It’s taken me a little while since the news broke about Kobe Bryant to come up with the words to write. Admittedly, I’ve kept up with the tributes, montages, and remembrances for him, his daughter, and the seven other victims in the horrific helicopter crash. There’s been a careful balance — a dichotomy, you might say — between Kobe the unwavering, ruthless basketball poet and Kobe the accused perpetrator of sexual assault. It’s that legacy that has left me so out of breath in the wake of the tragedy.
Yet, I suppose that it’s time to actually grapple with the death at hand. While I’ve been waiting for a Dr. House-esque text such as, “I didn’t die, you idiots!” alas it doesn’t seem as if it is coming — which means that I finally have to come to terms with both Kobe Bryants.
Kobe Bryant, the basketball player, was unlike a player I had ever seen. To me, he was the first of his kind because I was too young to remember the good years of Michael Jordan. All I had was Washington Wizards’ Michael Jordan.
And, let me tell you, I hated Kobe Bryant.
When Kobe and Shaq began their treacherous run that ultimately culminated in a three-peat, I was livid. All I wanted as a young kid was to see a different winner as it was so boring to me to have the same duo win year after year. I was something of a dissident, which was undoubtedly influenced by Tom Brady and the Patriots ruining Kurt Warner and the Rams’ quest for two Super Bowl wins in three years.
Kobe was too similar to Tom Brady, a pretty boy scorer who just kept winning despite the odds. Something drew me to Kobe still, though. Perhaps it was his piercing eyes in the face of danger or maybe I just wanted to see him lose and I wanted to be sure that I saw him lose. His perceived selfishness and his charged arrogance infuriated me. For all intents and purposes, Kobe Bryant, for me, was akin to smoking cigarettes; just one leaves you euphoric and relaxed, but the control they hold over you. Ultimately, you want to rid yourself of them.
I thought we had rid ourselves of Kobe Bryant in 2004. While I knew of the accusations against him, I was thirteen and couldn’t quite comprehend just the intensity of the situation. But, I knew it was a bad thing; I knew that Kobe Bryant had done something terribly wrong. Later on, after reading Phil Jackson’s The Last Season, I would come to learn that his play and relationships suffered from the situation, too.
I watched the NBA playoffs as much as I could as a kid and that year my dad and I were on the road, somewhere in Indiana, when Game 5 of the Finals was happening. We listened on the radio as the Detroit Pistons made their way to a lead and soon we stopped to watch the rest at a sports bar. As soon as the buzzer sounded and the Pistons celebrated, I thought we were rid of Kobe for good.
Well, I’m sure you know the rest.
We weren’t rid of Kobe Bryant. In fact, with a bewildering trade, Kobe and Pau Gasol would go on to create another fantastic duo and win two championships in 2009 and 2010.
Again, I heavily rooted against him.
Kobe was the antithesis of basketball to me. A selfish player, who made those around him worse (or so I thought) and who demanded the ball in the most difficult moment when someone else might have been more open. Admittedly, I love LeBron. He is everything I wanted in a basketball player. Smart, unselfish, and ready for the big moment. On top of that, he hasn’t had a lick of negativity in the media, apart from his decision to go to the Miami Heat. And that in retrospect isn’t really that bad.
Beyond my belief, however, Kobe proved himself as a winner in the face of all the odds. He worked hard, relished the role as a villain, and clearly immortalized his legacy if this past week is any indication. As much as I hated Kobe, I needed him like any hero needs a villain. Perhaps, the comparison is none other than Professor Xavier and Magneto from X-Men; villains who battled for years, but who appreciate one another as equals, almost as friends. While Kobe and I weren’t friends — or anything close for that matter — I could appreciate what he had given me as a fan even if it was a countless number of heartbreaks.
Otherwise, without him, the celebrations and breakthroughs wouldn’t have been nearly as meaningful.
On the other hand, there is the Kobe Bryant who was accused of sexual assault and who admitted it himself that the encounter he had with the accuser in Colorado was not consensual in her eyes.
This is the Kobe that is still tough to reckon with.
“Although I truly believe this encounter between us was consensual, I recognize now that she did not and does not view this incident the same way I did.” — Kobe Bryant
In another life, perhaps Kobe would’ve gone on and been a courageous father and a champion of women’s sports and whatnot. Perhaps, these things would have shown his growth from that fateful night in Colorado, which may have made it easier to write his obituary. Yet, that’s not what happened and that’s why I am struggling to face Kobe in this tragedy.
Kobe wasn’t even four years passed his last played NBA game when he died. He was 41 years old and 20 of those years were spent traveling city to city, gym to gym, practice to games to play basketball. Oftentimes, this took place away from his family, which couldn’t have been easy for his wife or his daughters.
To say that time would have affected his legacy and how we perceived the allegations against him is a bit contrived. But, to say that it wouldn’t have helped isn’t entirely farfetched either. We didn’t have the time, though, and now we face Kobe as a sum of his parts with a gutwrenching ending.
Essentially, Kobe proved what we all know humans to be: We are inherently faulty. Unlike Kobe, however, we can often hide our own mistakes as they give way to time and space. Kobe’s life was televised for us; literally, his teenage years onto his late thirties were sprawled across our screens. His faults, as atrocious as they were, could never have been hidden, which is a part of the double-edged sword that comes with fame and fortune.
Despite this, we could only see Kobe as a veiled version of himself; a man with an intense drive to excel on the basketball. We didn’t know the fights he and Vanessa went through nor how they ultimately decided to stick together in the long run. Those are the odd missing pieces in all of this because what we have is a man who was accused, admitted adultery in front of his wife, and then who went on to continue his life as he constructed it.
Yes, there was an announcement of divorce, but they gave way to a reunion, which we never got to know why nor should we have been privy to that conversation. Then, upon retirement, Kobe became somewhat of a celebrity dad, who trained his daughter in the art of basketball.
The growth Kobe went through from Colorado until his untimely death, we will likely never know unless Vanessa and company have a tell-all. But, I’d argue that we don’t need a tell-all to understand growth. I am not sure how Kobe’s accuser is dealing with the outpouring of love happening upon his death nor am I sure how other survivors of sexual assault and the like are dealing with it.
But, I am quite sure that people can grow and change. As an educator, I’ve worked with numerous families that have endured similar tragedies. If I didn’t believe people could change, then I would be an ignorant educator. Upon Kobe’s death, I can only summarize Kobe’s life as a culmination of everything he gave — both the good and the bad.
Ultimately, I choose to believe that he grew and sought forgiveness for his mistakes and I also choose to believe despite that effort that some will still struggle with the iconographic displays now associated with him.
In totality, the Mamba was neither black nor white, villainous nor heroic. Truth be told, he was actually just gray and human trying to do better by his mistakes.
Just like the rest of us.
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