Monday, May 08, 2006

Bean Ball

I did not see the conclusion of Game 7 between the Los Angeles Lakers and the Phoenix Suns last Saturday night. I turned it off mid-way through the third quarter. It wasn't because I had been fulfilled by seeing the Lakers get drubbed by a run-and-gun offense, or that Kobe got his comeuppance, which is exactly what I wanted to see out of a format that short of March Madness, only an NBA playoff Game 7 can provide.

Nope, I turned it off about three minutes into Kobe Bean Bryant's decision to quit on himself. I will not venture to say that he quit on his teammates, although it can be safely argued that it was a clinic on selfishness and arrogance to be not only the best player on your team, but possibly in the whole damn league and not even attempt to make a comeback. I can see that, buts that's not where the quitting solely lies.

Kobe engineered himself to be one of the most popular players in the NBA today. Blessed with the mentorship of Mr. Logo, Jerry West; a partnership with the Big Aristotle, Shaquille O'Neill; and the coach with the silver triangle; Phil Jackson, Kobe was in a can't-lose situation. He had access to endorsement deals, fame and fortune, and the chance to throw up the dynasty sign with other Laker greats like Elgin, Worthy, Kareem and Magic.

But KB8 wasn't built for the NBA mold. On the outside, you could catch him marketing Sprite, Mickey D's and Adidas. But on the inside, he was a little different than most. I'm sure he got tired of the Batman and Robin moniker with him and Shaq, so he became more Two-Face. More L.A. Confidential than Hollywood Squares. The world got word of how he didn't interact with teammates, and the running feud with his center. The world got to know about Kobe's veil, and then he got caught up in Vail, CO.

But in true Kobe fashion, he brushed it off. Charges dropped, the Diesel rolls east, and after one bad season, Dr. Buss calls in Dr. Phil to fix the purple and gold. Guess who's bizzack with Nike on his back? New commercials roll out, Kobe is smiling more, and the Bean P.R. Barrage is in full effect.

Regular season runs its course; Kobe puts on an Art Monk jersey against the Raptors, and it the Lakers are back in the playoffs. But then 3-1 melts into Game 7, and we see the Lakers getting ran out of the desert.

The Kobe that called Raja Bell a kid? He got left behind in Game 6. Bean didn't get up in anyone's face for adopting a "no threes, but lay-ups are cool" defensive philosophy. Bean was scoring, but not stopping. Bean didn't even want to shoot after halftime.

Dr. Phil covered it up, the team made it seem like it was their fault. But the world knows the truth. The Lakers were mediocre during the regular season, but Kobe willed them to be just a little bit more, by himself. Not this time. Nike built an entire ad campaign around Kobe's extraterrestrial desire and drive to win, so much to the point, that he actually had us believing that maybe we shouldn't have criticized him so badly for wanting to prove to the world that he could do it on his own.

Bean has called into question his own motivation, his own allegiances and his own willingness to be a leader through thick and thin. Beanie baby didn't sell out his team; he sold out the very image he's worked so hard to reconstruct. With the weight of a false persona off of his shoulders, Kobe Bean Bryant throws the veil of the assassin back on, endlessly stalking a kill that does not exist; to win it all, all on his own.

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