Kobe.
This is new territory for me. I'm writing to someone I don't really know. I've never spoken to you. Never even said hello. I grew up watching you rock that purple and gold, hitting jumper after jumper. I saw you once on July 4th, when you pulled up in your cream-colored Bentley. You flashed a smile to that kid sitting in the beat-up accord next to you. I was back then, and still am now, just another fan.
But to me, and to many others, you are a symbol. I tried to model my play on the court after you, especially that turnaround fadeaway. The first pair of signature kicks I ever bought was Kobes. (Well, technically, they were Team Jordans but I'm not counting those.) Heck, you've even inspired my fantasy team name, The Yellow Mambas.
That's the weird thing with celebrity—people don't have to know you, but you can still carry meaning in their lives. That meaning might look different from person to person, but it's not any less significant.
To me, that meaning comes from your passion and hunger for the game. Your drive to keep working. To never give up.
I have many memories of you, from sinking buzzer-beaters to flying over mere mortals. But the deepest ones are painful. Like the time you cried on TV, after losing the chance of a 4-peat to the Spurs. Or the time when you couldn't hit the back side of a barn in that Boston Game 7—yet doing everything else you could to clinch number five. Or that time when you sank a pair of free throws after rupturing your Achilles.
Those moments remain because they speak of your ability to perform under fire, to rise above the ashes. They were all hard, trying events. You came back from all of that. And it taught me this: not everyone is gifted with the same talent, but everyone is given the choice to persist. To work hard. To never quit.
We're all given a will. It's what we do with it—that's what counts.
That, more than anything, is the biggest gift you could have given me. More than the shots, the dunks, the rings, the memories—it's the mentality. That's what stands out. Thank you for letting the world be a witness to that mentality for 20 years. Thank you for giving us that gift.
You'll be missed, but you'll always be remembered. Careers may end, but symbols never fade. Your meaning will carry on.
-MY