Last Tuesday, for the seventh time in the last 13 seasons, the NBA's Western Conference finals arrived at the Staples Center in Los Angeles. For the sixth time in that span, the most brilliantly gifted player of his generation, and perhaps the player that inspires more combined bile and admiration among hoops fans than any other, started at shooting guard for the hometown Lakers. For the rare elite of players who attain such extraordinary level of success and consistency, each accomplishment adds another chapter to their legacy and brings with it a new wave of admiration and adoration. When they add a championship to their already-brilliant resume, as did Celtics forward Kevin Garnett last summer, they no longer have anything to prove, nor should they. Reaching the pinnacle of the sport in both performance and results rightfully should be the bar for hoops immortality.
It has never worked that way for Kobe Bryant. His greatness has never been universally accepted, his accomplishments never fully appreciated. In the eyes of many, Bryant still has much to prove: That he can win without Shaquille O'Neal. That he can lead his team to a title. That he can master the smiling, outgoing ethos that gleamed like an aura around Michael Jordan, and has already begun to surround Cleveland forward and league MVP LeBron James, to whom many have passed the mantle of the game's greatest player.
Kobe may yet achieve those further benchmarks, but he shouldn't have to in order to be appreciated for what he really is: basketball's greatest player, and a consummate winner.
Kobe is a hard man to appreciate. He's a loud-mouthed jawbone, a perpetual complainer, an arrogant showman and an underhanded cheap-shot artist. He cheated on his wife, curses like a drunken sailor on the court and his default expression is not a winning grin, but a sullen, sulky glare. He calls out his teammates, once demanded a trade, and occasionally refuses to shoot in order to make a point. We know who Kobe actually is because he wears his personality on his sleeve for all the world to view. He is the exact opposite of perfectly manicured stars like Jordan and James, who do (and did) everything they can (and could) to cultivate their public persona, without ever allowing the world to see their flaws.
In short, Kobe -- like most petulant stars -- is too uncomfortably like the rest of us for our collective liking, so large swaths of the public and the media attempt to tear him down, to find reasons why everything he does is not good enough. He is the rare player to have actually suffered a hit to his reputation after appearing in the NBA finals, where the Boston Celtics easily overran the soft Lakers.
As a player, however, Kobe basks in the rarified air that only a handful of stars have ever known. He owns three NBA championships, droves of All-Star selections and All-NBA offensive and defensive honors, and an MVP award. He is consistently rated as the player that opposing coaches least want to have the ball in the closing seconds of important games. He is driven and focused, vicious and clutch, and he has achieved all of the feats without the sort of superhuman body that his contemporary, the inappropriately titled "King James," enjoys.
James is physically unrivaled in the league. He is 6'8", 250 pounds, with the speed and quickness of a guard, the size of a power forward and the athleticism of God. He is never at any point physically overmatched by his opponents. Kobe is 45 pounds lighter and two inches shorter, making the game astronomically more difficult for him. Still, he never shies away from the challenge of guarding his opponent's best player, no matter the physical disparity -- as he did last Tuesday, outdueling Denver's 230-pound forward, Carmelo Anthony, and leading the Lakers to a stirring comeback and a 1-0 series lead.
LeBron may one day add enough rings and heart to pass Kobe legitimately in this discussion, but he hasn't won a thing yet. And until he does, the Black Mamba reigns supreme. NBA fans should remove the ideological blinders and appreciate the last prime seasons of one of the greatest players ever to lace 'em up. Winning is, after all, the only thing that counts in the NBA.
