Dear Kobe,
When I first saw you, you were my mortal enemy.
I was a rabid Blazermaniac and you were latest incarnation of Laker evil.
Just as my Blazers were gaining momentum: Sabas, Sheed, Mighty Mouse, Smitty, Pip — you showed up and rained on our parade.
And that game 7 — man, you left me in a smoldering pile, unable to move after what I had just witnessed. I still wake up in a sweat over nightmares of that 4th quarter…
Oh, I loathed you man.
The years went on and you got even better. Just more salt in the wound. The superstar next door, sent from the basketball gods to deny my squad access to the Promised Land.
But then something happened along the way. It took my team drifting to mediocrity to realize it. I was finally able to see you in an unbiased light. And damn, when I really watched you, destroying other teams, hoisting trophies — you were better than I feared.
It wasn’t just the high-flying antics — best dunks in the game. Or the insane bouts of scoring — Eighty-one?! It was something deeper, wiser, maybe even mystical. You were channeling something. You had a crazy focus — manifested by that driven look in your eye and punctuated by jersey ripping celebrations.
It was then I realized that there was no one in the game like you. You wanted it more. You obsessed over it. Frankly, you played the game and approached the game the way I wished every pro athlete did, but was always disappointed they didn’t. The rare best player who actually pushed himself to become even greater. Yikes.
You maximized your already insane talents, and squeezed entirely new skills out of your body and mind. I started devouring your interviews, enthralled by your bits of wisdom and barbs of honesty leveled at how soft the game had become. I enjoyed hearing about your practice rants as you morphed into some kind of basketball Steve Jobs — demanding perfection from your entire roster. I watched how the others — superstars even would gather around you in awe, during the Olympics or All-Star weekends. You spent most of your career a living legend and carrying that mantle damn well.
Most of all, even when I was a screaming, hating Rip City snorting Blazermaniac, you made the game of basketball feel vital. Not just another sport. But THE sport.
Whether despising you or eventually appreciating you — the game was elevated by your presence.
Now that you tell us the end is near, I am proud to say I see the light. I’m glad I was not blinded by it forever.
And hell, now that you won’t be suiting up in purple and gold and defying my Zers, I can root wholeheartedly for you in your post basketball career.
Respect,
A Blazer fan who recognizes a legend
