On the morning of January 27th, 2020, I awoke from a very unusual dream. As in most cases, emerging from the depths of the REM infused, dream sequence, I found myself in a haze. It was as if I had been reading a complex psycho-thriller, carefully dissecting every chapter, just for the midway point of the novel to dramatically shift to some form of contemporary literature. Stands to reason, the moment I woke up on January 27th, 2020, I was not in my most present state of mind.
Further adding to the oddities of my transition from sleepless bliss too the rapid and full immersion of daily life, the first object I saw was the grey, felt ceiling of the van I had been living in with my friend Nico. We were not down on our luck, as the sentence may suggest, rather Nico and I had been willing living in our van for two weeks, traveling around New Zealand, surviving on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and waking up in remote locations, ranging from campgrounds to parking lots.
In short, describing our experience living in the van was a curious mixture of uncertainty, instability, and most importantly, freedom. For visual readers, it was the free-spirited Dean Moriarty from Jack Kerouac’s On the Road crossed with Chris Farley’s humorous inspirational speaking Matt Foley, who was famous for “living in the van down by the river.”
With the background of our down-under odyssey and the emergence from the illogical and incoherent dream world my twisted brain had concocted, the news that was seconds from being introduced to me for the first time was truly one of the strangest moments of my entire nine month escapade in New Zealand.
“Dude, Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash this morning.”
“Excuse me?”
Surely this was just some depraved extension of my series of dreams. I immediately turned to check my phone, switching the limited 4G data I had left, hoping this was some type of immoral clickbait or misinterpretation of news. And yet, within seconds of my 4G reaching the cellular networks to provide myself with the current events of the morning, my phone began flooding with various news sources. Washington Post, Bleacher Report, ESPN, Forbes, Pitchfork, all these random assortments of applications that span from politics to economics to music to pop culture, all of them reported what Nico had told me. Kobe Bryant died on January 26th, 2020 in a helicopter crash at the age of 42.
In the manner of nanoseconds, the world around me stopped for the briefest of moments, stalled in time, and I collapsed amidst the tragedy amongst us.
Aside from the close family members who have passed away in my lifetime, no death has evoked such a variance of emotions in my life as Kobe Bryant. Symbolically and, admittedly, quite cheesy, I came to believe Kobe and I grew up in parallel of each other. As preposterous as that may appear, it is not as ridiculous as it comes across, for Kobe entered the NBA as the 13th pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the same year as I was born.
Like all my friends who had grown up fans of basketball, Kobe had spanned our entire lifetime, from adolescence into young adulthood. In contrast, fans of the NBA witnessed Kobe grow in the span of 18 years, from an overly competitive and confident teenager to the caring and loving father of adulthood. We can relate with Kobe, for we witnessed all the achievements and disappointments of his life play out on television: winning the Slam Dunk Contest in 1997, the four airballs in the playoffs against the Utah Jazz, becoming three-peat champions between 2000 and 2002, his crumbling relationship with Shaq, the failed experiment of adding Karl Malone and Gary Payton, the departure of Shaq and Phil Jackson, missing the 2005 playoffs, the 81-point game against the Toronto Raptors, the 2008 MVP, the 2008 finals loss to the Boston Celtics, the back-to-back championships in 2009 and 2010, the first-round sweep at the hands of the Dallas Mavericks in 2011, the 2008 & 2012 Olympic Gold Medals, the failed super team with Dwight Howard and Steve Nash, the torn Achilles against the Golden State Warriors, passing Michael Jordan in career points at the free throw line against the Minnesota Timberwolves, and the 62 point melee against the Utah Jazz for his final game, putting a stamp on one of the most dignified careers in NBA history. All those moments, with exception to the Slam Dunk contest and four airballs, I remember.
As a youth, Kobe represented a mythic prodigy, a character of folklore, a disciple of Michael Jordan, a mechanized machine programed to dismantle those who stood in his path to greatness. He was the NBA, for better or worse. People across the world adored and disdained him; a player who was adamantly disliked by opposing teams, yet was openly embraced as the Purple and Gold savior of the new millennium by the residents of Los Angeles.
Growing up in Seattle, I cheered against number 8. Yet when the Sonics departed from Seattle in 2008, number 24 became my new favorite number. And ironically enough, when I was young Sonics fan, I still brandished my number 8 Lakers jersey around the house. Today, I am proud to say, I still have number 24 in my closet. In a way, Kobe represented a form of familial tie that is only experienced with those closest in one’s life. Even though when I was young and cheered against him, I retained a sense of admiration and bewilderment for the man who I believed represented St. Peter; a gatekeeper of sorts that denied the Ray Allen and Rashard Lewis led Supersonics the opportunity to embark on the battlefield of the NBA Championship, destined to wither away in the abyss of the 2nd round.
Continuing the image of Kobe Bryant as St. Peter, the characteristic of the man who denies others the opportunity to pass the pearly gates, Kobe’s determination to thwart competition at his rightful mantle top is just one of many similarities between himself and Michael Jordan, a basketball God in the truest sense. When Michael Jordan dominated the 1990’s as the vengeful tyrant atop the NBA echelon, Kobe came into his own, learning amongst his idol, replicating every move from his surreal footwork to his refined midrange turn around, and, above all, capitulating on what made Jordan the fiercest competitor across all competitive sports.
After the Chicago Bull’s escaped the wrath of the bloodbath battles with the Bad Boy Detroit Pistons, Jordan made his presence known that the NBA of 1990’s would not be a socialist regime, where every team has an equal footing. The crowned ruler of the NBA was not up for grabs, so to speak, rather Jordan was the rightful heir to the throne, and ravaged through the league in true Game of Thrones fashion. In turn, Jordan defended his royal standing, disallowing NBA greats, such as Charles Barkley, Patrick Ewing, John Stockton, Karl Malone, Clyde Drexler, Reggie Miller, Shawn Kemp, Gary Payton, and many other stars of the 1990s to ever come close to his tyrannical rule. Kobe, as only a thorough student of Michael Jordan could ever fully understand, recognized that the game of basketball could be simplified to the playground king of the court games. To be the best, you must remain the king. At the turn of the new millennium, Kobe embraced the Jordan philosophy; successfully stalling Steve Nash, Allen Iverson, Tracy McGrady, Vince Carter, Carmelo Anthony, Chris Paul, and Dwight Howard, offering them all the same fate as the fallen soldiers of the 1990 battles with Jordan.
However, although there are many similarities between Jordan and Kobe, comparing the career arc of Jordan and Kobe as mirroring each other is in a way flawed, failing to capture the completeness of Kobe’s career. Yes, Kobe resembled all those characteristics that defined Jordan’s legacy, yet Kobe’s own legacy is far more complex, in that Kobe’s early accomplishments were and, still to some degrees are, tarnished by fans and media pundits critique of him. Tell me if this sounds familiar: Three straight championships? Kobe rode Shaq’s coattails. 81-point game? Kobe was a ball hog. Phil Jackson leaving the Laker’s equates to Kobe is too temperamental. Kobe missing the 2005 playoffs equates to Kobe unable to get it done without Shaq. For the all the Steve Nash’s and Allen Iverson’s who never won an NBA championship during Kobe’s reign, there are your fair share of Dirk Nowitzki’s, Kevin Garnett’s, Tim Duncan’s, Paul Pierce’s, Lebron James, Dwayne Wade’s, and others who succeed in dethroning Kobe.
Yet, for all the missed game winners, for all the unsuccessful championship campaigns, for all the slander of his name and game, Kobe always found a way to rise above, implanting his image in my generations imagination as a fearless warrior, a man unwilling to falter, and a competitor whose relentlessness knew no bounds. Whether it was the failed experiment with Shaq, the shameful defeat against the Boston Celtics in the 2008 finals, or the torn Achilles in 2013, Kobe always found a way to reemerge. Furthermore, Kobe, like many others, made the game appear as an art form, a beautiful sight to behold in any given moment he stepped on the court. He was the greatest “bad-shot” taker the NBA has ever had. His footwork to create space, the pump fakes and jab steps, were a sort of paradox, in that they felt improvised, yet were artfully crafted behind closed doors. Kobe exhibited the synchrony of countless hours of homing in his craft and the pragmatic approach to his game, in which audiences were bewildered by the crossovers, dunks, and passes made before them.
The footwork Kobe exhibited stood above all else, a skill simple to learn, yet difficult to master. Words can never fully capture the full degree and variance of pump fakes, jab steps, and spin moves Kobe had in his arsenal, an artillery of offensive weaponry that produced a collective awe for young spectators as myself. And for as much talent Kobe had to produce his mesmerizing and fluid in-game spectacles, it was the training, hours on end, in an isolated gym, that separated him from the rest of the league. In fact, the reason Kobe resonates with myself and all my friends I grew up was, in part, due to the confident demeanor Kobe maintained throughout his career. For all the failures, Kobe was confident he would bounce right back. For all the hours of training, Kobe was confident to take the last shot. For the meticulous focus on foot work, Kobe was confident to put that footwork to use in-game. And for all those reasons, Kobe was the strict disciplinarian to my generation, teaching us to lay down to no man, believe in yourself, and hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.
At the risk of appearing dramatic or self-centered, I want to share Kobe’s impact on myself, aside from basketball. In January 2017, I found myself at a crossroads. People I have come to align myself with call that moment “your bottom.” It is not a specially designated term to the collective group I now associate with, rather it is the simplest way in expressing what we were like, how we got here, and what we are like now. On January 13th, 2017, I had my last sip of alcohol, 2 months before my 21st birthday. My life had been consumed by alcohol in every facet: where are we drinking? When are we drinking? Who am I drinking with? How are we getting alcohol? Which eventual lead me to ask the most daunting question I have ever asked myself, “Why can’t I stop drinking?”
To act as if I stopped drinking on my own would be an insult to all the family, friends, and the other self-identified alcoholics who huddled around me with constant support, love, and compassion. For all those people, I am eternally grateful. However, it is unfortunate that I can never tell Kobe how big a role he played in my early sobriety. At the end of my “pink cloud”, a duration of early sobriety where a newly sober alcoholic is living on “cloud-9”, so to speak, the threat of my alcoholism crystalized as a disease that would kill me, if I allowed it. My pink cloud ended upon hearing the heart shattering news that a close friend of mine succumbed to his alcoholism, picked up a drink, and eventually took his own life. The news of his death made me realize the severity of untreated alcoholism, that the disease of alcoholism does not discriminate, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, class, religion, and alcohol was not entirely the problem, rather it was the solution to my problem. All the fear, anxiety, nihilism, desperation, self-seeking, self-pity, and disillusionment that I thought had been cured by simply removing the drink, was simply harboring in my mind, waiting to strike at my most vulnerable.
For those who do not suffer from alcoholism, this sentiment may come across as extravagant, and admittingly, dramatizing my reality is a side effect of my disease. Nevertheless, in the wake of my friend’s untimely death, another crossroads emerged for myself that I had not given credence too. I knew I wanted to be sober, but now the internal question asked was “how bad do you want to be sober?” In the big book of alcoholism, the text suggests to the reader to ponder the idea of the lengths we will go to achieve the ninth step promises. Now, with the help of my sponsor, who has been a friend and role model in my own sobriety, I began to understand the measures needed to be taken in order to preserve my sanity. And yet, with all that I had come to know, I still lacked that sense of work ethic, self-exploration, vulnerability, and humility that was a necessity to abandon my own insecurities, fears, and anxieties.
It was during this phase of my sobriety that I turned to Kobe, as an unlikely source of encouragement. I studied his highlights religiously. Every pump fake. Every jab step. Every crossover. Every mid-range pull-up. I dissected the videos down to every last detail, watching and wondering how Kobe was able to perform these acts of basketball sorcery. Videos turned to mythological stories of his tireless work ethic. Whether it was Dwayne Wade discussing his experience at the 2008 Olympics, where he learned the full extent of Kobe’s desire for greatness, or reading about Kobe’s maniacal six-by-six workout, where Kobe worked out six hours a day, six days a week, for six weeks, in order to improve his game.
I was fully immersed into the great lengths Kobe would go to achieve greatness. I read Ronald Lazenby’s book Showboat: The Life of Kobe Bryant to further understand what fueled him to greatness and how no obstacle seemed to grand for him to conquer. His game, attitude, and desire for greatness began to take hold of my personality, shaping my understanding as what it really means to not just want something, but to need something. Fueled as if there is no other, I needed Kobe to show me what it really meant to unabashedly put your full weight behind whatever it is that one wants to achieve, and even then, one can increase the level of effort. For all the glamour, all the glory, all the triumph, Kobe, at the exact moment I needed him, showed me it is not what you do when the spotlight is on, rather it what you do when no one is watching.
Further looking into his NBA tenure, I began to identify with the arc of Kobe's career , one filled with magnificent highs and devastating lows. I can only speak for myself, but other alcoholics I believe would agree, that as alcoholics we tend to dwell in our own egotism and pay to much attention to our perceived failures as a means to generate self-pity, self-hatred, and self-deprecation. But Kobe took his failures and wore them on his sleeve, revealing that his failures would not define him, rather they would capitulate his greatest strengths. In turn, all that Kobe endured, from a teenager to a grown man, always in the face of spotlight, always the target of critical fans, Kobe never shied away, never backed down, and never gave in to his past failures. While watching and reading Kobe, it finally dawned on me that I could coast through sobriety, slowly losing my grip on reality until I inevitably collapsed under my own self-indulgence, or I could embrace the actual work it takes to achieve the level of spirituality, humility, gratitude, servitude, and dignity that is promised in the ninth step. Now, it would be dishonest to act as if I have gone about sobriety perfectly. I do not think anyone can claim as such. Not even Kobe was perfect. However, today I am just over three years sober, and everyday I wake up grateful for all that has been given me.
By now, the reader may realize I have not used many facts, and the reason being is this is not intended to argue on behalf of Kobe. There are plenty of articles and books that make that argument justly. Rather, I am writing this as a thank you, to pay homage to a legend of the game I have loved since as long as I can remember. It would be near impossible to cover the entirety of Kobe’s life, his statistical achievements, his championship crusades, and fatherhood. I also failed to discuss his off-the-court issues, primarily the sexual assault case in Eagle, Colorado. And for that I apologize, for I know that is much apart of his legacy as anything else he had done on the court. I also failed to mention his legacy as a father and husband, a man whose same enthusiasm for the game of basketball morphed into his unbridled love for his wife and children. Again, I failed to recognize Giana, Kobe’s daughter, and the other members of the tragic helicopter crash. Their lives were no less important than Kobe’s and their horrific deaths are saddening in themselves.
Yet this essay, or however you want to phrase it, is not meant to dissect every detail of Kobe's career. It is thank you that has been long overdue for me. Growing up, Kobe was one of my favorite athletes, a player that I would try to emulate in my backyard and watch an amazement. The year Kobe entered the NBA was the year I was born. Six months after Kobe’s retirement, I had my last taste of alcohol. Kobe has been apart of my life since the day I was born, always there as a hero and a villain. My number 24 Kobe jersey I have now was given to me by my late Grandfather, Scott McPherson, who passed away earlier this year. That jersey represents my admiration for Kobe, but also serves as symbol of my love, appreciation, and gratitude for my grandfather. All those events may seem coincidental, and to suggest otherwise would be dabbling with my own narcissism, but the fact remains that Kobe has been intertwined in the first quarter of my life, always hovering in the distance of my happiest and saddest moments.
I will never forget where I was the day I heard Kobe passed away and, although he is not an immediate family member or close friend, I do not know if I will fully reconcile his passing. But for the time being, I am eternally grateful to have gotten the opportunity to watch his greatness. And although we are quarantined during a global pandemic, today I get to be a brother, a son, a loving family member, and a friend, none of which would be possible today if was not sober. And, suffice to say, my sobriety might not have been possible without the example of leadership, perseverance, fortitude, and hard-work that Kobe bestowed upon all of us. Kobe Bean Bryant, thank you and rest in paradise.
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