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Losing in Los Angeles: The Problem with Kobe Bryant and the Lakers
D.S. CorpuzMar 16, 2007
I won't lie: I was on the Kobe bandwagon. For awhile. Not too long ago, I wrote a story called The Education of Kobe Bryant.
Maybe this one should be called the Miseducation of Kobe Bryant.
Of course the real problem here is with the Lakers themselves—but you can't criticize the Lake Show without fingering its spotlight performer.
As one of the great teams of the modern era, the Lakers have always been subject to more intense scrutiny than the rest of the league.
This time, though, it feels an awful lot like beating a dead horse.
Plagued by injuries, fines, and suspensions, the Lakers have lost six straight to fall to 33-31. They're 3-13 since a promising run in early February, and have shown a futility that seems to stem from Bryant himself.
Kobe's schizophrenic on-court persona—one night he tries to win all by himself, the next he decides to let his teammates shine—has disrupted anything that might be called a rhythm in the Staples Center.
And even when Bryant resolves to play the hero—well, let's put it this way: He ain't Michael Jordan.
Here's a question: How many game-winners have you seen Kobe hit? And more relevantly: How many big jumpers have you seen him make this season to get the Lakers a victory?
I can't think of many money shots since last year's jump-out-of-your-seat buzzer-beater against the Suns—and Kobe's reaching that ripe old age at which Jordan won his first title.
Of course, the maturity is there—at times. When Kobe has his fatherhood mojo working, his teammates pay attention. But when he reverts back to petulant-teenager mode, all bets are off.
Bryant's defensive leadership has also been sorely lacking. This may sound like nit-picking, but Kobe's D is vital to his role on the Lakers: If he wants to earn the trust of his teammates, he needs to be less of a great one-on-one defender and more of an anchor of championship-caliber team defense, — la Charles Oakley or Scottie Pippen.
Another problem: He needs to realize that players like Luke Walton, Sasha Vujacic, and Smush Parker are just as capable of beating teams with clutch shots as they are of systematically breaking down opponents.
Beware the Kobe of his high school days, who allegedly let opponents back into runaway games so he could play the big man at the end.
Obviously, that Kobe has no place in the pro game—and although he'd adamantly deny that there's any of the old glory hog in him today, the mentality is still there.
How else to explain, after all, the disappearance of the killer instinct that made the Lakers one of the surprises of the 2006 playoffs?
I for one hope Bryant can man-up in time for the postseason, because it would be a shame to watch him, in his prime, fall victim to that bane of all supremely talented players: his ego.
And hey—if Kobe wants a role model, he need look no further than yours truly, who obviously threw his ego out the window by writing a flagrantly flip-flop piece.
Do I contradict myself?
Damn right.
Damn Kobe.
As one of the great teams of the modern era, the Lakers have always been subject to more intense scrutiny than the rest of the league.
This time, though, it feels an awful lot like beating a dead horse.
Plagued by injuries, fines, and suspensions, the Lakers have lost six straight to fall to 33-31. They're 3-13 since a promising run in early February, and have shown a futility that seems to stem from Bryant himself.
Kobe's schizophrenic on-court persona—one night he tries to win all by himself, the next he decides to let his teammates shine—has disrupted anything that might be called a rhythm in the Staples Center.
And even when Bryant resolves to play the hero—well, let's put it this way: He ain't Michael Jordan.
Here's a question: How many game-winners have you seen Kobe hit? And more relevantly: How many big jumpers have you seen him make this season to get the Lakers a victory?
I can't think of many money shots since last year's jump-out-of-your-seat buzzer-beater against the Suns—and Kobe's reaching that ripe old age at which Jordan won his first title.
Of course, the maturity is there—at times. When Kobe has his fatherhood mojo working, his teammates pay attention. But when he reverts back to petulant-teenager mode, all bets are off.
Bryant's defensive leadership has also been sorely lacking. This may sound like nit-picking, but Kobe's D is vital to his role on the Lakers: If he wants to earn the trust of his teammates, he needs to be less of a great one-on-one defender and more of an anchor of championship-caliber team defense, — la Charles Oakley or Scottie Pippen.
Another problem: He needs to realize that players like Luke Walton, Sasha Vujacic, and Smush Parker are just as capable of beating teams with clutch shots as they are of systematically breaking down opponents.
Beware the Kobe of his high school days, who allegedly let opponents back into runaway games so he could play the big man at the end.
Obviously, that Kobe has no place in the pro game—and although he'd adamantly deny that there's any of the old glory hog in him today, the mentality is still there.
How else to explain, after all, the disappearance of the killer instinct that made the Lakers one of the surprises of the 2006 playoffs?
I for one hope Bryant can man-up in time for the postseason, because it would be a shame to watch him, in his prime, fall victim to that bane of all supremely talented players: his ego.
And hey—if Kobe wants a role model, he need look no further than yours truly, who obviously threw his ego out the window by writing a flagrantly flip-flop piece.
Do I contradict myself?
Damn right.
Damn Kobe.
