This is fun, and an experiment, and certainly not complete. But if there’s as much intersection between the NBA and hip-hop as there is, why not try to find some good comparisons for players and rappers?

Kobe Bryant is Lil Wayne: Forget Wayne’s actual lyrical comparisons in “Kobe Bryant” the song, and the “No, I won rings for my performance/I’m more Kobe Bryant of an artist” line from his seminal “Dough Is What I Got.” These are two guys who came into the game underrated and squeaky clean (Wayne didn’t curse at first; remember Kobe’s McDonald’s ads?) and dwelled in the shadows for a while. They then let controversy swirl around them, and through incredibly hard work turned their considerable individual talents into personal, and, later, team brilliance. Other evidence: This photo.

Rasheed Wallace is Busta Rhymes: Veterans known for their loudness (and possessed of oft-forgotten versatility) early on, ‘Sheed and Busta are best when a part of something greater, with the Pistons or on a massive remix. And both have fallen off the face of the earth in recent years. But things may be looking up: Busta has a song with Big Tigger that is excellent, and Wallace will have one last good title shot as a Celt.

Allen Iverson is Pusha T or Malice of the Clipse: They’re Virginia boys who know one thing (taking tons of bad shots or rapping about slinging cocaine) and unrepentantly do just that. For this, in some eyes, they are revered; their respective crossovers are also fun larks. The schtick may be getting tired, though: Iverson’s still unsigned and the buzz on the next Clipse album has been quieted with an uneven run of leaks.

LeBron James is Jay-Z: Freakin’ duh. And it’s not just because of the money or the video or the friendship: It’s all about the “I’m a business, man” mentality. Plus, Jay, when he gets lyrically punked by a nobody, responds poorly, much as LeBron may have with this dunk brouhaha.

Gilbert Arenas is Charles Hamilton: Gilbert is all sorts of strange; Hamilton’s offbeat enough to claim Sonic the Hedgehog as a full-on inspiration. He’s fully in cult-of-personality mode, is far too honest for his own good, and generally does stupid, stupid things to the dismay of observers. And much like Gilbert, he’s got a love-hate relationship with the blogosphere. (Tempting, but no, for Gil: Wale. His career is on an upward arc much different from Arenas’, and the DC connection isn’t a good enough match.)

Dwyane Wade is Kanye West: Each, after a period of semi-obscurity (Kanye’s producer years; Wade’s time at Marquette) came into his respective game as a fresh face with some flaws. Wade got knocked for his height; Kanye got told to deepen his voice. Then both Chi-town boys developed into superstars while getting some help from “big brothers” (’Ye had Jay, Wade had Shaq), and Kanye dubbed himself D-Wade in verse: “In two years Dwayne Wayne became Dwyane Wade.” But, maybe most compellingly, both guys got burned by their women, and responded in turn, with an album and a lawsuit, giving them similar dark sides. (That both get continually overlooked as potential “Best player/rapper” candidates doesn’t hurt; that Wade’s as vanilla as a public persona as Kanye is loqacious does.)

Chris Paul is Drake: Both guys have serious talent and marketability, and they certainly get the blognoscenti of the world abuzz. But each could get held back by a New Orleans crew incapable of fully showcasing their skills. And there’s mutual admiration: CP3 shouts Drake at the end of this song, while Drizzy has called himself “the Chris Paul of this fall” on wax.

Did I miss anything? Yell at me below.

The title, of course, is a reference to this: