A lesson in the flaws of our heroes

Kobe Bryant died this past weekend.

In the wake of tragedy, we reflect. Death brings new perspectives. New stories and old stories retold. Much has been said about the myth of the black mamba and few people, let alone athletes, have such a complex mythology. But this was the nature of Kobe. Absurdist, titanic, and a perfect example of how complex and flawed our heroes can be.

A lesson in the flaws of our heroes

Kobe Bryant died this past weekend.

In the wake of tragedy, we reflect. Death brings new perspectives. New stories shared and old stories retold. Much has been said about the ethos of the black mamba and few people, let alone athletes, have such a complex mythology. But this was the nature of Kobe. Absurdist, titanic, and a perfect example of how complex and flawed our heroes can be.

What I know about basketball comes from the perspective of a passionate fan, not a practitioner. A fan who loves to draw parallels between the worlds of sports and performing arts. I obsessively read through box scores, watch highlights for hours on end. I love the drama and the storylines, the high flying acrobatics and subculture of sports fandom. I love the creativity and self expression. On the court, Kobe was the physical embodiment of these traits.

I should say, the closest I’ve ever been to playing organized basketball was an ad hoc tournament my classmates threw together at the end of term. It was good fun, but a handful of artsy Oberlin students flopping around the court and taking limp shots that barely scratched the rim — let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a model of athletic excellence. The pinnacle of my short lived on-court career was a strip steal from one of the few school athletes we had in the class — a story of David and Goliath that I embellish in dramatic retellings at gatherings of my 5’9 or less family. I digress.

Basketball has long been a foil to my career in the performing arts. It’s a way for me to step back at the end of a long day of practice and rehearsals, to clear my mind and gain some perspective. What started as a casual interest quickly became a great love. As I watched, I started to see patterns. Screens and off ball cuts became intricate choreography — creativity in motion. Dribbles and stepbacks became rhythm, and the game became a work of art.

If the game is a work of art, then Kobe was one of our greatest artists. Take away the shock value of his athleticism (the man could fly!!); his footwork and his relentless pursuit of perfection in movement were a marvel. Rolling and cutting, running baseline for a reverse slam or shouldering in and spinning for a fall away jumper, it was beautiful.

Kobe’s career speaks for itself, and since retiring in 2016, the myth only grew. He won an Oscar, founded a school for the next generation of athletes, and the obsessive devotion he once felt for the game shifted towards his role as a father and ambassador of the game.

Kobe’s most enduring legacy, however, is a simple, indelible lesson — our heroes, for all of their wonder, are flawed.

In the wake of Kobe’s death, countless media outlets have published all sorts of tributes. Sports networks and news journals alike have commented on his passing and praised the legacy he left behind.

In this outpouring, however, there is a conspicuous gap. There are clandestine references to “the Colorado thing” and “an off-court issue.” On the more absolutist side of social media, there are singular definitions of Kobe being spelled out in 17 characters or less. There are few, if any, nuanced conversations about the good and the bad, together, of his legacy.

In 2003, Kobe was accused of sexual assault. The case was settled privately out of court, and, in a public statement, he all but confessed to the assault. He committed a horrible crime. This was an act of extreme violence by a man in a position of incredible power. In today’s world, cancel culture would convict and sentence in all but a few tweets. He would lose sponsorships, and maybe even his spot in the NBA. But this happened before the #MeToo movement. It happened before women were empowered on the national and international stage to speak up and fight their abusers. This happened at a time when, just a few months later, Kobe was able to play in the NBA finals as if nothing had ever happened. This was the early 2000s and before the social media boom — Kobe was one of the biggest stars, and nothing could slow the professional sports machine.

What Kobe did on the court left me in awe. I will remember the teeth gritted, clenched fist in the air. I will remember the artistry of it all, the carefully crafted narratives, the mythology and the stories that he wrote. I will remember his pettiness and his cruelty. I will remember his violence and his evil.

Maybe this isn’t the right time (but then, when is?) to talk about the ugly of Kobe Bryant. But I contend that we can, and should, talk about both Kobe the villain and Kobe the hero. He can be both. Reducing him to just one thing is unsustainable. It’s okay to feel conflicted about him, and it’s okay to talk about more than just the good or bad of what he did in life.

He was a champion and a teacher, he was a villain and a rapist, and he was all of these things together. He was my hero and, just like the rest of us, our heroes are flawed. However you choose to remember Kobe, it’s important to remember all of him. Not all bad and certainly not all good. In his passing, Kobe leaves an incredible and imperfect legacy.