There's not much I can add to the outpouring of emotions expressed by people all over the world
by the death of Kobe Bryant. It is worth mentioning, however, that Kobe was not an instant super star, that he worked hard to become one. And worked hard to grow from teenager (with some big time mistakes) into an exemplary adult, as his life after basketball certainly proves.
I wonder how many people remember the game in the 1995 playoffs against the Jazz in his rookie season in which Bryant was set up by his coach to take on the responsibility of winning the game and missed four shots badly. Unlike the young player in the poem, Bryant did not let those air-balls destroy his confidence.
Short of Michael Jordan, I don't think I've ever seen a better clutch shooter.
Kobe Bryant by Tom Meschery
Four air-balls in a row
and he face of the cock-sure
millionaire becomes the face
of Billy Harris who I told
to take the last shot
for the city championship
although he was too young
the only sophomore on the team.
When the ball left his hand
I knew right away,
it wouldn't drop
and wanted to climb the air
to pull it back before
it fell short, and the fans
began to stomp their feet
and point that terrible pronoun
at him, as if you! you! you!
didn't already understand
he'd never be the same player
he was the day began.
Tonight on TV against the Jazz,
I watch Kobe and believe
it's my fault all over again
because Billy Harris never
got his shot back no matter
what I did or said to him
for the next two seasons.
