I Was Supposed To Hate Kobe Bryant
Kobe Bryant.
He was drafted in 1996. I was five years old and Space Jam had just been released changing the future course of my, and likely, many other lives. Michael Jordan gripped me like no one had managed to prior and suddenly basketball became the center of my world…
Fast forward five years to 2001 — I was the cliche, suburban, ten-year-old kid whose core group of friends were my travel basketball-teammates. We were a quite naturally competitive-group and as a result, had the compound effect, of both bringing us closer together along with becoming more interested and invested in the game of basketball. Coincidentally this was when Kobe was hitting his (first) prime.
There was only one problem, I’m from Boston.
If I must explain why this is a problem in one sentence, it’s because Bostonians aren’t allowed to like anyone/thing affiliated with the Los Angeles Lakers. Of course I genuinely did have the choice, but what was the point of going against the grain there? The social impact as a ten year-old seemed counterproductive at best, and potentially even devastating.
So I chose to hate Kobe Bryant. I’m not going to lie, in the beginning it really wasn’t that hard to do. I loved Jordan, and Kobe was supposedly his replacement? He was good don’t get me wrong, but he was yet to ascend anywhere near Jordans’ mid 90’s level. Not to mention, Shaq had the heart of the kids at that point, and only served to push me further away from Kobe’s corner due to the apparent dynamic of their relationship. Plus we had trend-setter A.I., at the time equally-dynamic T-Mac, and the greatest modern dunker in league history, Vince Carter, all playing in the eastern conference. Paul Piece held down Boston and as a result Kobe was an afterthought amongst the young group of stars we had to choose from to idolize.
Kobe was also the easy target, the self inflicted super-villain of my sports youth. The metro Boston-raised-boomer-parents, too rooted too understand him, were the ones coaching and injecting this love for the sport into our minds, and naturally the narrow-minded-nature rubbed off in the short term. It never came to any of our minds that, maybe instead of just being the young cocky-kid who thinks he knows it all, he was really just someone who knew what he was after and didn’t give crap what anyone else thought..
Fast forward seven years to 2008 — It was my first year of high school abroad in London, UK, but before leaving came the end of my sophomore year, and it was the first championship level Boston Celtics team that I’d ever been alive to witness. For business, historical, nostalgic, practical, and theatrical purposes, it only made sense that this years NBA Finals consisted of the Celtics and Lakers.
Kobe was hitting his ultimate prime which in retrospect was incredible given he had already won three NBA Titles of which he was at least the second best player on all three teams. His super-villain level had peaked to, at the time, what I believed to be an all-time high. I was officially both well informed and old enough to truly care that the Celtics had a chance to win the Finals, and Kobe was the man standing between the Celtics and a parade.
Round one of this fight went to my friends and me, as the Celtics absolutely decimated the Lakers and we got our parade. Bouncing around downtown Boston chanting “BEAT LA” amongst others that were probably NSFW as a sixteen year old, with the same best friends before my departure, was a memory I’ll never forget. Beating Kobe Bryant was simply the icing on the cake…
Fast forward two years to 2010 — I was a senior in high school living in West London. Moving out of Boston only served to reaffirm and strengthen my love for the cities sports-culture because, well, I missed being in the midst of it. This, along with my teenage hormones hitting their ultimate prime, also resulted in my contempt for anything anti-Boston. In my mind I was a part of Boston Sports culture and needed to represent accordingly.
In congruence with poetic justice the Celtics would, yet again, reach the finals only to be face to face with the Lakers. With a Kevin Garnett knee injury halting the Celtics 2009 Finals run, the Lakers ran over the Dwight Howard lead Magic in a quick and uneventful five games. The Celtics weren’t quite what they were in 2008 but they were a hell of a lot better than that 2009 Magic team, and I think it was safe to say that everyone and their grandmothers knew this series was going to be a seven game-dog-fight.
And that’s exactly what it was. Somehow Kobe seemed even more potent, more invigorated, more calculated towards this goal of beating the Celtics than he’d ever been about anything in his career. It was in plain sight that losing for a second time to Boston was something he was determined to not allow happen.
Even as a Boston fan whose hatred was at an all time-high for both the Lakers organization and Kobe, it was impossible to deny how impressive what he was doing truly was. That Celtics team was tougher, stronger, and I would argue had more depth and, at the time, slightly better coaching (sorry Phil, you were over the hill) but the Lakers had Kobe f*****G Bryant. Kobe Bryant, who was now hitting his mid 90’s-Jordan-level of greatness, his true all-time super-villain peak, transcended everyone else on the basketball court.
That’s the thing about basketball, Bill Simmons revealed Isaiah Thomas’ secret of basketball on his first “The Book of Basketball” podcast (also in the book), and it was simply that winning in the NBA isn’t about basketball at all. It’s about people.
As much as I absolutely hate that notion, because I’m such a naturally team-oriented-player, fan, and student of the sport it’s simply objectively-true and there’s no denying it. In 2008, the NBA Finals were about Paul Pierce’s resilience and Kevin Garnett’s undying fire. In 2010 they were about all of those same things — but applied to Kobe Bryant.
Being in London and having game seven take place in Los Angeles, the game didn’t start until 2:00 AM. That didn’t stop me from grabbing a beer and a seat on the couch as close to the TV as humanly possible. I remember tirelessly and hopelessly watching the defensive battle with the Celtics jumping to an early lead in the first half. Kobe wasn’t letting that lead get too out of hand though, tactically and relentlessly doing whatever he needed to to keep the Lakers within striking distance.
This was when it became Mamba Time. It’s notable that Kobe didn’t have his greatest statistical performance, scoring twenty four-points on only six made field goals. However it’s dually notable that he pulled in fifteen rebounds, and scored ten of those twenty-four-points in a fourth quarter where the Lakers outscored the Celtics by eight in a game that was ultimately decided by four points. He also had the crucial game sealing-assist to Metta World Peace, whose three pointer ultimately put the game out of reach.
That moment stands frozen in time to me to this day. It was past 5:00 AM by this point, my body was shutting down, and I had to be at school that same morning. Seeing Metta World Peace knock that three down, putting the Lakers up 79–73 with only a minute left, I knew it was over. My Mom, having already woken up for work, along with my loyal girlfriend, were by my side.
My head sunk quickly into my hands. I closed my eyes for an elongated period in attempt to come to peace with what had transpired. I couldn’t do it. I was too immature, exhausted, and upset to keep my cool. In that moment I stood up quickly, threw the remote into the ground as hard as I could and walked straight into my room to ‘sleep’ (cry into my pillow).
I hated Kobe for robbing me of what, at the time, felt like life or death social ammunition in the battle that was debating sports with my peers…
Fast Forward to the present — It’s laughable now to think how such an arbitrary thing as a sports match can feel so important, and in regards to the tragedy that’s transpired, even embarrassing. But the truth is it wouldn’t have felt the same without Kobe Bryant. He truly was the ultimate nemesis to my adolescent sports fandom and for a long period of my life I thought I hated Kobe Bryant.
But as we both grew older I began to understand him. Kobe aged about as gracefully as any athlete could ever hope to both on and off the court. I remember seeing Kobe tear his achilles, and lets be clear, everyone watching knew what he’d just done. But he wasn’t leaving that court until he sunk his free throws. That’s who Kobe Bryant really was. He was the definition of the heart of a champion. A guy that you’d literally need to take his legs away to get him off the court.
Kobe Bryant was the youngest player in history to play in an NBA game. He played in the NBA from when I was five to when when I was twenty five-years-old. We never met each other, but Kobe Bryant and I grew up alongside each other. This was a kid who entered a man’s league as boy and conquered it in every way, shape, or form that he possibly could. We always thought Kobe Bryant never cared what anyone else thought, and maybe we were right, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t also have class, dignity, pride, and selflessness.
Kobe Bryant was old school in the all the right ways, and adaptable in all the necessary ones. He had a way of both coming off as wise beyond his years yet never even remotely out of touch with the now. He came before the social-media explosion, and never needed the internet, even in this age, to not only maintain but grow his world brand post-retirement.
I was brought up and conditioned by my social environment to hate Kobe Bryant. For a while I thought I did. But the truth was, I always loved you Kobe. Winning wouldn’t have been the same if it weren’t against you, and neither would losing. Mamba mentality simply means to go at your goal with everything in you, and that’s all you ever did your entire life. I like to think all of us have a little Mamba mentality in us, Kobe, and the best way we can salute and honor your greatness is by harnessing that energy and making the same efforts, to create a better world, as you did to your own life.
So thank you Kobe Bryant. Thank you for helping me to fall in love with the game of basketball. Thank you for being the perfect nemesis who aged so gracefully that it became impossible to hate you, and undeniable that you’d simply been filling the character that you needed to, to become the best you.
God bless You, Vanessa, your children, and all of the victims affected by this horrendous tragedy, and may you all rest in peace.
