It was around 2002 when I was introduced to basketball. Not one for sports — save a fledgling fascination for Indian cricket — I was devoted to books, pop music, and movies. That was until I learnt of the phenomenon that was Kobe Bryant.
It began with lessons from my older cousin, on how to shoot from the ‘forty-five’ — how it was almost obligatory to ensure that the ball made contact with the backboard before it went through the hoop. Several summer evenings in Chennai at the neighborhood basketball stadium were spent perfecting the shot, until ‘shoot from forty-five’ became near-metronomic for me. Never mind my slight 12-year-old frame nor the fact that I played with boys who were older, bigger and taller, the ‘forty-five’ became my zone — a home of my own with my basketball shoes and jersey in tow.
As with every impressionable young adolescent, I began looking for inspiration. I found it in NBA players who were over a foot taller and several clicks quicker. But one man stood out. One blink and you stood a good chance of missing him, the bright hues of the Los Angeles Lakers jersey notwithstanding. The Black Mamba struck before your eyes and your brain could process what was happening. All it took was a few milliseconds before all you were left with was a haze of yellow and purple, and the sound of ‘Kobeyy’ ringing in your ears. This was the NBA and Kobe Bryant was its high-priest.
Kobe called the shots and preached the basketball gospel. It didn’t matter if you were the greatest power forward of all time in Tim Duncan from the Spurs, or the 76ers’ Allen Iverson armed with an All-Star tag. On the court, Kobe was king. In hindsight, it probably was sheer athleticism and insane levels of physical fitness that let the Black Mamba shoot alley-oops off his own rebounds. But anyone who followed Kobe’s career knew that there was more to the man.
“When you make a choice and say, ‘Come hell or high water, I am going to be this,’ then you should not be surprised when you are that,” Kobe said, of his success and whether it surprised him, “It should not be something that is intoxicating or out of character because you have seen this moment for so long.” Belief, perseverance, and determination were the hallmarks of the NBA great, all of which were evident at every single basketball game I spent watching. These traits preceded Kobe en route to emerging as scoring champion in the 2006 and 2007 NBA seasons and landing two NBA Finals MVP awards in 2009 and 2010. The high-priest had by now, turned Pope, and the Lakers benefited from his dominance, winning half the NBA Championships between 2000 and 2010.
If Kobe made chasing success one of his best habits, the consistency at which he managed to pull it off was mind-boggling. Playing through injuries and pain, all he cared about was winning: “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. No matter what the injury — unless it's completely debilitating — I'm going to be the same player I've always been.” But like a true champion, he knew when his time was up.
“I can’t love you obsessively for much longer. This season is all I have left to give,” he would famously write in his poem, titled ‘Dear Basketball’ penned in late 2015, before his Lakers swansong the following year. “My heart can take the pounding, my mind can handle the grind,” he wrote, “But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye.” Maybe that’s the stuff of champions — knowing when to go for the kill, and realizing when it was time to let go. Kobe was no exception. ‘Dear Basketball’ went on to be made into a short film, winning Kobe an Oscar in 2018, in the Animated Short Film category. Kobe: five-time NBA champion, 18-time All-Star, two-time MVP, Academy-Award-winner.
Earlier today, Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash. With him, the tragedy claimed the life of his 13-year-old daughter, Gianna Bryant, widely regarded as the inheritor of her father’s basketball legacy. Kobe’s death took me back to sunny summer evenings spent on the court — to basketball lessons and coaches teaching us the pivot, to the small-made 12-year-old attempting to shoot from the forty-five and innumerable NBA videos at the end of coaching sessions watching jersey number 24 dart across the basketball court. It took me back to bleary-eyed mornings, tuning into the NBA Playoffs from the comfort and warmth of my bedroom and watching the Black Mamba earn his stripes.
Thank you, Kobe, for the memories. Thank you for teaching us not just to win, but to persevere, play through pain, and know when to let go. Thank you for showing us what it meant to be a champion, the meaning of leadership and what went into team spirit. Thank for showing us the way to overcoming fear and fighting failure. Thank you for familiarizing us with the audacity of hope. Like you once were, may many generations try hard to be “that kid with the rolled-up socks, garbage can in the corner, five seconds on the clock, ball in (their) hands. Five, four, three, two, one…”
Rest in peace, Kobe Bryant.
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