Kobe Bryant died yesterday in a helicopter crash. I am not sure I could tell you why, but his death has affected me deeply. The truth is, when he was alive, I really did not like the man.
It is not a controversial statement to say that Kobe Bryant was credibly accused of rape in 2003. (Nobody should be suspended for tweeting about that, by the way.)
Kobe was also a big booster of women’s sports. The U.S. Women’s National Team acknowledged as such after his death. And he was an ally to the WNBA and many women’s players. His daughter Gianna dreamed of being a WNBA player, and the love he felt for her, especially in supporting her dreams, was palpable. She, along with some of her friends and their parents, died on that helicopter too.
And yet he was the person who once called a referee a “fucking faggot” during a game, even if he did later work hard to make amends for his homophobic ways.
None of that cancels out any of the other stuff. But I write it all down to remind us that taking the full measure of a man’s life means considering his whole life with nuance. Kobe Bryant was human and flawed, on and off the court.
But, my heavens, he gave us so much on the court (even if he almost went to dook… or was it UNC?).
He gave us 81. He gave us 62 through 3. He gave us 60 his last game (we can ignore that it took 50 shots). He got five rings and deserved at least one of his Finals MVPs. He deserved each of his four All-Star Game MVPs. In 2008, he was the unquestioned leader on the Olympic “Redeem Team.” It is impossible to list it all, but these are the on-court memories that will stay with me. Oh, and him miraculously not flinching here. Damn.
How did he not flinch here!?!
In the end, I think the reason why Kobe Bryant’s death affected me so much is that I never really considered that he could die. He was so willful, so ornery, that I had no conception that he might let death win. Of course that is a silly notion.
Ernest Hemingway once wrote: “When you go to war as a boy you have a great illusion of immortality. Other people get killed; not you. . . . Then when you are badly wounded the first time you lose that illusion and you know it can happen to you. After being severely wounded two weeks before my nineteenth birthday I had a bad time until I figured out that nothing could happen to me that had not happened to all men before me. Whatever I had to do men had always done. If they had done it then I could do it too and the best thing was not to worry about it."
Kobe Bryant had to do what men have always done—what we all have to do. But since he died, I have realized how much I came to expect having him around to talk about the game, inspire the next generation of players, and show us that you can become a better man than you have been.
Thanks for the memories, Kobe. Godspeed.