Kobe is gone. I have accepted that. One of the first things I thought, (before I learned Gigi died with him) was damn. We won’t get a Hall of Fame speech. We knew he was going in first ballot, but Kobe’s speech would have been epic. We all know it. Who would he thank?

Would there be any sniping at old enemies? Who would he choose as his presenter? Doc from Philly? Air, the blueprint? Shaq or Pau, who provided the muscle to his mastery? Phil, the triangle championship whisperer?

Here’s the thing. Kobe was a master storyteller. His Oscar is proof of his mastery of the visual story; the whole picture worth a thousand words. And as I lamented I realized, with a smile on my face, that he had already given us his speech: his final game. That last 60 piece was the capstone of an incredible career, and the flow of the game and how it evolved was an incredibly compelling final note reflecting his Mamba mentality, his basketball philosophy, and his final will and testament as a basketball player. This is the part where I present to you, Kobe Bryant, Hall of Famer.

This first vid is a count of all the missed shots, and there were many. Wide open shots. In single and double coverage. In traffic. From 3 point land and in the 3 second zone. The spirit was willing; the flesh was weak. His legs are jelly from the outset. He is leaning into each shot.

These are the shots from his first failure in Utah all those years ago. From legs not yet trained for those pressure moments. These legs had been diminished by an Achilles rupture. By a broken knee cap. By essentially 2 years of rehab. His body taped together by the incredible Judy Seto, serving as his Alfred patching him up to face down the darkness one final time.

The Jazz had the playoffs to fight for on the final night of the season, and they would take every opportunity to climb over the dying Lakers and into the playoffs.

Kobe the storyteller would say nay. The Jazz would have to earn this win. And for one final fight, Kobe came out swinging.

No more flailing or begging the refs for fouls. Not more shooting with intent to get bailed out. Back were the classic head fakes. The foot work. The range. The savvy headfakes and up-and-under moves. The classic fadeaways. Back door cuts. Bassline jumpers. Ducking and dodging around screeners.

Kobe was The Defiant One. He had recovered from those air balls. He recovered from that busted ankle to dead the Pacers in overtime. He recovered from his friends and family boycotting his wedding to Vanessa. From Mr. and Mrs Jellybean slinging his memorabilia. From the tears at the end of the 3 peat. When Goliath left town. From Colorado. From number 8. From the Boston Beat down. From the Achilles and the shoulder and the knee cap.

To bring a title back to LA. To ride shotgun with Goliath by the end of the last 3 peat as an equal. To fight for his family and hold it together. To win his freedom. To save the Redeem Team from certain embarrassment. To win without the Big Fella. To repeat with Pau and get revenge on the hated Celtics. To pull that Achilles up and hit those free throws and fulfill his playoff promise despite all the injuries to his teammates and ultimately himself. To come back.  For the final good-bye.

So. Here stood Kobe. Last of the gritty gunslingers. Running on fumes. Fueled by the crowd cheers. Determined to deliver. One. Last. Time.

His first make came after a vintage block on the defensive end. Then he jabbed. He spun. He ducked and dodged. He picked. He rolled. He shot. Kobe willed those all arm threes in. Kobe took the contact with intent to finish, not to hit free throws. And as the shots started falling, his will increased. You can see in his face, he had found the zone. Deep in the post. Escaping bassline traps to make foul line jumpers. Essentially every move you’ve see throughout his career, sans the athletic explosions, was fully on display.

Soon, the game was in play. The lead was whittled down and a win was in sight. Kobe Bryant very rarely missed moments and this would be no exception. The fourth quarter was purple rain and three point bombs launched from a Kobe on empty found their way again and again to the bottom of the net. 50 fucking 8.

I was in tears watching like YEAH MOTHERF**ER!!. I was way too hyped for game 82 of another lost season, but I knew it was the final curtain call. This was a fuck you to every talking head who said he shot too much. That he was selfish and a bad teammate. An unapologetic middle finger to all doubters and detractors. The final two points came with 2 clutch free throws. As dramatic and impactful as those no Achilles shots from a few years earlier. Nothing but net.

Speech. Tears. Appreciation. Love. Mamba Out.

So you see, my friends, we have already seen the speech. And it was worth a thousand, thousand words. It was his love letter and good-bye to the game. He had nothing left to give. And he was okay with that.