Just numb. There are some you expect to live forever. Yesterday I thought and reflected on Kobe Bryant and how his second chapter would have been his best and most rewarding. An Oscar win. Time with his girls. Time being a mentor, a helper, a leader, and a guide to so many. I spent a lot of time processing, what was I putting off until my second chapter?
It didn’t seem real. I talked with my wife and brother-in-law, I texted with others. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t OK. I had no idea I’d feel this way. My thoughts went to my dad dying 13 summers ago when he was 59. During his battle with cancer he kept saying, “I thought I’d have more time.” Kobe was supposed to have more time, too. He was supposed to grow old and gray, sit courtside as the sage master as the other old timers in the stands told their grandkids stories of his fadeaway as they pointed to the 8 and 24 jerseys hanging high above. He wasn’t perfect, and I’m not here to deify the dead, but Kobe was something special.
The thing about sports and fandom is that when we watch someone work, battle, and achieve greatness it makes us believe that we too can achieve. When they pull off the improbable, when they put their team on their back, when they exhaust themselves and don’t save anything for the finish but yet still, somehow, have their very best down the stretch, it makes us believe a little more, it makes us hope a little more. When we watch someone do it over and over again, they become a source of joy, a worthy distraction from our own grinds, and when we go back to our own pursuits we take that inspiration with us, that inspiration becomes motivation and it changes us, it becomes a part of us. I think that’s why this hurts. A piece of so many died yesterday.
It’s why, as a Padre fan, I felt the way I did when Tony Gwynn died. Different but the same.
Unlike me, my wife wasn’t brought up in a sports family. So I asked her how she processed this, how she viewed it as someone who didn’t grow up hearing Chick Hern proclaim, “seventeen-five-oh-five!” at the top of Lakers’ broadcasts with Magic, Kareem, Coop, and Worthy. She didn’t watch Kobe grow up and make the Lakers his own but she said she understood it through my eyes and related it to Robin Williams, how she loved his work, and although his situation is entirely different from Kobe’s, it was similar in that he had inspired her, she felt a void, and couldn’t believe he was really gone.
Kobe worked his way to the top of his game and transcended the sport. He accomplished everything one could ever hope to accomplish on the hardwood. So much life to live. Like others, I respected what he did on the court but what I admired most was his drive, passion, pursuit of perfection, and his plan for life after basketball. When he retired, he didn’t start over, he parlayed a lifetime of passions and was using those to impact others. He helped young boys and girls fulfill their potential in sport through his Mamba Sports Academy, and he enriched other’s lives through art and creativity — without a ball in his hand.
As we all know now, his 13-year-old daughter, Gigi, was in the helicopter too. They were on their way to the Mamba Cup Basketball Tournament at his Academy in Thousand Oaks. She showed all the signs of being the future of women’s basketball and the WNBA.
His friend, the 27-year Orange Coast College baseball coach, John Altobelli, a legend in the community college baseball world affectionately known as Alto to his players, was on board with his wife, Keri, and their daughter, Alyssa, a teammate of Gigi’s.
Payton Chester, another teammate, and her mom, Sarah, were on board, as was Christina Mauser, assistant basketball coach at Harbor Day School. Their lives and the life of the pilot, Ara Zobayan, are less known but no less valuable.
I love that those moms, coaches, and dads were supporting their girls, rallying around them, supporting them, their AAU team, and their pursuit of athletic excellence. Boys have had this all along, these girls had it here, too.
As a dad, my heart breaks. I’ve ran in those hills when visibility is low, the early morning fog and clouds can get so thick you can’t see the peaks. I imagine Kobe, John, Keri, and Sarah holding their daughters tight, shielding them from fear with their embrace, telling them it would be OK — it’s what parents say even when we aren’t sure it will be. I think about those moments and pray for the family and friends they left behind.
The cliché is true, life is short. It’s all about relationships, don’t let anyone tell you different. In the end, nothing else really matters. Our professional pursuits are great but without people to share them with they don’t mean much. Our legacy is defined by those our lives have touched and those our love has impacted.
Kobe’s love for the game inspired a generation. He shared that love and passion with his daughter, that love led him to start an academy, host a tournament, coach her team, and fly with her yesterday. I’m thankful he shared his gift with the world, I’m even more thankful he shared it with his daughter. It’s truly something to emulate; I hope he is remembered for that. It’s all so heart-wrenching but he died sharing his passions, gifts and resources with her and those around him.
Kobe had a drive, on and off the court. May we be motivated to be our very best, to reach our full potential. May we have a sense of urgency because tomorrow is promised to no one. Tomorrow is a lie.
Kobe’s second chapter was cut far too short. Our second chapter may not come at all. That thing we want to do, that person we want to be, we need to start today, because today is all we have, it’s all we ever have.
May we pursue our passions and use our gifts to serve others, that’s where the magic happens. May our passions and pursuits inspire and motivate others to believe more, hope more, and give more. Just like Kobe.
