The Staples Center smelled like expensive cigars and desperation back then. If you grew up watching basketball at the turn of the millennium, you know exactly what I’m talking about. The purple and gold weren't just a team; they were a traveling circus of high-stakes drama and impossible shot-making. When people search for lakers old players 2000s, they usually start with the Mamba and the Diesel. That makes sense. Shaq and Kobe were the sun and the moon. But the actual orbit? That was held together by a collection of veterans, specialists, and occasional headaches that defined an era of basketball we probably won't ever see again.
It wasn't just about the rings. Honestly, it was about the personalities. You had guys who were superstars elsewhere coming to Hollywood to chase that one elusive hardware, and you had home-grown grinders who became cult heroes.
The Three-Peat Glue Guys
Let's talk about Derek Fisher for a second. Fish wasn't the fastest. He wasn't the best shooter in the league. But if there were 0.4 seconds on the clock in San Antonio, there wasn't a single person in Los Angeles who wanted the ball in anyone else's hands. He was the emotional barbell of those early 2000s teams. While Shaq and Kobe were busy being the most dominant (and most dysfunctional) duo in sports history, Fisher was the one keeping the locker room from literally exploding.
Then there’s Rick Fox. People forget how versatile he was because he looked like a movie star—which, let's be real, he eventually became. Fox was the quintessential "glue guy." He could defend the opponent's best wing, hit a corner three, and play physical enough to annoy the living daylights out of guys like Peja Stojakovic or Chris Webber. He brought a certain level of Canadian toughness that the flashy Lakers desperately needed during those wars with the Sacramento Kings.
Robert Horry and the Art of the Big Shot
You can't mention lakers old players 2000s without talking about "Big Shot Rob."
Horry is a statistical anomaly. If you look at his regular-season averages, they're... fine. They don't scream Hall of Fame. But Robert Horry didn't play for February. He played for May and June. That shot against the Kings in 2002? The one where Vlade Divac swatted the ball right to the top of the key? That wasn't luck. Horry spent his entire career being in the right place at the right time. He had this weird, ice-cold composure that allowed him to thrive when the lights were the brightest. He wasn't a star, but he was a winner. Seven rings don't happen by accident.
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The 2004 "Superteam" That Flopped (Mostly)
2004 was a fever dream. Imagine telling a fan in 1998 that Gary Payton and Karl Malone would be wearing Lakers jerseys together. It felt like a video game. But as we learned, basketball isn't played on paper. Malone was actually surprisingly good until his knee gave out—he brought a blue-collar work ethic to a team that was starting to get a bit complacent. Gary Payton, on the other hand, never quite fit Phil Jackson’s Triangle Offense. Watching "The Glove" try to navigate a system that required him to give up the ball was like watching a cat try to swim. It just wasn't natural.
They made the Finals, sure. But the Detroit Pistons took them apart. It was a humbling moment for the franchise. It signaled the end of the Shaq era and sent the Lakers into a brief, dark period where the roster looked... well, it looked rough.
The Wilderness Years: Smush and Kwame
We have to talk about the mid-2000s. It’s a requirement.
Kobe Bryant scoring 81 points is a miracle, but it’s even more of a miracle when you look at who he was sharing the court with that night. Smush Parker. Chris Mihm. Kwame Brown. These are names that still trigger a bit of PTSD for Lakers fans. Smush Parker actually had some decent stretches, but his public feud with Kobe has basically erased any positive on-court contributions from the collective memory.
Kwame Brown is a different story. He was the victim of being a number one pick who just couldn't handle the pressure of the L.A. spotlight. He had "stone hands," as the commentators loved to say. But ironically, it was the trade involving Kwame that saved the franchise. When Mitch Kupchak flipped him (and the rights to Marc Gasol) for Pau Gasol, the second half of the 2000s dynasty was born.
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The Pau Gasol Era and the Redemption
When Pau arrived in 2008, everything changed overnight. The Lakers went from a fringe playoff team to a juggernaut. Pau wasn't just a "big man." He was a conductor. His passing ability from the high post unlocked everything Kobe wanted to do. It was basketball poetry.
But Pau wasn't alone. That second wave of lakers old players 2000s included guys like Lamar Odom. Lamar was the "Swiss Army Knife." On any given night, he could give you 15 rebounds, 8 assists, and 20 points, or he could disappear entirely. He was the most talented person on the floor half the time, but he played with a laid-back vibe that drove Phil Jackson crazy. Still, without Odom’s versatility off the bench (winning Sixth Man of the Year), those 2009 and 2010 rings don't exist.
Metta World Peace (Ron Artest)
If Horry was the hero of the first half of the decade, Ron Artest was the hero of the second. Before he became Metta World Peace, he was the defensive specialist brought in to do the dirty work. His shot in Game 7 of the 2010 Finals against the Celtics is etched into history. Kobe passed him the ball—which was a miracle in itself—and Artest launched a three that felt like it was in the air for an hour.
Swish.
His post-game interview, thanking his psychologist, remains one of the most authentic and human moments in NBA history. It showed the shift in the team's culture. They weren't just the dominant bullies anymore; they were a group of veterans who had fought through their own personal and professional demons to get back to the top.
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Forgotten Contributors and Cult Classics
- Sasha Vujacic: "The Machine." He was annoying, he pouted, and he had great hair. But he also sank the two most important free throws of the 2010 Finals.
- Luke Walton: Before he was a coach, he was the guy who knew exactly where to stand in the Triangle. He wasn't athletic, but he was smart.
- Andrew Bynum: The youngest player ever drafted. When he was healthy, he was a force. People forget he was an All-Star and a vital part of the twin-towers lineup with Pau.
- Trevor Ariza: The 2009 playoff run he had was legendary. His steals against Denver in the Conference Finals basically saved the season. Then he left for more money in Houston, making way for Artest.
Why This Era Still Hits Different
The 2000s Lakers were the last of a certain kind of team. They didn't have "player empowerment" in the way we see it now. They had a coach who burned incense and gave them books to read. They had stars who genuinely, at times, despised each other but respected the game enough to win anyway.
When you look back at these lakers old players 2000s, you see a map of how to build a champion. You need the superstars, obviously. But you also need the guy who will take a charge (Fisher), the guy who isn't afraid to miss (Horry), and the guy who will dive into the third row for a loose ball (Artest).
The roster was a mix of Hollywood glitz and blue-collar grit. It was messy, it was loud, and it was successful.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Historians
If you're looking to dive deeper into this specific era of Lakers history, don't just stick to the highlight reels on YouTube.
- Watch the "Three-Peat" Documentaries: The Lakers produced official season-review DVDs for 2000, 2001, and 2002. They provide incredible locker room footage that isn't available elsewhere.
- Read "The Last Season" by Phil Jackson: This book is a brutal, honest look at the 2003-2004 season. It explains exactly why the Payton/Malone experiment struggled and gives insight into the Kobe/Shaq feud.
- Analyze the Triangle Offense: To understand why guys like Luke Walton or Brian Shaw were valuable, you have to understand the spacing. Look for "Triangle Offense breakdowns" to see how role players were utilized as passers rather than just shooters.
- Track the Gasol Trade Impact: Look at the Lakers' defensive rating before and after February 2008. It's a masterclass in how one player can change the entire floor geometry for a roster.
The Lakers of the 2000s were a powerhouse that defined a decade. From the dominance of Shaq to the technical brilliance of Pau, every player—even the ones who only stayed for a season—played a part in the legend of the Forum and the Staples Center. That history is written in the rafters. If you want to understand the modern NBA, you have to understand the 2000s Lakers first. It’s where the blueprint for the modern superteam was both created and, in some ways, cautioned against.