He left him standing still. Blew by him as if he were the wind and his defender helplessly played the role of the stick in the mud. I reached for my cell phone and sent a quick text to a friend.
It read: "Kobe just killed J.Kidd."
Late in the fourth quarter, in a tight game, against the Dallas Mavericks, a Western Conference foe, Kobe Bryant was isolated against Jason Kidd on the right wing of the court. One-on-one, Kidd shifted his shoulders to the left, giving Bryant an opening. It was all Kobe needed. He took off straight for the basket and blew by Kidd. No cross-over, stutter-step or fake of any sort. He just blew by him---and scored.
But don't blame Kidd. His teammates couldn't do anything with Kobe, either. The Mavericks played him man-to-man, double-teamed him, triple-teamed him and mixed in a zone defense. And Kobe still scored, clutch basket after clutch basket.
The National Basketball Association is full of them. Fake super stars. False basketball prophets. They're up and down just about every roster in the NBA. They're the classic good-stats-on-a-bad-team type of player. Twenty meaningless points and 10 meaningless rebounds a game. Results without production. Style without substance. Their stats look great but their won-loss record fails in comparison. They're a piece, but not the piece. And it's not their fault. Being special isn't just a talent. It's a mentality. And either you have it or you don't.
I've always believed Kobe was the latter.
Not anymore.
Over the last few weeks, something has happened--something profound. And we're all eating our words.
We've heard it before. Many of us have believed it. He's a horrible teammate and an even worse person. He shoots too much and doesn't pass enough. He's selfish. Arrogant. A coward. Heartless. Great player-- easily the most talented in the NBA--but you don't want Kobe on your team.
He doesn't want to win.
For years he's heard the whispers and tried to emerge from the shadows. He's been running from his past. They still haven't forgotten about Colorado, his quarrels with Shaq and public persona. We all saw the three straight championships, the talent which seemed to come natural and the gaudy stats. The bar was set. For 12 long seasons, he's been trying to find his way and live up to what's been expected of him. And for 12 seasons he didn't know how. And we crucified him for it. He's supposed to be a leader. Leaders are supposed to shoot. So Kobe averaged 35 points per a game in 2005-2006 and 31 a season ago.
He shoots too much, is what we said.
Leaders are supposed to get their teammates involved. Leaders are supposed to share. In Game 7 of the first round of the 2006 Western Conference Playoffs, Kobe deferred to his teammates and attempted just three shots in the second half of a loss to the Phoenix Suns.
Now he doesn't shoot enough, we thought.
Kobe allowed himself to get caught in the trap. It's one many of us fall victim to. The trap of trying to please others. And in his attempts to prove them wrong, he became what they said he'd always be. He threw his teammates under the bus, asked for trades and sulked when it didn't happen. He was confused. Sometimes the noise--the voices of others--can be so loud in your head that it's hard to concentrate on what you're supposed to be, who you're supposed to be. And it's easy to forget what you were looking for.
He could have been traded, maybe should have. He could have had a fresh start. But sometimes the most progressive move is remaining still. Sometimes you just have to wait.
And the moment he's waited for is here. Standing at the free throw line with 9.4 seconds remaining in overtime, and the Lakers ahead 105-104, Kobe calmly sank two free throws to ice the game. He had scored 30 of his 52 points in the second half. He was balanced and determined. Kobe had done everything right. He became the deciding factor. No. 24 became the reason. This game had become a microcosm of his life. The team is winning and Kobe's finally at the controls. Dallas called a timeout and as he walked to the bench, you could see it in his eyes. Kobe's got a different walk. He even has a different number. He never knew what he was. He's fought to distance himself from what we've perceived him to be.
Maybe Kobe's figuring it out. Maybe Kobe's refusing to lose. Maybe No. 24's refusing to give in.
Maybe Bryant's become the leader many wanted him to be.
Maybe Kobe no longer cares what you think.
Maybe Kobe finally has IT. Perhaps, right has always been wrong, closing your eyes has become the only way to see and holding your breath is the proper way to breath.
Like the witches in Shakespeare's "Macbeth", life has its own twisted logic, a backwards way of thinking.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
--EOB.
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