Despite concerted efforts to hate him and the uniform he wears, I’ve always been in complete awe of Kobe Bryant. It’s the intensity, the competitiveness and the drive. Even the cold arrogance speaks to a certain admirable quality — there have never been any bells and whistles with Kobe. He didn’t need to craft a marketable persona with charming press conferences and cute commercials. The man simply wants to excel.
But after suffering his third consecutive season-ending injury, Bryant is finally facing his NBA mortality. After years of shouldering the load, his body is breaking down, and his skills are eroding. What we’re left with is a world-class talent stripped of everything but a burning, hopeless will to succeed. For all the records, highlights and controversies that have marked his career, it’s this tragic final act that brings us the most fascinating Kobe storyline yet.
Most careers wind down unremarkably. Time passes, and players age. Stars become progressively less relevant before fading away into retirement. The spotlight swings to the next up-and-comer.
Kobe’s story, on the other hand, can be told with a bit more narrative flair. All those killer instincts that once made him a king are now the driving forces behind his stubborn decline. His alpha dog mentality makes him dominate the ball on every possession. His defiance makes him hoist dozens of low percentage shots from all over the floor. His determination compels him to log heavy minutes that his body can’t handle.
Hero-ball was fine as long as he was winning titles and MVP awards, but when the league changed, Kobe didn’t. Now, the strengths that brought five championship banners to Los Angeles have become weaknesses.
Tragically and comically, Kobe’s attempts to reassert his claim as one of the NBA’s top dogs are only pushing him further out of the conversation. In a league characterized evermore by efficiency, Bryant relies increasingly on volume. He is a remnant of an outdated brand of basketball that no longer yields results in a rapidly evolving and smarter NBA landscape. He’s still incredibly skilled — perhaps no other player in the world can make as many difficult shots as Kobe. But these days, few other players are even taking them.
By now you know that the numbers are ugly: Advanced metrics insist that the Lakers are better on both sides of the ball without their superstar. Even though Kobe wants to win more than anyone else, he can’t accept that his ways aren’t best for the team.
When asked about taking so many shots, Bryant explained to ESPN, “I’d rather not have to do that, but you can’t just sit back and watch crime happen in front of you.” The ultimate control freak, Kobe refuses to place his team, his career or his legacy in anyone else’s hands.
The maddening part is that we’ve seen enough of Kobe to envision the path he could’ve taken. When he takes off the superhero cape, Bryant is both an artist and genius on the basketball court. Once in a blue moon, he posts 16 assists and we think his game is evolving. But the next night he shoots 8-of-27, and the Lakers lose by 30.
Kobe loves to win but only on his own terms. “You think I’d hang around and average 18 points, 19 points? Hell no,” he told ESPN. Meanwhile, Tim Duncan and Dirk Nowitzki are kissing their championship trophies.
Equal parts flash and fire for the better portion of two decades, Bryant is capable of pretty much anything with a basketball in his hand. It wouldn’t surprise me if he returned to the floor next season with a chip on his shoulder and a spring in his step. I think we’re nearing the end of Kobe’s basketball reign, but I can’t be sure.
But even if he’s worse than ever next year and the Lakers don’t win a game, the world won’t stop watching. It’s like Kobe’s car drove fast and crashed hard, and I can’t look away from the grisly scene. For years, Kobe Bryant was a lion, and we were all sheep. What happens when the lion can no longer hunt?
Mike Firn ’16 wants to give his Patriots a shout out. Congratulate him at michael_firn@brown.edu.
