Kobe Bryant is an enigma. Save for Big-Head Barry, no professional athlete is more polarizing among sports fans - he's either loved for being the most explosive two-way player since MJ or reviled for being a selfish gunner, and there's not much middle ground.
Personally, I'm fascinated with Bryant. Unlike many of his NBA peers, Kobe grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, the son of a former NBA player who raised his children in Italy. Say what you will about his sexual assault case - and I'll say a few things about it in a bit - but Bryant is no dummy. In addition to being fluent in Italian, he was an honors student in high school and scored a 1080 on his SAT, which, while unimpressive to the vast majority of Tufts readers, qualifies him for Mensa status by NBA standards.
All of the negative attributes that have been ascribed to Kobe - his aloofness, his arrogance, his self-absorption - can be traced straight back to his upbringing, or so my amateur psychology leads me to think. This is why I'm so intrigued with the man. Put yourself in his shoes: raised in Europe, ensconced in a protective family web of older sisters and parents who catered to your every whim, and preternaturally gifted with a basketball. Then imagine coming to America, speaking limited English and trying to fit into the average eighth grade social scene. Not the easiest of adjustments.
Bryant has said that he never really felt comfortable in the United States until years after the move and that he was learning two languages simultaneously: English and the "different lingo that the black culture had." This leads to another interesting aspect of the public opinion of Kobe. A few years ago, he had very little credibility with African-Americans. I've talked about Bryant with some other big NBA fans who are black, and though I've probably only had nine or 10 of these conversations (and none of them recently), none of them could stand him. I was told that he was pampered and a pretty boy, and that he constantly projected a corporate-America-friendly image to keep rolling in the endorsements.
Then about three years ago, New Kobe appeared out of the blue, covered in tattoos and talking smack to anybody within earshot on the court. It was like all of a sudden he wanted to show his doubters that he had every bit as much street cred as somebody like Iverson or Carmelo despite his privileged upbringing, so he adopted this persona that he thought would make him more accepted. McDonalds, Sprite and Nike were quickly leery, and the alleged sexual assault in Colorado offered them the perfect opportunity to cut ties with him.
Everything I've read about Bryant is consistent on this point: He's incapable of relating to other people. He wouldn't join in on locker room banter, make an effort to hang out with other Lakers after practices or games or participate in pregame huddles and chants. Other players played cards on the team plane; Kobe listened to his iPod. You can trace the pattern back to his early teens. Dates with his high school sweetheart typically consisted of the two sitting in Bryant's den watching video clips of Magic and Jordan.
Kobe averaged over 35 last year on what basically amounted to an NBDL team and he got called out for being selfish (but who else was going to score?), but got crucified for deferring too much to teammates in Game 7 of last year's playoff series against the Suns.
What do you want the guy to do? Truth be told, I feel sorry for Bryant in the same way that I do for A-Rod. Both of them are incredibly gifted athletes, among the best of all time in their respective sports. I think that both want nothing more than to be accepted and liked by their peers, but all the ability in the world isn't enough to accomplish it. I never thought I'd be so sympathetic towards a man that has everything else.
Matthew Mertens is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Matthew.Mertens@tufts.edu.
