I waited. Until everyone had their say. Because me and Kobe got history, although we never met. And this hurt. A lot. I’m just arriving at the point where I can watch a video or read a story about him and not cry. I’m not gonna be macho and say teared up. Fuck that. I was flat out snotty nosed crying when it hit me that he was gone. In full flower of youth and just beginning a magnificent second act that already saw him become a business mogul and an Oscar-winning creator. And girls basketball coach.

Then the most insane math ever grabbed me by the throat. 41 became greater than 81. I’m gonna touch on hoops. And arrogance. Defiance. Victory. Defeat. Redemption. Perseverance . 8. 24. 81…41. But first, I’m going to tell you about me and Kobe.

I was a sophomore in college and my man Rob from Philly was all geeked up about some kid from high school who was torching the entire state. The civic pride was welling up in him when he read the news headline, “Kobe Bryant, College…or Pro?” Moses Malone was a beast. Kevin Garnet was 7 feet tall. A wing player was going straight to the A? Nah. Then the question became not a factor of will he go, but where would he go. I found out a few months ago (before he died) that he came out early because he heard Air was retiring soon and he wanted to play and beat the best.

I’m a Lakers Lifer. I was sold by Magic and I been down ever since. November 7, 1991 was the beginning of some lean years for Dr. Buss’ Boys and there were flashes of Nick the Quick. Ceballos getting 50. Even Magic came back for a curtain call in 96. But we weren’t going to compete for the chip. Magic had us expecting to compete every year and we were starving. Logo got Goliath. Traded Vlade dotty to the Hornets for the Philly kid. Kobe Bryant. I’m officially vested.

They called him Showboat. Brandy to the prom. Flashy moves. He had that swagger of a fronter. You’ve seen it. To whom much is given much is expected. And you don’t know what these kinds of people are made of until they get punched in the mouth. Utah punched him in the mouth. Thrice. Airball. Airball. Airball. On the big stage. But then I saw it. Not dejection or defeat. But that I’ll be back, I’m going to the trunk look. If you grew up in any hostile urban environment, you know that look. It means this is not over and I’m coming back with a vengeance.

To us it was a failure. To Kobe Bryant it meant that his legs weren’t strong enough to sustain him deep in the playoffs. So he worked on his legs. It was the first of many times where defeat only made him stronger.

He had Eddie Jones, the swing man in front of him. All-Star. Jumped out the gym. Lithe, rangy defender. Well liked and part of the now generation Lake Show that made us watchable again. We loved Eddie. But for Kobe to rise, he had to go. And Dell told him there would be no ties. He had to knock him out to be a starter. Out the box, Jones was knocked, Rick.

Western Conference Finals. Down 15 in the 4th quarter. 25-4 run. The crossover on Blazers Scottie. The Lob to Goliath. Exuberance. Back to the Finals. 4-2 over the Pacers. We are the Champions, my friend. And two more, including the greatest playoff run of all time. 15-1, with a herculean Iverson performance our only blemish.

We fractured. We reset. Colorado. I took Shaq’s side. Most of us did. And went Shaq went on to get number 4, we thought that Dr. Buss backed the wrong horse. Phil Jackson slander. Rudy T disaster. Kobe…quits. Against the Duns no less. UGH.

Kurt Rambis band-aid. Number 8 is dead. Long live 24. Tattoos. The Black Mamba. The offensive explosions. Kobe 62, Mavs 61. An onslaught the likes of which we had never seen. An avalanche of dunks and 3 pointers and post moves and transition buckets. A dissertation on basketball torture. 81.

And then we got Pau. We return to the finals with length and strength. And are devoured by a trio of ravenous veterans and basketball savant from the hated Celtics. He wasn’t strong enough. He didn’t love enough. He didn’t know the math.

Redeem Team. Captain America. Defensive terrorist. Clutch jumper-taker. Gold medalist. Lesson learned. Kobe + Pau = chip. Back in the high life again. Rematch with the C’s. Back to back. 5. Magic matcher. One up on Goliath. Dr. Buss made the right call.

Done in by Dirk and Dallas. Sabotaged by Stern. Betrayed by his body. The Achilles heel…was his Achilles tendon. Then the shoulder. The knee. 2 years lost to his body. No chance to catch Kareem. No chance for 6.

But one thing about Kobe Bryant, and the reason why he meant so much to me was that he didn’t quit. And there was no way he was going out like that. And so with around the clock medical personnel, tons of ice, and treatment, the Mamba took his last round. I was able to see him in his last stop in Charlotte.

It was an amazing year, just not for the Bad News Bears that the Lakers had become. Golden State had unlocked a cheat code the likes of which the league had never seen. And on the last night of the season, when the Warriors were poised to put Jordan’s Bulls in the rear,view (regular season), Kobe Bryant decided for his curtain call to empty the clip. It was his grand finale so I said fuck the Warriors, I’m watching the Black Mamba.

He was nervous. For the first real time in almost 20 years. The shooting was off. He took the easy jumpers because physically he just wasn’t the same. All the chucker talk the media began levying against him in the last few years began to manifest. But the game was close. And then, like all great storytellers, the narrative began to evolve mid game. Against Utah, no less. The villain of the first failure.

The shots started falling. Momentum turned his way. 30 would have been a good way to say goodbye. There would be no playoffs, but the Jazz had the postseason on the line. We got 30. Then 40. Then, my father called me. You see your boy? He’s a bad motherfucker. My dad is 2 generations before Kobe. Since the Knicks won two chips. For him to concede that greatness was unearthly. We never concede to our babies. Much less our babies’ babies.

Then came 50. He’s leaning into all of his shots. The jumpers are all arm at this point and Kobe is sucking wind. Like a Bruce Willis, or Bruce Lee, bone-weary and bloodied, the last action hero is ducking under screens, running on fumes, operating semi conscious on muscle memory alone. 60. Fucking 60. I’m in tears at this point. He did it. And he didn’t leave a single bullet in the clip. He gave me over half his life. And I knew this was it. That he would be okay leaving.  Because he gave it his absolute all. The thrill was gone. It really was time for something else. Mamba Out. And there would be no Jordanesque flirtations with a return.

Make no mistake, after two years off fully healed, I have no doubt that Kobe could get 20 points a game right now off the bench. But he had no interest in being a copperhead. The Black Mamba was gone. But his mentality remained. And it filtered into this generation in a way that writers and media jackasses didn’t see until it was too late to appreciate him. Kyrie’s facial to Steph for the money? All Mamba. Dame Lillard staring down Westbrook and sending his ass home? All Mamba.

And he would train. He would impart knowledge in a manner that the generation before him never truly could. The aloof, precocious neophyte had taken a circuitous journey to the battle-hardened sage, imparting the gift of basketball to his progeny. Kobe was not a two sport athlete. He was basketball all day. We question what if Shaq was focused on basketball. What if Lebron had the Mamba mentality? What if Brandon Roy’s knees held up or if McGrady stayed healthy? What if Vince Carter had the will and the heart? What if Magic didn’t get HIV or Bird’s back didn’t give out?

Kobe Bryant was maybe the first baller to truly manifest. To remove all objections. He got as much out of his talent as he possibly could. He learned his lessons in defeat. He performed the necessary alchemy to transform lessons to victory. Missed jumpers became stronger legs. Defenders and different rules meant more moves and more counters. Zone defense meant more range on the jumper. He left no stone unturned. And when his iron will wasn’t enough, he learned to empower. He supported. We know exactly what Kobe could have been because we saw the whole thing unfold right before our eyes.

And now he is gone. And a big hole exists. As I find the strength and the focus, you will see me approach this from other angles. This was part 1. My journey with him. Next stop is what he meant to all of us. Peace for now.