Thank You, Mr. Bryant

It was back in 1999 when I was young and still kind of cute and the Spurs - still one of the most formidable championship rosters in recent memory - downed the Lakers in the Western Conference Finals that I first noticed the kid wearing No. 8. At the time, I really had no business watching basketball. I had just moved from Korea and was supposed to be learning English. But I saw my brother turn the channel to NBC, heard that wonderful adrenaline-pumping melody, realized from the opening highlights that men in the United States can dunk the basketball, and immediately I was hooked. My brother was a Laker fan, which meant I was a Laker fan.

Initially I didn't have a clue what the announcers were saying and I didn't care. I began learning the numbers and names on the back of the jerseys, though. I'll admit, I was intrigued by No. 34. But it was never a serious, long-term relationship. My curiosity was merely aroused by this behemoth of a man that insisted on using only one of his God-given hands to shoot the basketball. But No. 8, he was different from the moment I lay my eyes on him. For one thing, I really liked his afro. People in Korea don't have afros.

I also noticed he did some things on the basketball court that no one else did. He took some of the craziest shots I had ever seen. He would storm into the paint and finding himself surrounded by a pack of defenders, throw up a rainbow teardrop anyway. Or he would be isolated on the wing and with the defender draped all over him, post up and shoot a contested fadeaway. Back then, these weren't even turnaround jumpers. He would simply dribble to his favorite spots with his back toward the defender and rise up to shoot. I didn't need to understand English to know these were terrible shots. But some of them would go in. And when they didn't, he kept shooting. Some things don't change, do they?

You know that inexplicable tenderness that sweeps over you when you look into the eyes of a newborn baby? Well, me neither. But I imagine it's something akin to my feelings for Kobe at the early stages of his career. You see, I knew Kobe was destined for greatness. Well, maybe I can't say I knew, but I wanted to believe it badly, and nowadays that seems to fetch just as many brownie points. I believed in Kobe because for all that he lacked on the basketball court, he made up for it in his desire to win. And that's what Kobe Bryant is, and always has been. He's 6 feet 6 inches, 200 pounds of pure will. That’s all I needed to know to become a fan of Kobe Bryant. So when he caught Reggie Miller backpedaling with that yo-yo dribble and drained a double-pump jumper in the overtime of Game 4 of the 2000 Finals, I adopted him as my proverbial son. I would be there with him at every step of his career. And no matter how tough times got, I would not give up on him.

If raising a baby is as rewarding as watching Kobe develop as a basketball player, I am willing to apply for fatherhood at the DMV (that’s how you get babies, right?) I couldn't tell you the exact point in his career when he acquired that destructive jab step and marvelous combination of head fake and pivot in the post, or when he became crafty enough to use that trademark swing-through of the arms to draw fouls 30 feet from the basket. What I can tell you is that until about two years ago, Kobe had been getting better every season. Regardless of the season's outcome, he returned from each summer a more complete player, having added new moves and shots to his repertoire while maintaining the superb conditioning that has allowed him to register more than 1000 games in his 14-year career.

In the heydays of his first championship runs with Shaq, there was no one quicker and more dangerous in transition. He picked apart defenses simply because a single defender could not keep him from the paint, and opponents could not afford to double-team anyone not named Shaquille O'Neal for too long. Then Kobe began hitting the gym to bulk up, got some cool tattoos for his new guns, and soon he was dropping bombs from all over the court. He used his upper body strength to finish those three-point plays after contact and to square up against big bad small forwards on the other end. Sometime around 2005, Kobe became one of the most dangerous offensive players to ever play the game. He could score wherever, whenever, however he wanted. No one could defend him from the perimeter because he simply elevated over anyone who guarded him. And because no one could afford to give him any space in the perimeter, he began to use his Paul Bunyan first step to get to the rim. Absolutely unstoppable. About two years ago, Kobe's explosiveness began to tail off. And with injuries, he’s been hard-pressed to get the separation on the shots he needs, and he can no longer finish plays near the basket at the rate he used to. So he now makes a living in the post, using guile and footwork to ward off Shane Battiers and Tony Allens. It turns out he is also pretty decent in moments that matter the most.

As incredibly good Kobe has been throughout his decorated career, however, our relationship has not been without its rocky times. My biggest regret for Kobe as a basketball player is that he never achieved his full potential as a defender. When he wanted and cared, Kobe was an absolute lockdown defender. He fought through screens, used his quick hands to poke away at the dribble, and contested shots without fouling. He had such impeccable timing on his blocks that Andrei Kirilenko once passed up on a 1 on 1 fastbreak with Kobe the lone man back. But despite his selections to the NBA All Defensive Team, Kobe did not consistently commit himself at the defensive end. My guess is that he wanted to save his energy for the offensive workload. Thank you basketball god, for sending us Rajon Rondo.

To be honest, though, nothing has made me more conflicted about Kobe than his off-court baggage. We all hold romanticized visions of our favorite athletes as upright human beings, caring family members, and humble contributors to society. Then along comes a discomforting, if not shocking, revelation to mar everything. We can never look at the person the same. When Kobe went to trial facing accusations of rape, I was more than stunned. I was deeply ashamed. If he were found guilty, I could not cheer for him ever again. In fact, I would be sorry I ever cheered him on. Somehow it seems low of me to weigh the relative moral injuries inflicted by adultery and rape, and on the basis of this comparison, condone Kobe for committing the former, lesser offense. After all, Kobe may have committed rape. But that's exactly what I did. I waited for definitive evidence to surface in the trial, did not get any, so I forgave him. It’s part of parenthood.

There have been other minor unsavory details about Kobe’s character. It is well documented that he is not the most pleasant teammate to have around. He would blow his defensive assignment and then scream at someone else for not rotating quickly enough. He would dominate the ball for long stretches and take unnecessarily tough shots instead of creating easier opportunities for his teammates. The truth is that after Shaq left, Kobe simply didn’t trust his team. And when you surround someone who considers himself the best player in the league with Chris Mihm, Chucky Atkins, and Brian Grant, you are asking for trouble. He had enough and pretty much called out his teammates as losers by demanding a trade. It was arrogant and selfish of him. There, I said it.

But do understand something. Kobe Bryant the basketball player is one of the best to ever play the game. And he got there because he cares about the game of basketball. He cares about the rich history of champions who preceded him, and most of all, he cares about etching his name next to theirs. It all sounds simple and obvious - until you encounter players like LeBron James, Vince Carter, and Gilbert Arenas. Tremendously gifted athletes, to be sure, but why couldn't they care a little more about what they do for a living? Kobe is one of the very few players in our generation who gets it. He knows greatness is not measured by fantasy sports statistics, popularity among fans, or the amount of money earned from free agency contracts and endorsement deals. To him, basketball, and winning in basketball, is not a means to an end. It’s everything he’s got, and he is pretty good at it. So call him unfaithful, condescending, self-centered, hypocritical. But don't ever underestimate what he brought to the game. We are witnesses.