The Sport Count

Despite being the most dominating baller of the past decade (no, you’re not there yet, Bron Bron), Kobe Bryant is constantly — and, indeed, unfairly — maligned as an egomaniacal insult to the purity of sport.

Yes, his private and public criticisms of his Laker teammates may have created some chemistry issues last off-season, but the guy once scored 81 points in a game. In one game. 81 points. By himself. Put on a show like that, and you could celebrate the 48-minute siren by lopping off Jordan Farmar’s head in an Apocalypto-esque ritual sacrifice and no serious sport fan would care much.

An effort like that is the kind of testament to individual brilliance that reminds you why you love sport. It represented one of those rare moments when one man becomes unstoppable, impossible to defend, as if suddenly blessed by a basketball-loving god, single-handedly justifying the bold claim inherent in ‘Where Amazing Happens.’

But that 81-point explosion was just a brief, easily quantified manifestation of the transcendence of Kobe Bryant’s talent, and determination.

Ask me, or the millions of Black Mamba heads out there, and we’ll tell you Kobe can do no wrong; sports geniuses are supposed to be aloof and egotistical. They deserve to be.

Arrogance is justified when it’s backed up by a Maurice Podoloff trophy, and three championship rings. A domineering, alpha swagger is more than permissible when it’s backed up on the court night in, night out, through sickness and health and badly injured pinkie fingers. A ‘bad attitude’ doesn’t seem so bad when it forces the hand of management, leading to a stronger roster, and a finals berth to go with it; had Kobe gone all milquetoast, would Mitch Kupchak have started making calls and pulling trade triggers? Bryant doesn’t accept failure. He expects to see blood and sweat on whoever he plays with.

We mock players who seem to lack the killer instinct to back up their natural talent — think Tracy McGrady, Vince Carter, et al — and then question the humanity of players who possess it; we ask if Kevin Garnett is too intense, and we assume Bruce Bowen’s dirty work on the court means he’s a bad man off it.

And when he gets that scowl, that famous look of cruel determination and clinical efficiency, we wonder if the ice in Kobe Bryant’s veins means he lacks a heart. But he doesn’t. He’s just very, very good at what he does, and he knows it. He’s the best in the world at his sport; a competitor who has never lost that strange, inexplicable drive to win at all costs that only the best sportsmen in history have had. Maybe that makes it hard for him to be humble. Maybe that awareness of acute superiority sometimes makes it difficult to relate to your fellow man, or indeed your teammate.

For the most part, Kobe Bryant’s peers aren’t on the hardwood: they’re named Pete, and they win seven Wimbledon singles titles; they’re named Tiger, and they’ve taken home 65 PGA Tour trophies; they’re named Mark, and seven Olympic golds are draped around their neck in just one year. Should it really surprise you if Kobe looks exhausted and frustrated when he’s been forced to play alongside unfocused hacks, or ball-hogging contract chasers, or deadbeat teammates happy to spend the playoff stretch drinking Grand Marnier cocktails in the south of France?

So, excuse the occasional bad attitude. Forget those ridiculous charges in Colorado. Who cares if he can seem confrontingly focused in half-time interviews? When you see Kobe Bryant on the court, you’re seeing the absolute best of sport. You couldn’t hope for more.

Posted By: Anton