I am remembering a man I once loved to hate and who I now hate that I sort of love: the late Kobe Bryant.

I am a very big basketball fan – “very big” being quite the understatement.  I consume basketball media like it’s a bag of Chicken McNuggets (another thing I am a fan of, especially when served in denominations of 50).  I get into passionate arguments with other NBA fans – especially the one I married – which often results in my father chiding me for the “unnecessary” strife I bring into my marriage.  I love Houston basketball in particular and as a non-Angeleno, I loathe the Los Angeles Lakers and their franchise savior, Kobe Bean Bryant.

Let me underscore that previous sentiment: I hated Kobe Bryant.  I hated that he played statistically inefficient basketball, necessitating an inordinate amount of impossible shots relative to the points he actually scored (among NBA fans, he is a classic “chucker”).  I hated that he was mythologized for his work ethic despite being a poor leader who shamed his teammates, ostracized nearly everyone around him, and was heralded for being a dick – a dick who won.  I hated him for all the aforementioned objectionable qualities and that he succeeded in spite of these characteristics — an 18-time NBA All Star, 5-time NBA Champion, and an MVP who beat my team every. fucking. time.

Most of all, I hated him because of what the media now called “the incident in Colorado” – an “incident” of sexual assault that transpired between him and a 19-year-old girl.  “I now understand how she feels that she did not consent to the encounter,” he wrote in his apology.  In 2020, particularly in the land of the Lakers and state of Kobe’s residence, we now call that rape.  I hate that I have to argue that this is true.

And yet, Kobe’s sudden passing on the Calabasas Hills spurred me to think about how to sit with complex, very human narratives.  Although it is true that his beloved basketball resume contains some unsavory details, it is also true that he brought significant joy to fans across the world.  The same man that created pain for a young woman nearly 20 years ago is also the same man that was a fervent advocate for women’s sports – especially for his young (now deceased) 13-year-old basketball playing daughter, Gigi.  The isolating, “untouchable” teammate on those storied Lakers teams also mentored dozens of current NBA players and became a powerful political activist – encouraging younger players to become politically active and to do more than “shut up and dribble”.

As a writer, I feel frustrated by the flat singularity of popular narratives – you’re either good or bad; right or wrong; saint or sinner.  I think the world would be a more tolerable place if we could create space for a more nuanced narratives that allow us to sit with the complexity and wrestle with the messier themes of life.

Here’s what I am sitting with:

• I am not the victim of the “incident in Colorado”.  My hatred is one-dimensional and theoretical, premised on my ignorance of where the victim is in her journey and whether she has forgiven her perpetrator
• Although it is challenging, people can change and evolve
• If we truly believe in rehabilitation over recidivism in our criminal justice system, shouldn’t we begin with practicing forgiveness in our personal lives and in our judgement of public figures?
• The words “I’m sorry and I apologize” are meaningless words if they’re not backed up with belief and action.  Can actions alone, such as becoming a female sports advocate, act as an apology if the words are not spoken?  
• Kobe was a basketball player, a father, a bad teammate, an advocate, a problematic dick, and a beloved public figure it is very human to be all of those things. 

Fuck you, Kobe, for killing my Rockets basketball hopes and dreams.  I love that you brought joy to so many of my friends.  You seemed like a great father.  I hated you, but now I am sad that you’re gone.

Also, I hate that Kobe probably loves how much I hate him.