BEAN (1 of 24)
January 27, 2020
Yesterday was the fourth time I cried about Kobe Bryant. The first time was April 12th 2013, the night he tore his Achilles tendon. It wasn't anything he hadn’t done a million times before. The game was routine. The scenario was routine. The move was routine, a simple first step in an attempt to get past Harrison Barnes. It wasn't until after the game when I realized the true extent of his injury, after his heroic effort en route to leading the Lakers to their 43rd victory of the season over the not-yet-an-unstoppable-powerhouse-but-still-a-damn-good-team Golden State Warriors(1). Stephen Curry hung 47 points on the Lakers but Kobe matched him shot for shot down the stretch with a cool 34 points(2). It was done with his usual array of tantalizing spins, precision crossovers(3), tough fadeaways, and intentional drives to the rim. He limped off the court after draining two free throws with swelling tears filling his eyes. 44 minutes and 54 seconds played of 44 minutes and 54 seconds possible to be played. 34 years old in his 17th NBA season, he had nothing else to prove. But that didn’t feel like the end, I was hopeful about the future because he had shown me no reason to feel any other way. He would be back and we will rise to the top again.
The second time I cried about Kobe Bryant was following the release of his self-made autobiographical documentary, Muse. Released in February 2015, it surrounds his ambitions in his career and chronicles the different ways he lets his passion manifest. Kobe explains the development of his Black Mamba(4) persona, a Frankensteinian invention from his own mind, his own struggles, and the spirit of Beatrix Kiddo(5) (the protagonist of Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill). The world had turned its back on him and he went to find his therapy, he went to the basketball court. Kobe locked in and dedicated himself to becoming the best version of himself. His sanctuary and his madness. A segment in the film revolves around Kobe’s infidelity and the effect it had on his wife, Vanessa Bryant. He blamed her miscarriage she had around the time of his case on the stress he put on her. As he cried, I watched and I cried. I couldn’t relate to the amount of guilt he had been carrying but it showed me Kobe, the man, instead of Black Mamba, the character. Up until that point, Kobe was a God to me. Even in his mistakes, he held his head up high and played the same way. Surgical. Angry. Creative. Unrelenting. I never felt like Kobe cheated me, it was heartbreaking that he was still distraught over cheating himself. Family was everything to Kobe, he and I were perfect strangers and I could even see that. The Black Mamba was an assassin who seemed like he would rip out his own liver sooner than he’d cede a possession to his opposition. Kobe Bean Bryant? He was a man with manly flaws and manly regrets. That’s worth the catharsis of tears. I sat there in front of my computer screen, crying along with a perfect stranger(6).
The third time I cried about Kobe was in April 2016, the final game of his 20 year NBA career. I had friends over to my college dorm, we watched the game on ESPN2 on my tiny college student TV(7). They lamented me for getting emotional over and over again but the only actual tears came in the third quarter. I excused myself to my bathroom and cried like a fucking baby. But at the end of that day was jubilation. He scored 60 points and I watched every single second of it. He was clutch down the stretch as usual, making big shots over and over again. His body had given up on him, ravaged with injuries, so he relied on his skill. He used his footwork, his will, awkward angles, little elbows, and lucky bounces to grind out a rare Lakers victory that season(8). Nothing left in the tank, he goes 5-5 from the field(9) and 4-4 from the free throw line after a late timeout in the fourth quarter. Up five with just a few seconds left, his wife blows him a kiss as their daughters(10)watch by her side. He breaks his character and smiles then winks knowingly to his wife. The moment he looks away from her, his smile writhes back into a frown, back into the game. Forever in the moment. The baddest man on the planet. Number 8 was gone, number 24 was gone(11). Kobe was gone. I was sad that he was retiring and I would never see him in a new NBA basketball game again but I knew I’d see him around. I knew he’d do something great. I took solace in that... It was a satisfying goodbye to my favorite player. I was prepared to move on with my basketball life, which meant only watching old Kobe highlights on YouTube everyday rather than tuning in on TV everyday. Kobe went out a way he only could, with the entire clip empty(12). He plucks my heart strings one final time with his farewell speech, ends it by saying, “Mamba out.”
I’ve cried about Kobe countless times in the past two days since I was told of his passing. I can’t fathom living in a world without him, I was born a few months before he was drafted to the Charlotte Hornets. He was wrapping up the Pennsylvania State Championship at Lower Merion High School the day I was born. Kobe was traded to the Lakers and the rest is history. I was a Lakers fan because of my daddy, I inherited my love but Kobe’s fire was so damn alluring that I know I would have come to be a mega-fan all by myself. I studied his game, I studied his speaking mannerisms, I studied his life, I studied the way he stood when the ball wasn't in his hands, I studied the way he wore his shorts, I studied the accessories he had on his arms. I studied the way he smoothed his fingers over eyebrows during his free throw routine. I studied the way he sucked the sweat from his jersey to stave off dehydration. Everything he did, I was a student at the school of Kobe.
Kobe never let me down, even when he lost. He left it all out there. He was like a superhero, but he wasn't perfect. Michael Jordan was perfect, he was Superman-esque in the way that he seemingly never lost and never came up short. Jordan was beloved everywhere. Kobe on the other hand cursed at teammates, shot too much, missed too many shots, dunked on everyone, could hit a left-handed fadeaway from halfcourt, and scowled after hitting clutch shots. The media hated him, his greatness was debated at every turn. He has the most missed shots ever. He never won a series without Shaq or Pau. Not even top ten(13). He’s a coach killer. Michael Jordan wannabe(14). Kobe was a hero, the hero we didn’t deserve but the one we needed. When he hit fuck you fadeaways after three pump fakes and a jab step, it moved you emotionally. When he cut through the lane and punched the ball into the rim with authority, it made you feel like you were flying alongside him. When he missed the game winner, you could feel him frothing at the mouth, hungry for the next chance to play and avenge himself. You could feel his calmness in the heat of any moment, even as the world around him was anxious. Kobe was passionate and he gave a fuck. Kobe made winning seem so damn cool. It was superhuman. No one could convince me otherwise.
I remember practicing sneering and doing the Mamba face in my front yard, pretending like I knew the type of fire he played with. I remember imagining him as my teammate going for the guts and glory, trading clutch shots with him in my front yard, always draining the shot in Paul Pierce’s face with the crowd going absolutely fucking bonkers. We’d sit there co-Finals MVPs, both damn near averaging 100 points per game. There was nothing he couldn’t do and there wasn't a shot he couldn’t make. If he was on my team, I could never lose. I had the utmost confidence in him. In 2011, following back-to-back championship runs, Kobe and the Lakers were down 3-0 to the Dallas Mavericks. No one has come back from 3-0, even to this day. But when Kobe said we were good and we were gonna win, I was right there. And there wasn't a doubt in my mind. We lost. We got swept(15). It didn’t make me believe any less the next time he made Laker nation a promise because there isn’t a moment too big for him and I knew he would do anything in his power to deliver on his promises.
Kobe Bean Bryant is the best basketball player to ever live and he is the hardest working basketball player to ever live. That’s not a coincidence. Kobe was an even more dedicated father(16) than a basketball player. He can do a lot of wrong, but he was always right. Black Mamba lives forever. Frobe lives forever. Vino lives forever. Gianna Maria Bryant lives forever. Kobe Bean Bryant lives forever.
KOBE BEAN BRYANT AND GIANNA MARIA BRYANT ARE FOREVER.
Footnotes
The Mark Jackson Warriors won 47 games and earned the 6th seed in the NBA. They upset that really fun Gallo, Ty Lawson, & Kenneth Faried Denver Nuggets team in the first round before taking the eventual Western Conference Champion Spurs to six games.
Kobe was absolutely phenomenal in that last stretch of games leading up to his Achilles injury. He had 47 points, 8 rebounds, 5 assists, 4 blocks, and 3 steals in the game prior to this one, against the Blazers on April 10th. He played all 48 minutes.
A particularly nice moment for me was when he dropped Klay Thompson for a three early in the second quarter.
The Black Mamba was said to have awoken the second half of a matchup with Tracy McGrady and the Orlando Magic in March 2004. He had a miserable first half but finished with 38 (26 in the 4th and OT) and played amazing defense in the fourth quarter on T-Mac. Urban legend says Vanessa had put him out of the house the night before. The moment is just so Kobe.
Kobe mostly reminded me of Beatrix Kiddo with the way he prepared and his work ethic. I feel like Kobe’s willpower was unmatched. The scene where Beatrix Kiddo wills herself out of entropy in the back of Buck’s Pussy Wagon captures Kobe’s spirit in such a beautiful way. It was methodical and calculated and she skipped no steps. “Wiggle your big toe.”
I was sitting in the University library with huge headphones on, tears just pouring from my eyes. Passersby probably thought I was crazy. I didn’t care though.
My sister bought me the TV in my first week of school for the express purpose of having a way to watch basketball. I wouldn’t have made it out of college if I didn’t stay up until 2 am following west coast doubleheaders, watching those awful Lakers teams that Kobe was saddled with in his waning years. Or maybe my GPA would’ve been higher. I’ll go with the first one, I needed the therapy.
The Byron Scott-led Los Angeles Lakers went 17-65 that season.
Kobe hits a transition three to cut the Jazz lead to 1 with just under a minute left and Mike Tirico screams, “Got em all!!” as a crowd full of celebrities loses their mind. I felt the world smiling with me when that happened.
This is especially tough to see on re-watch. Natalia, Vanessa, and Gianna Maria all looked so happy.
Number 8 Kobe was hungry and wanted it all. He was fierce and he was tested often. He was a cerebral assassin and often found ways to come out on top. He was younger, more spry, more athletic. But Number 24 Kobe was my guy. He had obtained OG status by that point, no one wanted to piss him off. I think he had the best mix of skill and athleticism of all time. Number 24 Kobe was reminiscent of Brother Mouzone from The Wire. Crossing him was guaranteed to come back to bite you. He was feared and an absolute certainty. His greatness was no longer in question.
I always thought Kobe would lose himself without basketball when I was kid, like he’d die without it. Something similar to how Bill died in Kill Bill, after Beatrix Kiddo hits him with the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. But by that point, I knew Kobe’s heart wasn't basketball. It was his family.
Bleacher Report honestly ranked Kobe the 14th greatest player of all time back in 2019. He’s number one, in my opinion.
Mid 2000s YouTube mixes with Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” playing over filthy Kobe highlights were often prefaced with talking heads and their anti-Kobe hot takes. Seeing them take all their words back the day he died wasn't gratifying in the slightest.
We lost 122-86.
I remember scouring the entire city for an issue of SLAM 221. It was a triple cover with Dwyane Wade, Kobe Bryant, and my favorite active player D’Angelo Russell. All the D’Lo covers were sold out so I had waited to order one online only to find out all the D’Lo covers were sold out on the official website by the time I gathered my pennies as well. So I never got Kobe and Mamba Academy on the cover together, I ended up ordering D’Lo’s cover off eBay for 30 bucks later in the summer. Kobe is my favorite player of all time but I had so many covers from him, I felt like I had to show D’Lo some love. I didn’t know it would be the last cover of his life. I didn’t know the significance that photo shoot would hold and how much it would craft the way Kobe and Gigi’s relationship is expressed to the world. Kobe was an amazing basketball player and by all means the most skilled ever but he was an even better father.
