Just Saying, Is All... | The Problem with Kobe Bryant Fans

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It’s never easy to get the one thing you ever asked for.

Kobe Bryant fans are obsessively loyal. They were also, until very recently, habitually disappointed. After half a decade of frustration, Kobe finally won an NBA title without Shaquille O’Neal in 2009—which would be better news if it didn’t cast so much doubt on his most faithful supporters.

Celebration means reveling in the moment.

Satisfaction, on the other hand, means living with what comes next.

I’m not out to criticize Kobe’s Krew. They’ve stood by their man through thick and thin, and they have every right to savor last summer’s success. But the warmth of June isn’t much help against the chill of September. In a league where one season’s championship is voided by the next season’s tip-off, no true fan can afford to be happy after the autumnal equinox.

You can’t fill a bottomless pit.

You can’t win an endless fight.

If Kobephiles were content with just one conquest, they wouldn’t deserve to wear the colors.

The anguish of defeat is supposed to amplify the thrill of victory. Watching, waiting, wishing—they’re the Stations of the Sports Nut’s Cross, rituals by which we sharpen our suffering and sweeten our salvation. The catch, alas, is that Earthly rapture is notoriously fleeting. Buddhists will argue that Bryant Backers should transcend the numberless lusts of cyclic existence. I’d counter that Phil Jackson Himself seems to believe he can count his way to nirvana.

Deprivation is hard.

Deliverance is harder.

Kobe and the Lakers may well repeat in 2010, but one more ring isn’t likely to close an infinite loop.

Man is a desiring animal. To want more is the way of the world; to have enough is the promise of heaven. The problem with Kobe Bryant fans is that they can’t possibly love a winner like they loved a loser, because the pursuit of triumph is so much more pleasurable than the thing itself. Every pilgrim is sworn to seek the Promised Land. The one familiar with modern dopamine research should be forgiven if he does a bit of foot-dragging on his way through the desert.

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Jay Gatsby never netted a Larry O'Brien Trophy, but he did a know a thing or two about the perils of hope:

Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when Kobe tumbled short of his dreams—not through Kobe’s own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond Kobe, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a fan will store up in his ghostly heart.

Which may mean trouble in the cheap seats at the Staples Center.

Because there's no bigger letdown than an answered prayer, and anyone who claims otherwise is either lighting candles for the Cavs or only just saying is, all...

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