Thank You, Kobe

By Austin T. Murphy

Kobe Bryant will retire after the 2015-16 NBA season

I think one of the reasons we cherish superstars and celebrities is their uncanny ability to astound us and make us believe in the impossible. And in the aftermath of their triumph, we look back in disbelief at their headlines, remembering how they made us feel in the heat of the moment.

    
For better or for worse, they are our real-life superheroes--capable of saving the world when all else fails.

I was six years old when Michael Jordan hit “The Shot” to win his sixth title and complete his second “Three-peat.”

The same year, my naivety led me to believe I would see my hometown Padres in the World Series every year after Tony Gwynn led San Diego to their second appearance in the championship series.

And by the time I was in fourth grade, the Kobe Bryant and the Lakers were looking to win their third straight title. During the Western Conference Finals, I found myself rooting for the Sacramento Kings as they choked away a 3-2 series lead.

In hindsight, it was probably because my young mind was trained to root for the underdog on most occasions--especially since my beloved Padres had been the underdog when they fell in 1998 to the evil Yankees.

The 2004 NBA season was interesting for me for a few reasons: I had been gifted NBA Live 2004 for my new Gamecube, the first basketball video game I’d ever played, and the Lakers were by far the most exciting team to play with; and I desperately wanted to see Gary Payton and Karl Malone win their first championships in the twilight of their careers.

Even though the regular season was full of turmoil, Kobe proved to be the hero with two miraculous shots in the finale against Portland--the second of which I am still convinced to be impossible to replicate.

After the Lakers lost to the Pistons and Shaq was traded to Miami, I found myself resenting Kobe, swayed by the popular narrative that he was selfish, uncoachable, and above all else, a bad teammate.

My opinion remained unchanged over the next three seasons, despite unfathomable plays and statistics: the game-tying and game-winning baskets against Phoenix in the 2006 playoffs; 35.4 points per game, 81 points against the Raptors.

But gradually I felt myself relenting, gaining respect for the man who was clearly the best player in the world, dragging the Lakers to the playoffs and a 3-1 series lead over the heavily-favored Phoenix Suns despite playing alongside scrubs like Kwame Brown, Chris Mihm, and Smush Parker.

Kobe was being tested. And eventually, after losing in the 2008 NBA Finals, he passed the test and surpassed his own peak. He transcended his own legacy and brought two more championships back home to Los Angeles. He had learned to win without Shaq, and he even carved out his own niche in the fabled Celtics-Lakers rivalry.

He had finally won me over, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was the greatest player of my generation (my condolences to Tim Duncan, a player whom I respect but also a player that never encountered the same obstacles and criticism as Kobe).

I’ve been alert and attentive throughout Kobe’s entire career. But sadly I’ve always known that he would someday have to endure the same sad farewell that my heroes Tony Gwynn and LaDainian Tomlinson experienced--the same one Tiger Woods will eventually face as well.

I’ve come full circle as a Kobe fan, initially wowed by his ability, learning to resent him due to the media’s influence, and finally embracing him as the greatest basketball player I’ve ever watched.

When he announced through the Players’ Tribune that 2016 would be his last season, he confirmed what I had long suspected. He spent ten seasons as #8, and 2016 would be his tenth as #24. His contract was expiring, and the Lakers have a bevy of young talent to whom Kobe can pass the torch.

And yet, even though I was ready for this announcement, I wasn’t really ready. I teared up while reading his farewell article, and again doing so when I rewatched the “Now Show Us Again” video and another one of his game-winners.

And maybe it’s because I can be impulsive at times--but I know better than that considering that watching Tony Gwynn’s final game at Qualcomm is one of the highlights of my childhood--but I elected to purchase tickets for the last game* of the Lakers’ season on April 13th against the Jazz.

*I say last game because it’s very unlikely at this point that they will make the playoffs after starting 2-13.

Now as I’ve watched other legends and stars depart for the greener pastures when their talents and abilities fail in their later years, you would assume that I’ve learned my lesson and accepted that they are no true superheroes. You would assume that I’ve woken up to the realities of life, shedding the naivety of my youth.

But it simply isn’t true.

Kobe Bryant has eclipsed my adolescence with his career. I grew as he grew, and when he finally retires at the end of this season my personal investment in the NBA will never be the same.

Understandably, I will continue to watch games, and I will continue to root for the Lakers.

But a small part of me will move on when Kobe Bryant is no longer in the league, and I’m already tearing up at the idea that the NBA will someday exist without him.

Which is why we need to embrace the end as wholeheartedly as we embraced the beginning and the five championships and everything else in the middle. This final season does not define Kobe Bryant’s career, it merely adds to the legacy and the awe that this purported “mortal” has achieved the impossible so many times.

His legacy speaks for itself and immortalizes one of the greatest players to ever set foot on a basketball court.

Thank you for everything you’ve given to us Kobe. Basketball won’t be the same without you.

© Austin T. Murphy 2016