the way he braces himself against the uneven 15th century wall as he shakily hauls himself to his feet, the way he frowns and rehearses the letter he writes to his parents before he dares put pen to paper, the way he sits next to another soldier with another wound and talks them through the dreams they can’t stop seeing every time they close their eyes.

It’s the way he sits on the stone windowsill in the green dining room that’s been repurposed as a hospital ward and watches the summer sun rise and thinks what it would be like if he’d never gone to war.

There’s a figure, down in the grounds. Graves has seen him a few times - tousle-haired, tall, carrying supplies in off the delivery trucks or lugging boxes of potatoes down from the gardens. He’s heading to the stables this morning, sleeves rolled up and something cheerful in his step. He waves when he sees Graves watching from the window.

Newt, Graves learns his name is, though it takes him a while. Healing can’t be rushed, Lady Scamander scolds when Graves pushes himself too far and hobbles his way towards another injury. She taps her lips in thought then raises a hand in imperious summons. Newt, get the man a wheelchair. He needs to go outside.

What am I, a dog? Graves wants to bite back, except he doesn’t because she’s a Lady and his mother raised him right and he really does need to go outside.

Newt fetches the wheelchair and pushes it where Graves asks him to go, and when Graves falls silent with his head tipped back in the sun and his eyes closed to stop himself crying, Newt drops to the ground next to him and waits. He talks, when the silences stretch too long and too loud and Graves hears echoes in them of friends who’ll never come back. It’s nothing important, the things Newt talks about, except that it is because it’s Newt; Graves listens to Newt talk about the pigs and the chickens, the best place to spot robins in the leaf litter, the kinds of flowers that attract bees and which of the horses are learning to work the latches on their stable door.

Newt takes him to see them and Graves holds out a hand with an apple core for a pale grey foal to shy away from then dance towards and take. Graves smiles and Newt notices, and they go back to the horses until the route to the field is familiar, littered with red-gold leaves and lined with autumn brambles. The wheelchair sticks in the mud after rainy nights and Newt laughs each time and stains his white shirt black as he tries to get it free. Eventually, when the frost is thick on the ground and the days are short and cold, Graves hobbles over on a prosthetic leg and the foal - barely a foal anymore - prances up to greet him with its ears pricked high in hello.

He’s beautiful, he says, and Newt leans on the fence and watches Graves and smiles, achingly tender-soft, and says, He is.

They want him on the front, Newt says another day. He’s frowning, almost angry, but his hands are ceaselessly gently as he teases the tangles out the grey yearling’s mane. Graves’ fingers tighten on his cane and the drumming of rain against the roof seems to change in tempo. Newt reaches out to ask for a different brush and Graves is back in the stable again, back in Kent, in the castle estate with Newt. Not now, Newt continues, flicking his eyes over Graves to check he’s alright. He’s not ready yet, but when he is, he’ll leave.

He swaps places and the yearling noses at Graves’ pockets when he steps forward to take over grooming. Graves laughs, and Newt watches him, and says, I don’t want him to go.

Spring comes and the wisteria blooms again, clouds of purple floating over the arched gateway and lining the stairs up to the balcony terrace. Graves takes them slowly, over-bending his knee to account for lack of flexibility in the ankle of his aluminium leg, but he takes them steadily, by himself, walking on two feet he’s finally accepted as his own.

Newt, he says, and he can’t help but smile. Newt is windswept and sunkissed, the pale of winter fading into a spray of freckles across his cheeks.

Graves, Newt answers, pushing himself off the crenellated wall and reaching for Graves’ hand. He pauses for a moment, gaze roving over Graves’ face as though he could paint it into his memory if he looked at it hard enough, and when he continues his voice is small.

Mother says you’re well enough to go home.

Mother? Graves asks, because Newt is the stable boy, the gardener, the fetch-and-carry boy that does anything and everything to keep the hospital-castle running. Then, with shock, Mother, because there’s a painting in the east library of a laughing child with tousled hair and freckled cheeks and Graves had been distracted enough by it to ask one of the maids who it was.

Oh, the young master, she’d said. He’s a charmer, isn’t he?

Mother, Graves repeats a third time, and Newt, the charmer, the young master, Newt Scamander frowns at him in confusion.

You didn’t know? he asks, hesitant. His fingers tighten around Graves’, a brief moment of weakness that he regrets when Graves steps away.

I’m sorry, Graves says, eyes wide. He’s a soldier, not even a soldier, not even American just the son of an Italian immigrant who thought he could save the world and lost his leg in a trench. Newt is a Lord. And Graves had thought - Graves had hoped - in a letter to his mother that Graves had rehearsed three times before writing, Graves had asked if he could bring Newt home.

He stares around him, at the castle, the wisteria, the rolling grounds and the stable where the horse he’s started thinking of as his is waiting to be sent to war. His mother can send him all the love she has, but the only home Graves could offer Newt would be a hovel compared to this.

Graves, wait, Newt says, but Graves is gone, limping-falling-running down the stairs with his cane clattering against the stones as he flees.

The second half of Newt’s statement doesn’t register until he’s back in the ward, staring blankly as the smiling doctor pronounces him as healthy as he can hope to be. I bet you’ll be glad to get home, he says with a friendly pat on Graves’ shoulder, and Graves nods woodenly and doesn’t want to go. Castles in Kent are not made for leaving lightly, he thinks; nor are tousle-haired boys with freckled cheeks who push his wheelchair and hold his hand and steal his breath away when they laugh.

The bag that he packs into is too small for the year of his life he’s spent falling in love. He slings it cross-ways over his body and balances his cane against his knee as the truck rattles its way to the castle gates. The sound of the engine morphs and twists in his mind until it’s a droning plane, a machine gun, a spray of shrapnel, a horse’s hooves. He closes his eyes and wills the memories away but he can’t block them out by himself.

The hooves get louder and he thinks he can hear someone shouting; he grips his cane tighter and digs his nails into his palm but it doesn’t stop and someone shouts his name and his eyes fly open with a gasp and -

and -

Graves, Newt begs, leaning forwards against the grey horse’s neck. The war falls away and Graves is back in Kent with Newt. Please, Graves, I don’t want you to go. 

You’re a Lord, Graves says, baffled and confused and so cautiously optimistic it almost hurts. I’m - I’m no one.

You’re someone to me, Newt says. The horse dances under him, ears flicking between them and head tossing at it tries to understand. Arguments run through Graves’ thoughts, tripping over themselves and part of him can barely believe this is real, but Newt holds out a hand and blinks like he’s trying not to cry. Please, he says. Stay.

Graves loves him. He doesn’t want to go. He takes his hand and stays.

The wisteria fades, summer passes, the seasons change and the trees drop red-gold leaves as autumn falls. The war ends. The Lady Scamander hires a new cook and a new librarian and raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Graves when he chokes. You mentioned your mother’s cooking was the best, she remarks coolly. I think I deserve it, don’t you?

Newt just laughs when Graves tells him. Do they like horses? he asks. You’ll have to show them yours. Maybe you’ll be able to stay on for five minutes at a time. The teasing is light-hearted and gentle and Graves flaps a hand in pretend annoyance to hide his grin. They didn’t take his horse to the front because there wasn’t a front, not any more, and Graves hides apples in his pockets and sneaks down to the stables in the early mornings to detangle his mane, and in return his horse waits patiently while Graves lifts his prosthetic leg over to sit astride the polished saddle and - slowly, carefully, steadily - the pair of them learn to ride.

It can’t be rushed, Newt says when Graves and his horse both push too fast and Graves ends up on the grass with the breath knocked out of him. You’ll end up back in your chair, and then what will I do with you?

Whatever you like, Graves promises, and pulls Newt down to land on top of him.

He could fall in love a thousand times, he thinks, and one more smile would be all it took to fall in love again.

Yes, Newt says, and presses a kiss against his lips. I rather think I shall.

[cbholganza]

Once upon a time, there were two proud powerhouses in the kingdom of Hooplandia. There was the mighty House Lakers from that yonder western frontier called El-Ay. And there was this other family – House Celtics – from that eastern metropolis named Boston. It seemed not ages ago when the two cage powers were at the top of their game, with storied clashes regaling fans all over the world. The Lakers and the Celtics have clashed a record of 12 times in the NBA Finals, the last being in 2008 and 2010. There was a time when one was either a Laker fanatic or a Celtic diehard, no in-betweens.

The Boston – LA rivalry has spanned 5 decades. (Amino Apps)

Familiar names and legendary rivalries have evolved. There were Boston’s Bill Russell and Bob Cousy up against LA’s Jerry West and Elgin Baylor in the 60s. Wilt Chamberlain came in later for the Lakers. Dave Cowens and John Havlicek emerged for the Celts. They’d clash again during the 80s; with Kareem Abdul Jabbar and James Worthy teaming up with the charismatic Magic Johnson; while blue-collar Larry Bird got back-up work from Robert Parish and Kevin Mchale. Then came the Shaq – Kobe dynamic duo for the purple and gold, and the triumvirate of Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen for the green and white.

LA_Boston rivalry in the 50s. (Pro hoops History)

Bob Cousy with Bill Russell (NPR)

Elgin Baylor, Wilt Chamberlain, Jerry West (Pinterest)

Dave Cowens and John Havlicek (Buzz Vivo)

Magic and Bird in the 80s. (USA Today)

Kareem Abdul Jabbar, James Worthy and Magic Johnson (Pinterest)

Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, and Larry Bird (Photo by Dick Raphael/NBAE via Getty Images)

Jabbar and Bird heat up. (Sports Illustrated)

Kobe and Shaq circa late 90s. (Amino Apps)

Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce and Ray Allen (Boston.com)

Kobe and Kevin stoke the rivalry. (The Tylt)

  These days however, the league’s perennial powerhouses are finding themselves in unfamiliar territory. Previously feared and recognized as the most dominant teams ever in the NBA, the Los Angeles Lakers and the Boston Celtics are today mired in controversy and – in the case of the Lakers – are in grave danger of not even making the playoffs!

For the record, a lot was expected of the two teams this year.

Boston was just a game away from the NBA Finals last year despite the loss of its top 2 players – Kyrie Irving and Gordon Hayward – to injuries. Expectations ran high as the 2 reported back from sick bay. However, their re-entry has not achieved the desired results. Instead, the team has floundered embarrassingly to the middle of the pack in the race for the east.

Kyrie’s crew has been named as the next potential dynasty in the NBA. (USA Today) 

For LA, the arrival of Lebron James to Hollywood brought back wonderful visions of the Lakers’ Showtime years. Backed up by a talented young crew, it seemed that the team was slowly moving to the top of the western conference at the start of the season. Alas, Lebron was sidelined by a groin injury, and then trade rumors started running wild. From then on, the Lakers have underwhelmed, even with the return of King Lebron.

Lebron with the Lakers’ youth core.

 Fans of both Boston and LA are getting desperate. Both Lebron and Kyrie are not delivering. Some fans had even dreamed of a Lebron-Kyrie Finals match-up, pitting the Batman-Robin tandem from Cleveland. Oh yes, there were visions of the return of the Magic-Bird era – with some striking resemblance in the Lonzo Ball – Jayson Tatum arrival last year. There were intriguing match-ups pitting both franchise’s very promising youth squads. These have since fizzled out. Despite numerous line-up innovations and veteran acquisitions, things haven’t been moving as planned. What seems to be the problem?

A Lebron-Kyrie duel would have been a great storyline for the NBA Finals. (Sportskeeda)

A private joke? Or was lebron subtly recruiting his old buddy? (Philippine Star)

Batman and Robin. Who wins? (Basketball Forever)

The answer is team chemistry. Team Chemistry is an intangible thing that is difficult to spot in team statistics. Despite advances in analytics and technology, team chemistry is still very difficult to totally capture. And it can make the difference between making it to the Finals and not making it to the playoffs at all.

Some players just won’t jell together. Sometimes, it’s the mindsets (errr… egos, perhaps?) that will make things difficult. An example for a comparison would be between the tandems of Utah’s John Stockton and Karl Malone in the 90s, and the celebrated, yet short-lived union of Lebron James and Isaiah Thomas in Cleveland last year. While the Stockton-Malone give-and-go thrived, the James-Thomas dance did not, forcing the Cavs to trade Isaiah in a hurry.

John Stockton and Karl Malone team-up almost clinched the NBA crown in the 90s. (SPOX)

The Lebron James – Isaiah Thomas partnership didn’t last long. (Sporting News)

Styles, playing times, number of ball-touches, etc, all these matter a lot to players. Not to mention salaries and media exposure. In the case of Boston, the re-entry of Gordon Hayward has taken away valuable minutes from the vastly-improving Jaylen Brown and Jayson Tatum. The re-entry of Kyrie Irving has stunted the steady growth of Terry Rozier and the scrappy Marcus Smart. The quartet of Brown, Tatum, Rozier and Smart had given a good account of themselves in the eastern conference playoff battles last year, almost upending the Cavs in the conference finals. With Hayward and Irving returning, notwithstanding their immaculate credentials, the quartet’s performances have dipped. In this case, it seems that the presence of too many talented guys has worked to the detriment of the team. 

A Lebron-Kyrie duel would have been a great storyline for the NBA Finals. (Sportskeeda)

A private joke? Or was lebron subtly recruiting his old buddy? (Philippine Star)

Batman and Robin. Who wins? (Basketball Forever)

John Stockton and Karl Malone team-up almost clinched the NBA crown in the 90s. (SPOX)

The Lebron James – Isaiah Thomas partnership didn’t last long. (Sporting News)

Smart and Rozier alternated as the point guard when Kyrie was injured. (Celtics Direct)

Brown and Tatumthrived in the absence of Harward. (The Boston Globe)

In the case of the Lakers, the young turks led by Kyle Kuzma and Brandon Ingram seemed to enjoy playing together, and learning to compete under King Lebron at the start of the season. The arrival of Rondo and the other vets was also supposed to provide stability for the second unit. Everyone seemed upbeat as the Lakers’ youth movement jelled seamlessly with the vets under the baton of the great King Lebron. However, the moment the trade details came out, team chemistry was thrown out the window. That shook up the entire roster, as players started thinking for themselves, trying to show what they were capable of doing. With the trade put on hold, players have been subtly jostling each other, hoping to get the Laker management – and King Lebron – to change their minds about trading them. To a large extent, players have lost their faith on the management, and on Lebron as their leader.

Kuzma and Ingram bore the scoring load in the absence of Lebron. (The Answer)

In both camps, the iso’s have taken over, and shooting percentages have gone down the drain. Individual statistics are being padded up, so that, hopefully at the end of the season, these statistics will help them in the bargaining table if and when a trade pulls through.

Team chemistry. When players no longer enjoy playing with each other. When players stop rooting for each other, stop trusting one another. When players think about themselves first as opposed to the team. When that happens, it’s goodbye to team chemistry, it’s goodbye to the team.

Lebron sitting away from the rest of the team. (SB Nation)

For the Celtics and the Lakers to get back on track, they need to relearn some old values. The values of trust and selflessness. The values of sacrifice and prioritizing the team first. The value of working and caring for each other. There is a need to rebuild relationships. And it starts with the stars, like Lebron and Kyrie. They need to reach out to the other members of their respective teams. They have to learn to lead by example. By giving good help-defense, by making sure there’s no slacking on defense. By playing more team offense, less isolation plays. By emphasizing more assists, more screens and picks, by doing the dirty work of rebounding, boxing out, etc.  No more finger-pointing. By cheering on the sidelines. Off the court, by talking, motivating, teaching, caring, and even going out together.

The game needs to be fun once again. (Sportskeeda) 

Yeah. There goes the key word. Together. That’s what these teams need to relearn: to do things TOGETHER.

What Ails the Lakers and the Celtics? Once upon a time, there were two proud powerhouses in the kingdom of Hooplandia. There was the mighty House Lakers from that yonder western frontier called El-Ay.