Guest Commentary

Guest Commentary

Kobe: More Than Championship Rings

By Matthew Bass

The tragic and untimely death of Kobe Bryant, his daughter Gigi, and the seven others aboard that fated flight on January 26 was an all-too-familiar cause for reflection on myriad truths life has to offer— it is fleeting; even the best, brightest, and most successful can perish in an instant. So hug your loved ones and tell them you love them, tomorrow is not promised today. Our collective reaction to Kobe’s death also reminds us of the complicated relationship we, the consuming public, have with our sports superstars.

Idolatry of rich and famous stars is nothing new to society. Although magnified ad infinitum by modern social media, particularly in the sports context, are we not entertained now by our modern day gladiators

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much as the Romans were thousands of years ago? Certainly, athletes such as Kobe are the pinnacle of strength, speed, agility, dexterity, coordination, and “competitive fire” (as Tiger Woods, in shock, epitomized Kobe moments after learning of his passing). Perhaps they would have met a less savory fate millennia ago, glorified though it may still have been. Nevertheless, rooting for our sports heroes is a tradition that has now been passed down for generations in America. Like many my age, I grew up rooting for Cal Ripken, Jr., Art Monk, and Michael Jordan (because who can actually name a Washington Bullet player on the 1991 roster?), among others. Some of those others included Josh Kerr-Hobert, Steve Sipe, and Patrick Bartlett of the great early 1990s Eagles basketball teams, who we used to pretend to be as we played basketball on homemade courts and playgrounds across the county. I can still remember walking down to Johnson Williams on a Friday night, hearing the roar of the crowd as Bo Morgan’s name was announced. Sometimes, I wonder whether that phenomenon is unique to a small-town upbringing, although I suspect it is not.

Without delving into a socio-anthropological analysis of sports idolatry in modern America, what compels us to fascination with our superstars? Sure, they have physical gifts most of us will never know; they perform on stages the likes of which we cannot imagine; and for those who

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have found success at the highest professional level, financial status to match. Is that it, then that in their successes they have achieved the American Dream? That in their unimaginable wealth and imperial majesty (think, King LeBron James), they are the pinnacle of that which we are raised to believe any of us can pursue?

Perhaps. Notably, Kobe came from a professional basketball family, and Cal came from a professional baseball family. Maybe they had a leg up on us. Jordan, well, who is actually like Mike? Or maybe we throw it back to one of America’s early sports superstars, Mickey Mantle, whose father worked the lead and zinc mines in Commerce, Oklahoma. Undoubtedly, sports grant the opportunity to a select few to

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achieve wealth and fame the likes of which the world has never seen. Whether that’s a good thing is a debate for another day.

The sports fan in me will always defend rooting for greatness and being amazed by its achievements. I’m okay with idolizing it, putting its posters on your walls, calling out “Kobe!” as you faded away from the trash can with a paper ball in ninth grade English class. Perhaps in that exercise of aspiration, we remind ourselves what we can accomplish if we work hard. In the days following Kobe’s passing, that defining trait is how many of his colleagues and co-competitors remembered him. For all his flaws— and they were there — for someone who was born with unsurpassed physical talents, one of his lasting legacies will be the hard work he put in to achieve greatness. That, by the way, is a common theme among those who reached his rarified air. Tiger would agree.

As the undying sports fan in me has aged, enthrallment with superstars has become tempered by the realization that we pay teenagers and young adults millions of dollars to play while the vast majority of us will never earn a fraction of what they make in a year or two. While there is nothing wrong with mourning Kobe, those passengers, and the horrifying circumstances of their passing, in the grand scheme of the universe, the untimely loss of Kobe Bryant is no greater than the passing of everyone else on that helicopter. Nor is it greater than the last helicopter carrying our servicemen and women that went down overseas (that probably received ten minutes of news coverage). Or any other of the countless untimely tragedies that resonate throughout each of our lives at various times.

The point is not to minimize or degrade this tragedy, but to add perspective. To remember that idolizing our superstars, local or world famous, is part of the narrative of the American Dream that compels us to work hard at our craft in pursuit of greatness, although many of us will fall comparatively short in the pursuit. (That’s okay, by the way!) And to remember that no amount of wealth, power, fame, and success can protect against the ultimate reality we all face. Because life is short, that is all the more reason to allow moments such as these to induce reflection on what it means to work hard for and be part of a family — from the biological, to the communal, the national, and the human. By all accounts, Kobe would be proud that part of his legacy was bringing perspective to that which can all-too-easily be dismissed by the haters as star worship. I bet he’d agree that hard work is admirable no matter what your calling may be. And that family is the driving force behind that. So as we collectively mourn the passing of a generational superstar, let’s remember why, beyond the championship rings. That’s the point. Mamba Out.

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