After a year, the Kings stood once more on the playoff stage. Compared to last season's chaotic debut, CJ McCollum and Nikola Jokic now exuded a newfound calm. The Kings had pulled out all the stops this year. Even Richardson and Bojan, usually relegated to the Development League, were called back. Neither was active for the game, but their presence was symbolic. Depth mattered—even if it was just for waving towels with enthusiasm.
The Kings' starting lineup featured CJ, Booker, Butler, Gay, and Jokic. Across the court, the Grizzlies, missing key players Mike Conley and Marc Gasol due to injuries, fielded a patchwork lineup of Carter, Barnes, Farmar, Randolph, and Anderson.
Seated courtside in an unusually sharp suit was Kings GM Chen Allen, whose demeanor radiated intensity. Though the Kings and Grizzlies didn't have a storied rivalry, Chen Allen carried his own grudge. Back in 2011, as an assistant coach for the Spurs, he'd endured Memphis's historic eighth-seed upset over his team. The loss had left Popovich fuming—and his wrath spared no one, least of all Allen, who'd been subjected to a week of relentless critique. That humiliation forged a vendetta, and Pop's call the night before had been a blunt reminder:
"You know what to do. Lose to them, and you'll wish you hadn't."
The Kings claimed the opening possession. CJ advanced the ball, orchestrating a pick-and-roll with Gay and Jokic. The play began with familiar movements from the regular season, but instead of passing off to Gay for isolation, CJ exploited Jokic's screen, pivoting sharply into the paint. Faced with Chris Anderson's towering defense, CJ sank a smooth jumper, setting the tone for the game.
No celebration followed. CJ immediately turned to defend, his focus unyielding. On the sidelines, Grizzlies coach Dave Joerger felt a chill. Something about the Kings tonight felt... hostile. He turned to Chen Allen, whose stoic intensity provided the answer.
The Kings exploited the Grizzlies' depleted interior defense mercilessly. With Gasol out, Randolph was forced to shoulder the load alone, and the Kings targeted him relentlessly. Jokic, playing with creativity and precision, picked apart Memphis's defense with ease.
On the defensive end, the Kings adopted a 1-2-1 zone, daring Memphis to find answers. With Conley absent and Vince Carter—their best scorer—showing his age, the Grizzlies' offense floundered. By the end of the first quarter, the Kings held a commanding double-digit lead.
Seeing the game tilt heavily in their favor, Coach Malone rotated in his bench players to conserve energy. Rudy Gay, replaced by Thaddeus Young, took his place on the sidelines, towel in hand. From his seat, Gay glanced across the court toward the Grizzlies' bench, where Randolph now sat. Their eyes met briefly.
Randolph offered a weary, understanding smile. He knew why the Kings were playing with such ferocity tonight. Legacy demanded retribution. Yet the irony wasn't lost on him—back in 2011, Rudy Gay had been part of Memphis's iron-willed team that orchestrated the Spurs' downfall. Life, it seemed, had a way of rearranging allegiances.
As Randolph left the floor, the Grizzlies' interior collapsed completely. Memphis's backup center, Jarell Martin, struggled to contain Jokic, who took the opportunity to showcase his skills.
Receiving the ball in the post, Jokic found himself staring down Martin. In that moment, an old memory surfaced:
"Watch closely, kid. I'll only show you this move once," Nowitzki had said during a training session years ago.
Inspired, Jokic sized up Martin, backing him down with deceptive strength. Then, with a sudden turn, Jokic stepped back, planting one foot firmly as he leaned away for a fadeaway jumper. His awkward shooting form belied the elegance of the shot as the ball arced cleanly through the net.
"Swish."
Jokic allowed himself a small smile. Simple, effective, and timeless.
Joerger, watching his team falter further, called for another timeout. Meanwhile, Chen Allen remained seated, his arms crossed. His expression didn't soften, even as the Kings' dominance grew. On the court, the Kings weren't just playing to win—they were playing to rewrite history, to exorcise old ghosts.
The Kings' performance was a statement, not just to their fans but to the league: This wasn't the same team as last year. With their stars leading the charge and their bench stepping up, they were ready to prove they belonged among the NBA elite.