Smart sparks the Lakers with genius defensive play over Pelicans
LOS ANGELES — The Lakers' gamble on bringing Marcus Smart into the fold is paying off. Signed a two-year deal with an option for the second year, the arrangement is genius: play well, test free agency again and attempt to capitalize on a hearty contract; play poorly, have the security of opting in for the second year of the $11 million contract in July.
The structure suggests confidence without commitment, opportunity without obligation—the precise balance that a player of Smart's age and injury history requires.
But genius, in basketball as in life, reveals itself only through performance. And Smart's performance against the New Orleans Pelicans—10 points, seven assists, four steals, three blocked shots in a 110-101 Lakers victory—revealed something more valuable than statistical accumulation.
It revealed an effect. It revealed transformation.
It revealed the contagious energy that has become, for these Lakers, the difference between collapse and conquest.
The fervor remains, although his body isn't as spry as it was when he won the 2022 Defensive Player of the Year award.
The defensive player of the year—an honor that recognized peak athleticism married to peak intelligence—now operates at reduced physical capacity.
But the intelligence remains. The anticipation remains.
The willingness to put his body on the line remains, undiminished by time, perhaps even intensified by the awareness that time is no longer his ally.
The Pelicans arrived with youth and athleticism and the specific intention to attack the paint. Trey Murphy flew through the air before throwing down a tomahawk slam. Zion Williamson soared for a two-handed alley-oop slam.
The Lakers' interior defense, anchored nominally by Deandre Ayton, appeared discombobulated—Ayton losing rebounds out of bounds, allowing himself to be pushed around in the paint, missing six-foot shots and getting his dunk attempt blocked by Dejonte Murray. But this is who Ayton is: a former #1 pick who is too erratic to be trusted.
What the Lakers weren't getting consistentlyout of Ayton, Jaxson Hayes made up for—tipping the ball to himself, to teammates, giving two, three and four efforts to get a fingernail on a potential rebound.
But Hayes alone could not address the fundamental problem: the Pelicans had one thing in mind, and the Lakers had no answer.
No team led by more than six points through the first quarter. New Orleans had 13 assists on 13 made baskets, an 18-12 advantage in points in the paint, an 11-6 rebounding advantage. The Lakers appeared destined for another of those defeats that have defined their season—losses to inferior opponents, collapses against teams they should dominate, the recurring pattern of expectation without execution.
Then Smart intervened.
The ball sailed toward the corner, a lazy pass intended for Trey Murphy III, and for a split second, the play looked harmless. Two Pelicans hovered above the three-point line. One Lakers guard stood between them, outnumbered, outpositioned, out of options.
Smart geniusly pounced.
He read the pass before it left Saddiq Bey's hands. He anticipated the angle, the trajectory, the destination.
Smart exploded toward the ball like a lion on a hapless gazelle, who'd been waiting all night for exactly this moment.
His fingertips found leather.
The possession flipped. The crowd roared.
And on the other end, LeBron James finished what Smart started.
It was one play. It was the game.
"Just trying to make plays," Smart said. "My team needed me to make plays on both ends. They trusted me to make those plays and I came through."
The trust is recent, earned through weeks of consistent contributions rather than granted based on reputation. Smart has starred in his role, as coach JJ Redick observed—"played great basketball for the last five, six weeks"—and that stardom has transformed him from acquisition to essential, from gamble to given.
The Lakers win Tuesday night, their third straight victory, their third straight demonstration that something is shifting in Los Angeles.
Luka Dončić had 27 points, 10 rebounds and seven assists. James added 21 points, seven rebounds and seven assists. Austin Reaves shook off an 0-for-7 start to finish with 15.
The stars shined, as stars do.
But Smart wrote a brilliant draft for the win column.
The story was the seven stocks—four steals, three blocks—the relentless pressure, the willingness to sacrifice his body, the defensive IQ that transforms chaos into control.
"A lot of them came over helping in the middle of the lane, you know that train Zion trying to get to the rim,” Smart said. “Just kind of trying to time the basketball and not get the foul. See where he's putting the ball at. We all know how strong and athletic he is—it's a freight train. So you've got to pick your poison. You got to pick the timing spots."
Smart, a 31-year-old guard who signed a two-year deal with a player option, came to Los Angeles with questions about his health and his fit. He has quietly become the heartbeat of a team searching for its identity.
"He's a winning player," James said. "He's always always have been. Ever since I started watching him at Oklahoma State all the way to being a pro. He's always making winning plays.
The former DPOY, the heart of Boston's identity, throughout his career has guarded everyone from point guards to power forwards. But this older, wiser and more mature version, whose body had accumulated miles, whose spryness had faded, whose best days might be behind him, still has utility in a league and on a team, devoid of toughness.
Fifty-seven games into the season, the answer is clear. The Lakers got a guy who makes winning plays.
They got the guy who, on a night when the Lakers could have folded against a younger, more athletic team, refused to let them lose.
The energy shifted when both Smart and Hayes were on the court, and Smart guarded Williamson.
But the effort undersells the genius in his impact. Smart was +13 in 28 minutes. He hit a corner three with the game on the line. He orchestrated the defense like a point guard on the other side of the ball. He made the kind of plays that don't show up in box scores but win games.
The fourth quarter demanded everything. The Pelicans jumped to an eight-point lead with just over seven minutes left, and the Lakers faced the familiar prospect of collapse—another defeat snatched from the jaws of victory, another demonstration of the fragility that has undermined their championship pretensions.
Smart had other intentions.
"Staying locked in," Smart said. "It's been a long time since we've been in that position and had to fight back to get a victory. It was just staying locked in, staying in control. Especially in tonight's game was a lot going on—a lot with the refs, from both teams, and it was just chaotic. But we stayed with it and came out with the win."
The chaos that has historically defeated these Lakers—questionable calls, emotional responses, the loss of composure that transforms adversity into an avalanche—did not defeat them Tuesday.
Smart's presence, his example, his refusal to panic, complain, or surrender, provided the template teammates followed.
"Nights like this can change the trajectory for teams and players," Smart reflected. "Hopefully this win and tonight in the fashion that we won kicks our confidence up and we can keep this alive and going. The way we played tonight and the way we played over the last two games is something that we know we're capable of. Everybody else is hoping we can be consistent with, and that's something that we're trying to do."
The consistency that has eluded these Lakers—through injury, through lineup changes, through the perpetual search for identity that Redick has acknowledged—now seems possible, even probable, with Smart's example lighting the path.
The physical sacrifice was literal and visible.
Smart spoke of Williamson—"strong and athletic, we haven't seen somebody like that in a long time"—and the willingness required to confront him: "Willing to put your body there, take a charge, take an elbow to the face, box him out, go vertical. Not everybody's willing to do it. And that's the difference in the game sometime with guys like him."
Hayes took about four shots to the face. Smart took about two. Reaves hurt his arm.
The Lakers collectively sacrificed their bodies, and the sacrifice was contagious, the energy palpable, the commitment visible to teammates and opponents alike.
"That type of play is contagious," Smart said. "Especially when they started to go on a run, Jaxson came in and he changed the game for us on that end. And we all looked at Jaxson and that all got us all going. Any given night, it could be anybody. Tonight was Jaxson. But that's what Jaxson does and we appreciate everything."
The appreciation is mutual, the effect reciprocal. Smart's energy ignites Hayes; Hayes's effort amplifies Smart; together they create the defensive foundation that allows the Lakers' stars to operate without the pressure of perfection.
The offensive contribution cannot be separated from the defensive.
Smart hit one of the bigger shots of the game, a corner three that extended the Lakers' lead and extinguished the Pelicans' hope. The shot arrived not from set play but from flow, from trust, from the "daring" that Redick identified as essential to Smart's game.
"We were letting Luka do his thing," Smart explained. "Been doing great all night, facilitating for us, and he read the help, made the pass, and I did the rest."
The rest—making shots when stars create space, converting opportunity when attention focuses elsewhere—this is the role that Smart has starred in, the contribution that has made him essential to closing lineups despite the shooting limitations that once defined his reputation.
Redick's trust is explicit and expanding.
"Smart has starred in his role for what we need from him consistently throughout the year," Redick said. "He's been tremendous for us defensively."
The trust extends to the game's most critical moments, to the clutch possessions that determine outcomes and define seasons.
"Just goes back to that experience I have," Smart said. "My years in Boston, close games, tough games, chaotic games, making plays in those and understanding what I'm capable of and what I bring to this team. I appreciate JJ and this coaching staff trusting me down the stretch and I just got to keep doing what I do."
What he does—defensive disruption, anticipatory steals, willingness to absorb contact and convert chaos into opportunity—this has become the Lakers' unexpected foundation, the gamble that has paid off beyond any reasonable expectation.
Los Angeles is streaking up the win column, in hopes it translates to the standings as the playoffs flirt.
They have done so through different means—blowout against Sacramento, comeback against New Orleans—but through consistent energy, the contagious effect of players who refuse to let standards slip, who demand effort through their own example, who transform individual sacrifice into collective success.
Smart's impact extends beyond his own performance to the performance he enables in others.
James, at 41, continues to defy logic and Father Time—whose eight field goals moved him within two baskets of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's all-time field goal record.
Dončić, despite his 14th technical foul and the suspension that awaits if he reaches 16, delivered the dagger three that sealed the victory.
But the stars have always been capable of this.
What they lacked—what Smart provides—was the supporting energy, the defensive conscience, the willingness to do what doesn't appear in highlight reels but appears in win columns.
"Smart was incredible tonight," Redick said. "Him and Jackson in the second half when we got him back in the game defensively as well, really just helped us win the game. They changed the game. Frankly, that's not a win we've had since probably November—where we're down, stuck with it, kept playing. It was a good win for our group to be able to do that again."
The reference point matters.
In November, when the Lakers started 15-4, they demonstrated the resilience that championship teams require, winning games through collective will rather than individual brilliance.
Smart has helped them recover that capacity, that identity, that willingness to fight through adversity rather than surrender to it.
The body betrays before the mind does. But Smart has proven that his mind—defensive IQ, anticipatory instinct, the willingness to sacrifice—can compensate for his body's betrayal.
The gamble is paying off. The Lakers have found their conscience, their energy, their unlikely edge.
The question that remains is whether they can keep it, whether the contagious effect can persist, whether the sacrifice that Smart demonstrates can become the standard that defines them.
The answer will determine their season.
The answer will determine whether this gamble—the $11 million contract, the two-year commitment, the option that awaits—was merely clever or truly smart.


