Kobe going out on own terms
Retiring Lakers legend not about to change his tune for anyone as he closes out Hall of Fame career
It’s strange and surreal, this shuffling procession, this living wake. The Los Angeles Lakers have always been a show, or even Showtime. Jerry West, Elgin Baylor, Wilt Chamberlain, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Magic Johnson, Shaquille O’Neal, Kobe Bryant. The Lakers have always been Hollywood in sneakers.
And now Kobe is at the end, and this is the farewell tour, and . . . well, Kobe is barely an NBA player anymore, most nights, but the coach won’t stop playing him, and he is adored at every stop, bowing and blowing kisses, the lunatic king.
“I’m not really looking for anything,” said Kobe, after an 18th loss in 21 games. “I’m just taking the challenge of trying to figure out this age thing, and I’m trying to find a level of consistency, where my game isn’t just going up and down all the time. I’m trying to figure that puzzle out. But in terms of comfort, or peace of mind, I am completely fine. I am completely fine.”
Yes, and no. Kobe was shooting .296 on nearly 18 shots a night coming in, which would be a record for futility in volume. In a loss to winless Philadelphia last week Kobe laughed after some of his worst misses, and afterward said he figured the Sixers were worried he might score 81. He may literally be the only person left in the world who thinks that’s possible.
“I think he’s crazy,” one writer who has seen a lot of Kobe over the years said recently. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s crazy. But to be fair, there’s so much lunacy in there, it’s hard to take a side.”
The Lakers are like a New Orleans funeral for a living man, slow-moving and musical, except it’s all sad trombones and tubas making fart noises. But of course he’s still shooting. Some people can’t change, or don’t want to.
“That’s his competitive nature,” said Raptors coach Dwane Casey. “That’s who he is, that’s why he’s a first-ballot Hall of Famer, going to go down as one of the greatest ever. All those reasons is the why he’s playing the way he is now. Michael kind of slowed down, changed his game a little bit, adapted. But, different people.”
In this game, though, Kobe didn’t play like a doomed Icarus. He passed the ball. He didn’t take high-difficulty shots, or eat possessions alive. On the last play before halftime he had the ball alone up top, one-on-one, the gunslinger, and the arena started to rise in anticipation, and . . . he shovelled a pass to Jordan Clarkson, who missed a contested jumper. Kobe looked unimpressed.
And oh, he was loved. The standing ovation when he was introduced, the rising roar when he first touched the ball, the disappointment whenever he missed a shot. The tribute video from the Raptors, weirdly, didn’t include anything from his 81-point game, when that’s all it should have been. People desperately wanted to see Kobe be great one last time. It was like fans cheering for the band that can’t play its greatest hits anymore.
Reinserted midway through the fourth quarter of an inexcusably close game, though, Kobe hit a pullup jumper.
He hit a three from the right baseline. (“In his younger games,” said Casey, “if he got to the baseline, it was death.”) He hit another jumper, five minutes left, two-point game with five minutes left, and you could feel the building rising. Maybe. Maybe it’s in there.
Kobe airballed a three. He heaved up a pull-up jumper from the left baseline, straining against gravity, and it barely scraped the rim. The Raptors pulled away. The magic was gone. Kobe hit two late free throws, left to a standing ovation, finished 8-for-16 for 21 points, eight rebounds, four assists in 32 minutes. He hadn’t made half his shots in a game since January.
It’s a strange land, this place, this journey. Metta World Peace was the guy who hit the shot that salvaged Kobe’s 6-for-24 Game 7 in the 2010 Finals, Kobe’s last title; afterwards World Peace exclaimed, “He passed me the ball. He never passes me the ball, and he passed me the ball.” He is 36 now, Zen and wise, stretching on the floor.
“If he wanted to, he would be a hell of a role player, I’m telling you. He would be a hell of a role player,” says World Peace. But Kobe can’t change, can he? “Oh, he’s going to die shooting,” says World Peace. “It’s actually pretty damn impressive. He’s finishing how he started. So that means he’s trying his hardest. You understand? People don’t understand that. He’s really trying to be great, still. But it’s just not how it used to be. That’s impressive, man. He’s trying his hardest, out there. It’s tough to take shots, miss shots, and then take them again. Some people don’t have no balls. To miss, and then want it again: you know?”
It’s the flip side of Stephen Curry, who was here the other night. That is the rise; this is the fall. Twenty years, and this is how it ends: Kobe letting go of a little of the mean-mug character he has created out of pure sociopathic will, enjoying the ending, but shooting until the end, no matter what. Kobe Bryant will soften, maybe, a little. But he will die as he lived, in every way he can.