If you don’t follow sports, you probably think the idea that grown men and women could be affected by a person they’ve never even met deciding to retire from a sport like basketball is ridiculous...and you’d be completely correct in your opinion. Sports, along with all other forms of entertainment, when observed from outside of a bubble, seems like a silly thing to be emotionally invested in. But if you’re a devoted fan, the notion is completely justified. The fact is that we fall in love with the game the same way someone might fall in love with a television show or a movie. We root for athletes the same way someone might root for Luke Skywalker or Harry Potter. When a player gets hurt on the court, we feel it. When a player gets upset, we get upset right along with them. It’s not logical, but neither is love. 

I was 12 years old when I got to attend my very first Laker game in Los Angeles. Before that, I’d followed them religiously. I knew every player, what number they wore, what their points-per-game average was, and what their role was on the team. I knew the coaches, the assistant coaches, and even the training staff’s names, but I’d never stepped foot inside the arena. 

Words don’t justify the feeling I had seeing the court in person. I remember it vividly. Feeling light-headed, overwhelmed and excited. It was anxiety, panic and jubilation all rolled up into one. The lights were so bright I had to squint. We entered in through the very top, and I was able to see the banners hanging along the walls, and all the retired numbers belonging to past Laker greats. Rick Fox was on the court shooting practice jumpers. I freaked.  “Look! It’s FOX!” I yelled to my brother, who had delivered on his promise to take me to a game if I had scored at least 10 points in my next basketball game at school. I scored 18 (before that, my highest total had been 4. I would have scored more but the coach took me out for not passing the ball).

Shaq was out for this game with a toe injury, so it became the Kobe show from the very start. At the time, he was battling a wrist and ankle injury himself, so I’m sure the knowledge that Shaq was willingly missing games to heal an injury he could have taken care of didn’t sit well with him. Kobe went out to make a statement. I saw him do it all. Reverse layups, step-back fade aways, baseline drives, slam dunks, elbow jumpers, long-distance threes. He even heaved a shot from half court just as the halftime buzzer sounded. Swish. It was my first time taking part in a “Kobe” chant, and I made sure to shout extra loud so Shaq could hear from the end of the Lakers bench. I was only 15 feet away from him, after all. 

Sixteen years later and I’m still that crazy kid, checking the schedule for the next game and planning the day in my mind to get ready to watch it. I’m still reading LA Times sports articles, though now it’s on an iPad instead of paper. Though now, with Kobe announcing his inevitable retirement, I glance a little bit longer at that name in the box score after a game: No. 24 Bryant, K 

We’ll never see it again after tonight, and it’s bittersweet. It’s bittersweet because I’ve watched him for 20 seasons. There is no writing team in the world who could come up with a story-line this long, this dramatic, this heartbreaking, this joyous, or this amazing. Los Angeles fans have been spoiled beyond belief. We’ve been able to watch a man give everything to something he loves, and we’ve been able to watch the game give back to him a thousand times over. Kobe is the ultimate must-see-tv because it’s all been real. There’s no director, no script to read off of, no laugh track...just raw, unedited reality. And it’s truly been a pleasure to have been a part of it for well over half of my life. 

Thanks Kob.