He was never as good as he was in 2013, or the years before, and anyone who’d say he was still doing great in 2015 would be lying.
Today, however, he was phenomenal.
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Growing up surrounded by people who think basketball is the best thing since sliced bread exposes you to the sport at a really young age. You begin to get comfortable referencing Jordan in ’98, or the Spurs performance in ’14. You become acquainted with talks of drafts and first picks, and you start to create your dream team — an LBJ offense, a Curry pointer, a Nowitzki centre. You take forever to choose between Chris Paul and Russel Westbrook, between Dwyane Wade and Andre Iguodala.
You know the lyrics to “I believe I can fly” by heart, it being the anthem of your childhood, while you frustratingly figured out how to dribble the basketball between your legs.
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When I was watching the Black Mamba play his last professional game today, uneaten carbonara on the table, I remembered just how much I loved the sport because I loved to watch him on court. He would dribble, and pounce, and pass under the arms of unsuspecting players. He would throw shots people didn’t think would enter, and they did.
I saw him transition from phenom to legend.
I was 5, maybe 6, when I first saw him play. I remember only feeling hungry, the 8 imprinted on his jersey making me think of purple yam and mango.
More than a decade later, I forget my hunger as I gaze intently at the now 24 emblazoned on his back. It is as though I am back to 5 year old me, overwhelmed by the action, feverish with enthusiasm, and clearly, clearly feeling the magic.
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This was a wholly different Kobe from, say, 2013, or before all the injuries. Regardless, however, this is still the Kobe who gave me reasons to stay in basketball, both as a fan and as a player. This is the same Kobe who gave me confidence to use the number 24 on my own jerseys, the same Kobe who overcame jeers and taunts regarding his age and ability, and the same Kobe who showed his detractors where his heart lay.
And his heart lay in giving his fans a great game, every time.
—
And so this is a letter of gratitude to the man whose sportsmanship makes me want to strive every day to challenge myself to be better, and to the player whose 20 years in the sport made me realise that great things take time, that heroes are still fallible, but that legends never die.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Kobe Bryant, for many wonderful years of basketball.
[N.B. I understand that the man has had a problematic past, and perhaps I will never be able to reconcile both facets of his life, but he was — still is — my childhood hero and the greatest player of all time. That accolade remains his.]
Of perpetual finds 