Dear Kobe, Love Marina

Sometimes it's hard to explain to people why I love the game so much. I played it competitively until I was thirteen.

But that's not where I fell the hardest.

Your face blares through my brain like dust settling onto the picture frames my brother polished each night before bed.

You gave my team heat, passion and tenacity that we haven't seen in twenty years. You lit the fire. You gave us the narrative, the rivalry, the pain.

I don't even remember learning your name.

Yet, you are before, during and after my time. 

You swept every single city off its feet. You did everything with your entire heart and absolutely nothing less.

I didn’t know you, but I knew you. We shouted your name on every Hail Mary half-court, gum wrapper to the trash can, socks in the hamper from the asphalt to the hardwood. 

You graced our living room floor each year as my brothers unwrapped your jerseys from the Christmas sheets. The first name on his back, on rec league photo cards, binders and childhood bedroom walls. 

We watched you stroll in twice a season, more than half the arena in a steady, golden roar when the leather touched your hands that wouldn’t yield until the final shot-clock buzzed.

The nights we knew that dad was going to be home late. 

“Kobe’s in town.”

The competitor. The champion.

Your photo has faded underneath our refrigerator magnets, poster corners frayed from the wear and tear of a child’s life. The basketball hoop hanging on my brother’s door is chipped in purple and gold, but has stood the test of time and trials for over 2 decades. 

Thank you for breaking my heart each year. We hated to lose but we loved to see the game in its most stunning form: against you. You once said that the game of basketball gave you, a six-year old boy, his Laker dream. I think its safe to say that you did that a million times over and then some. 

For the city, for the country, for the world.

We are grieving so much more than your sudden absence on the planet. We are grieving for your legacy, something that felt final, but wasn’t nearly over. 

Inspiring young women to be the best versions of themselves is an accolade I will hold the closest to my soul. I think about where I was at thirteen. Where I've been in the last decade.

All the life I've lived in between. Where your daughter would have thrived.

So when I find it hard to explain to people, why I love this game so much, I'll look to you.

And they'll get it.