In Sports, Everyone You Ever Love Will Leave You
By Kyle Koster
Kobe Bryant did his best to put makeup on the corpse of his basketball career last night, scoring 60 points and showing one last glimpse of his killer instinct. Writers are falling over each other to pen the sappiest descriptive prose feting the future Hall of Famer — some even going so far as to suggest his one-off performance belongs in the same neighborhood as the Warriors’ 73rd win, accomplishment-wise.
But let’s dispense with the euphemisms and call what happened at Staples Center what it actually was: a funeral for the ghost of an all-time great. A remembrance of happier times.
Bryant suckered us into doing what we always do, and that’s allow temporary intoxication to obscure the bigger truth and darker reality.
As sports fans we approach the retirement of our favorite athletes in the same way we approach death. We refuse to think about it until absolutely forced. Then the five stages set in.
We deny that our beloved star is done with the game we believe they love. We are angered when they decide to do what’s best for them and deny us of more greatness. We bargain with them to give us one last title or one last victory lap around the league. We become depressed when we think of the sport without them. And finally, we accept it, usually more than willing to forgive several seasons of struggles after one brilliant moment.
Bryant joins Derek Jeter and Peyton Manning as athletes who have whitewashed subpar production in the final years of their careers with one magical moment on the big stage. Manning game-managed his Broncos to a Super Bowl. Jeter poked a trademark single to right field. And Kobe? He did what Kobe always does — shoot the basketball whenever it came to him.
The harsh truth is that all three hurt their teams more than they helped near the end. This truth is only spoken in whispers because it’s not polite to besmirch the dead. Just as we deify the deceased we forgive the transgressions of our sports stars in the emotionally confusing time following their departure from the spotlight.
In life, everyone you ever love will die. In sports, everyone you ever love will leave you. There is yet to be a single athlete who played forever. Father time catches us all, even the fastest runners and highest jumpers.
Careers end as uniquely as they begin. Bryant got a season-long celebration. Barry Sanders took his ball and went home. Tony Conigliaro suffered a life-altering injury. Different routes. Same result. The life of of a sports star as a sports star is finite.
We shove this knowledge out of sight and out of mind because thinking about it is depressing. That’s why Bryant’s last game has hit many like a ton of bricks. Finality is hard whether it comes from the blindside or slowly comes closer and closer from the horizon.
Lest you think this is all gloom and doom, the lesson is a positive one.
Appreciate greatness in its own time. Get the League Pass to watch Stephen Curry. Schedule your bathroom trips around Miguel Cabrera at-bats. Go see Russell Wilson play quarterback if you ever get the chance.
Stop dwelling on an active player’s legacy. Legacy is constantly evolving. Be in the here and the now when a transcendent figure comes along. It won’t be long until you’re saying goodbye.