SOMEONE NEEDS TO CALL KOBE.

Byline: RAMONA SHELBURNE 

Kobe Bryant should've gone dark Wednesday, screened his calls and let the ashes smolder from the verbal firestorm he unleashed on the Lakers the day before.

The only call he should've taken was one from Lakers owner Jerry Buss. Only three words that needed to be said:

"We hear you."

But Buss didn't call. Neither did his son Jim, the apprentice. Nor general manager Mitch Kupchak.

Maybe they didn't know what to say. Maybe they were too busy with their own personal dramas.

This was a day for leadership, not excuses. One of the most important days in franchise history. But for some reason, those leaders have seemed a bit distracted lately.

"I don't know where (Jerry Buss) is," Bryant said on KLAC 570-AM. "Where is he? I haven't heard from that guy in a long time. He has my phone number, call me."

It's not like Bryant is hard to get a hold of these days. You just call up his public relations team from Nike -- yes, Nike is handling Kobe's P.R. this summer, not the Lakers -- ask to talk to Kobe and he says yes. Crazy, I know.

Kobe did three lengthy radio interviews Wednesday after twolengthy confessionals the day before. And word is, the radio producers didn't have to work all that hard to get him on the phone.

Stephen A. Smith talked to Kobe, Dan Patrick talked to Kobe ... even Vic the Brick talked to Kobe.

After Tuesday's rant, it was pretty clear to everyone but the Lakers' leadership that their superstar really needed to get some stuff off his chest and feel some love.

It's almost like he was sitting at home waiting by the phone for someone to call. But when those someones, Jerry Buss, Jim Buss and Mitch Kupchak, didn't call, he started talking to anyone and everyone who would listen.

Kobe has had every reason to expect a phone call for the past threeweeks. After the season, he sat in front of every television camera in town at the Lakers' practice facility and told the team he was mad as hell and wasn't going to take it any more. His command was simple: "Do something, do it now."

Yes, it only has been three weeks. Yes, it's not time for any trades or free-agent signings to go down. Yes, he could have given the Lakers a little more time to work it out. But when your superstar throws a public fit, you've got to hold his hand a bit, keep him in the loop and make him feel like you've got a plan.

But who has time for leadership when you're off cavorting with 23- year-old girls in San Diego? Hope it was fun, Jerry.

And who has time to hold hands when you're feuding with your coach and sister through sports talk radio shows? Hope it felt good, Jim.

Instead, the Lakers let Kobe sit alone at home, privately stewing while the Utah Jazz played in the Western Conference finals. The Utah Jazz??!!

Fortunately, Phil Jackson still has Kobe's number and remembered how to dial it. By lunchtime, Phil seemed to have talked some Zen into him and Kobe backed off a little on his trade demands.

The Lakers' brass, meanwhile, remained mum until the late afternoon, when Jerry Buss came up with a two-paragraph statement saying that the team still believes in Kobe and wants to build the team around him.

That's a start. A very, very small start that's very, very late in coming.

For better or for worse, Kobe is the guy the Lakers got hitched to in 2004 when they chose to shack up with him instead of Shaquille O'Neal.

The Lakers knew Kobe could be selfish and petulant when they said their "I do's." But they also knew they had to have him. And maybe, they thought, they might be able to change him just a little bit.

For most of the past three years, Kobe has been a great employee, filling the seats at Staples Center with his brilliant individual play and refusing to criticize his young, mishmashed team and the front office that created it.

You'd think that would count for something. You'd think that would be reason enough to pick up the phone and make sure he felt appreciated and included.

He was screaming pretty loudly. It shouldn't have taken so long for the Lakers to hear him.

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