A letter to Kobe Bryant from a Utah Jazz fan. His life and legacy affected more than just basketball–he changed people for the better.
Dear Kobe,
I became a basketball fan after my mom signed me up to play in a local little league at the YMCA. It was 2000 and I was five-years-old. A spark in me grew every time my feet touched the court and I quickly began eating up any information about the NBA. I checked out every book on basketball my elementary school had and wore out the daily newspaper’s sports section every morning. Among all the words, stats, and facts, one name was consistent–Kobe Bryant.
You were a star, and 2000 was just the beginning. You’d go on to win three straight NBA championships from 2001 to 2003. After a failed four-peat attempt a year later in 2004, big changes would come to the Lakers’ locker room that offseason.
Shaquille O’Neal left LA and went to play in Miami. It was no secret you and him had compatibility issues. You two had broken up. As a young fan of the game, I felt the need to pick a side and I picked Shaq’s for one reason–we share a birthday.
Soon after, LeBron James’ stardom was rising and, for schoolyard debate’s sake, I had to pick a player, and I chose LeBron. I liked his game a little bit more, and I liked playing as him on my Gamecube’s copy of NBA LIVE 2005.
I never disliked you or hated you. I always respected your talents. I just had other favorites. I never chose you over your apparent rivals for no reason but personal preferences and the day I was born.
I didn’t become a dedicated supporter of a single team until my family moved to Utah in 2005. I was coming from Illinois, and so was my favorite college player, Deron Williams, so the Jazz quickly became my top team. After a run to the 2007 Western Conference Finals, I was an excited teenager who had championship aspirations for his team.
The only problem was you did too.
I remember when you ousted the Jazz in six games during the second round of the 2008 playoffs. I remember making fun of how many shots you took while hoping you’d pass to someone less-dominant.
I remember when you led the Lakers to a convincing sweep of Utah, again in second round, this time in 2010 on your way to winning your fifth ring. I watched you win that ring. I watched the ceremony when you were given the Finals MVP award. I remember your smile. You were happy.
I remember the last game of your career. I listened to David Locke call the game as I sat in my parent’s basement, hoping the Jazz would win. Utah had the lead near the end of the game, but you had one last special performance to put on.
With 1:27 left in the game, you split two defenders and hit a pull-up jumper from the elbow. The Jazz remained up but only by four.
Then, with 60 seconds to go, you hit a left-wing three to make it a one-point game. At that moment, even though your team was still down, I just knew in my gut that you were going to win this game. You had too–you’re Kobe!
Sure enough, next possession down, you took a high screen, pulled up for a long two, and it unsurprisingly landed. You’d go on to seal the game–and your legacy–with a final pair of free throws to give you sixty for the night. It was incredible to hear it play out. Storybook.
The news of your death Sunday shocked me. You were taken far too soon from this world. You were admittedly an imperfect man, but you learned from your mistakes. Post basketball, you started to write children’s books, directed an Oscar-winning movie, and championed women in sports.
You had four daughters, who you clearly loved, one of which died with you. Gianna seemed smart, bright, and talented, and seeing you courtside with her at WNBA and NBA games made me excited to be a dad.
Thank you for what you did for basketball. Thank you for what you did for my fandom of the game. Thank you for your example, showing us all what it means to be a dad, human, and a passionate person.
You’ll be in my heart and the heart of Jazz fans, always.
Mamba Forever.
– A Utah Jazz Fan