When Kobe Bryant was selected with the 13th pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, I was just over five months old. Consequently, I have never known basketball without Kobe.
When people would bring up a talented young player, laden with potential and hype (see Melo, Wade, even LeBron), Kobe would always be the standard of success, looming dark in the distance. He was the one that other players could never compare to, that mere mortals could not touch.
He sat at the gates of basketball immortality, wielding his accolades like a scepter. He proved to be untouchable, but at the same time dark and imperfect; 2003 still lurks in the minds of many.
There was much about him that went against the grain. He gave up personal relationships for success, and he did so ruthlessly; a feat that even some of the most successful athletes cannot conquer. He was not popular with those who did not understand his motives, or with those who could not grasp his mentality.
He was the dark angel of basketball’s long-shorts-and-cornrows era. He was the guardian of greatness after Jordan left.
And as everyone was measured to Kobe, and Kobe was the menacing overlord of the sport itself, people tended to hate Kobe.
One of those people was myself.
And he always had a good team around him, as well. Kobe was being double teamed on the last possession of the game? Kick it to Derek Fisher, and the game was over. Find a cutting Lamar Odom, and you might as well turn the TV off. Throw it up to Pau Gasol for an awkwardly demoralizing and-one bucket, and you can kiss this one goodbye.
He won two straight championships (and went to three in total) during my middle school years, and I hated every minute of it.
But when I got older, however, I grew to appreciate Kobe. I understood what he meant to the game, and my seething hatred turned slowly to sustained bewilderment.
On spring nights when I was shooting in the driveway, I would often peek in the window to see Kobe playing on TV and would immediately go back out to try to emulate his movements.
It was Marv Albert with the classic driveway call: “Five seconds on the clock, Bryant with the ball on the elbow…”
Back to the basket, shimmy right, turn left, fadeaway over the defender (preferably Matt Barnes), nothing but net.
“BRYANT KNOCKS IT DOWN!! THE CROWD IS SILENCED ONCE AGAIN BY THE LATE-GAME HEROICS OF KOBE…”
Walk back, furiously biting lower lip, staring down someone in the front row who had pissed you off 30 minutes ago, teammates jumping all over you.
And occasionally, at this time, you’d throw in a comment from Reggie Miller: “HE’S A BADDD MANNN!!”
But as adolescence passed and I started becoming a young adult, I tried to not only emulate Kobe’s movements on the court, but also his mentality in life.
I read the stories of his work ethic, and he helped me understand what ‘having a passion for something’ really means. He taught me about humility, loyalty, and making sacrifices.
Tomorrow night, the game will lose a godfather. It will lose the multilingual 18-year old from Philly with an afro and a dream. And the game will gain a titan, immortalized in a purple-and-gold radiance.
I will lose a major piece of my basketball childhood, one that I have both loved and hated, sometimes simultaneously. But I will miss him, a lot. WE will miss him, a lot.
From everyone who has been lucky enough to have seen Kobe in his prime, thank you, Kobe. Our game will never be the same without you.
So long, #24.
