We've Always Relied On the Greatness of Strangers

I was just beyond the 3-point arc at one end of the court in Brendan Byrne Arena, hoisting jump shots with the lumbering grace of someone throwing shotput rather than shooting baskets; but form doesn't really matter when the basket is a mile away. This was around 1991 when, as Bruce Springsteen so eloquently put it at a concert I saw him in there many years later, "the arena was named after a man, not after a shirt"; a reference to Izod Center, which was the building's name at the time of that concert.

The basket looked to be at the far end of a gallery. That's how distant it seemed, but also intimating and mysterious against the backdrop of an empty arena, like an arresting masterpiece you behold out of the corner of your eye while strolling through a museum. I checked my feet. Yep, they were behind the line- NBA range, and I let the shot rip. This time I actually hit rim, although the ball would ricochet violently off and fall onto the court with a slap, as if the basket itself was doing a Dikembe Motombo impression. I let another one fly. Nowhere close. Airball.

This was a day each year that I looked forward to like no other. My father had been involved in business with someone who organized a charity basketball game at the New Jersey Nets' home for the benefit of the Leukemia Society. My father would eventually take over the game and the fund raising responsibilities, but instead of keeping it as a corporate outing, he turned it into a game amongst his friends, a large and eclectic group of old school local blacktop heroes and gym rats, from places like Marine Park and East Flatbush, who had been playing together each week at a gym in Manhattan, and who got such a kick out of running up and down for an hour on an NBA court. For me there was nothing cooler: leaving school early, congregating in the lobby of the arena at about 3:00 in the afternoon, waiting for a guard lead us down an escalator into the catacombs, to an auxiliary locker room where we'd all get set for the game and having the whole place to ourselves. Other dads would bring their kids as well, so it was always a great hang out on a school night that included a Nets game later on.

My dad's game had just ended, and the adults were milling about for a final few moments on the opposite side of the court before they would be ushered back to the locker room. OK, fun was over, now the arena had to get down to business. I spotted a ball laying underneath a folding chair in the front row and decided to take a few shots as a parting gesture. So there I was, ripping off bricks and airballs to my heart's delight when something suddenly shocked me: The ball pin-pricked through the hoop with the precision of a harp played in staccato, the net barely moved as the ball travelled through it. Then another. It wasn't me making those shots, clearly. But who? I glanced to my right. Drazen Petrovic, the Nets' newly acquired shooting guard had come out onto the court, accompanied by a ball boy and a rack of balls. It was his time after all, with that night's Nets game about two hours away. I was star struck but about to take my last shot anyway and I intended to let it fly before respectfully making my exit... Nothing but air. Petro smiled slightly, grabbed a ball off the rack, and looking at me more than the hoop, he methodically drained another 3-pointer. Amazing, but what happened next tops all:

Petro snatched a ball off of the rack and bounce passed it to me. He demonstrated his form, then urged me to take a shot; no words, mind you, just motion. I set my feet, bent my knees, and released a shot that looked halfway competent; obviously spurred on by this newfound inspiration, even if the shot didn't go in, it had to look good. Petro's turn. Swish. He bounced me another! Was this a duel? OK. I accept! I took my shot. Miss. Petro; swish. Bounce pass. Another shot for me? Well, alright! Miss. Petro...MISS! Big laughs, and a high five! My work here was done. At least I could say that the best sharpshootter in the game and me ended our little impromptu 3-point contest on equal terms; a miss for each of us!

But, oh man! Was that not the greatest? Drazen Petrovic naturally became my favorite player, a quiet but intense assassain on a mediocre Nets team that included some colorful characters like Derrick Coleman, Chris Morris, and Kenny Anderson. They had a few good moments, and Petro was in the middle of most of them, such as a 3-pointer barrage in the 1992 playoffs, where he singlehandedly brought the Nets back from a double-digit deficit in the final 3 minutes of the game to stave off elimination against the Cleveland Cavaliers in a best-of-5 series. It was the first playoff game I had ever been to and Petro's heroics took place, ironically at the same basket that he and I shot at a year earlier. Amidst all of the excitement, I was proud as the Nets victory wound down, like I was watching a good friend totally own the moment.

It's amazing the ways in which strangers can impact our lives and overall outlooks in a single instant. For whatever it's worth, I actually developed a passable jumpshot over the years, which allowed me to hold my own in pickup games by setting high picks and scoring from the outside. As far as I was concerned, Drazen Petrovic's tutelage was responsible for that. If I had to guess, Petro probably forgot about our little 3-point contest by the time that night's Nets game began and would have never recognized me if we ever met again. Then again, maybe he definitely would have remembered me! It was a rare opportunity to connect with a great athlete in that brief moment, where I just happened to be lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, and he just happened to be in the mood to have a little fun with a kid who was standing there. Sure, the importance of that "bond" was only in my mind and it was over-stated. But, it uplifted me in ways that I still can't explain.

When Petro died suddenly in a car crash in Germany in June of 1993, a few weeks after the Nets were eliminated from the playoffs, and right as that season's NBA Finals were about to begin, my heart sank. Before social media and news alerts that pop up on your phone, events such as this initially screamed at you from newspaper headlines, and they'd eventually make their way into the television newscasts. At least in those cases, you were kind of preparing for the worst as you sat down with the news, even if you didn't know what the exact story would be about, because as anyone who follows the news knows, "if it bleeds, it leads". But when you read about the tragic passing of someone you knew, admired, or in some other way had a connection with, it's literally jarring.

A week has passed since the wrenching death of Kobe Bryant, in the fiery wreck of a helicopter crash outside of Los Angeles, that included 8 others, including his 13-year old daughter Gianna. In that time, the effect that Kobe, one of the great players in NBA history, had on people's lives has been prominently recounted. Former teammates marvelled at his unparalleled skill and work ethic that included a perfect balance of grace and intensity; his opponents likewise. These traits were all the more exemplified in those he inspired, as a whole generation of basketball players, many of them now professionals, who were a bit too young to remember the Michael Jordan hayday, point to Kobe Bryant as their inspiration. He cultivated a love of the game amongst his fans, including those overseas, many of whom would be Kobe Bryant fans even if they were not necssarily fans of his team, the LA Lakers. This is what makes his death so unfathomable to so many; although it's been almost four years since Kobe retired from the NBA, we hold vigil for the passing of greatness, of someone who excelled at his craft. Anytime we lose someone who touched an entire planet with his or her immense talents, we have no choice but pause, reflect, and mourn; even more so when that person adheres to determination, effort, and excellence in the ways that Kobe did.

Kobe's chartiable streak and dedication to family came into focus in the last seven days. He retired when he still had a few years of elite basketball left in him so he could be with his growing family. He would commute at times by helicopter not out of vanity, but because it was quicker than driving in LA's infamous traffic, and he wanted to be able to spend more time at home. At the time of his passing, he was going with his daughter and some friends, including children, to his Mamba Sports Academy for a basketball tournament. He also ran a podcast called The Punies which through its stories taught kids life lessons about issues including bullying, striving, and self-belief. His work at children's hospitals, where he used his influence to inspire and brighten sick kids' lives has been at the forefront of any discussion or news segment involving Kobe. Needless to say, his immensely positive impact on people, both on the court and off are celebrated and missed amongst those he connected with personally as well as those who merely got to see him in action. One gets the feeling from footage shown and interviews from families that Kobe connected with, that he would have indeed remembered each of the children.

Still, for many, the story is incomplete without some perspective on the negative. There was a 2003 sexual assault charge that eventually got dropped. Kobe's statement at the time expressed acknowledgement of and regret about the interaction, as well as some confusion as to whether or not it was consensual. To his detractors, Kobe's response seemed half-baked and that the settlement that led to the dropped charges likely included hush-money, resulting in a marginalized accuser. Fair enough. It's part of his legacy one way or another. But the aggregate measure of charity, humility, and kindness to humanity rings more true. A society that practices clemency and forgiveness cannot be faulted for largely ignoring this blemish that involved a young man who may well have ended up growing from the incident into the beacon of compassion that he died as. Also, there are those who simply don't understand the reason why honor the passing of celebrities so fervently in the first place. Kobe's death was certainly tragic. I can't help but think about the terrifying moments before his helicopter, enveloped in fog, crashed into a hillside, and the children who spent their final few seconds of life completely petrified. Yet, Kobe's life was not tragic by any means, and that's an important distinction when we consider that soldiers get sent home in boxes, newborn babies die alone in dumpsters, and countless others who lived ordinary lives but were still beloved for one reason or another, pass away with little or no acknowledgement. So while it's perfectly reasonable to decry the absence of those who impact lives in less glamorous ways, or those who never got a chance to at all, it's simply wrong to admonish society for collectively mourning somone who set an indelible example for so many, especially when truly positive influences are so difficult to come by.

What Kobe Bryant meant to others is proven in the monuments and memorials to his life and legacy throughout the streets of LA and the world, as well as in arenas around sports. Athletes have paid tribute to him in word and deed, which will surely continue at today's Super Bowl in Miami, and especially at the upcoming NBA All Star weekend two weeks from now in Chicago. But to truly understand why complete strangers can be so important to us, look no further than a rec-league basketball game in the Riverdale area of The Bronx, between 10 year olds, that took place last Monday evening:

My son Ethan's team, the Mavericks, was taking on the Thunder, and echoing a gesture performed around the NBA immediately following Kobe's death, the teams collaborated to each take an 8-second violation to start the game, in honor of the No. 8, which he wore early in his career. Also, there's no 24-second clock used in the league, which they could have violated in tribute to the No. 24 he wore later on in his career. So, the game started with each team taking an 8-second violation. These were kids who really didn't know each other outside of the few weeks they've been playing basketball together. They're all from different backgrounds and nationalities, and most of them probably never got to really see Kobe play at the height of his game, so it's uncertain how much of an inspiration he was to their appreciation for basketball. It's probably safe to say that most of them, if any, had not had an elevating experience with a sports star the way I did with Drazen Petrovic all those years ago, or the way that so many others did when Kobe Bryant came into their lives. But, in those 16 seconds between those two rec league teams on a Monday night in The Bronx, all of the best qualities of humanity were on display: Unity, Understanding, Compassion, Inclusiveness, Honor, Respect, Purpose, Peace, Friendship, and even a very important Sense of Loss. These are the precious lessons that we try to instill in our children and hope that they can emulate to help make the world a better place, and for at least 16 seconds they did, and it was.

Thank You, for that, Kobe Bryant.

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