Kobe (English Version)
In honor of Kobe Bryant, our Director of Latino Theatre Programs, Jesus Castaños-Chima, and our Executive Director, Jay McAdams, both wrote about their feelings regarding Kobe’s death, offering two different perspectives about the life and legacy of the Lakers giant.
by Jesus Castaños-Chima
Dear Kobe,
Your departure has left me extremely sad, and it is difficult for me to express myself, for that very reason. So, before the words dissolve, I will try to catch them and weave them with a golden thread into a thank you for being an important part of my story here in Los Angeles and having made my struggle for survival more bearable. I still remember the excitement of that day, when I saw you playing for the first time with your glorious Los Angeles Lakers at the Inglewood Forum. I was with Armando and Edwin, my longtime friends since I first arrived in the United States, and who surely share this hollow in my chest caused by your absence. You were just a skinny kid of 18 with your afro-style hair to distinguish you. Everyone talked about the wonderous expectations they had of you and of the extraordinary abilities that made you seem like a being from another galaxy. Later, on some occasion I went to see you at the Staples Center, the field where you stretched out your wings and fought those epic battles that brought you glory.
I must say that most of those countless times that I enjoyed your play, it was via television, either in my apartment lying on my bed, or sitting in the big brown sofa at my friend Armando's house, or in a bar accompanied by Raquel, my girlfriend with whom I often escaped to The Shack, a little bar near Marina del Rey to enjoy your game. I was ecstatic and shouted like a child in each of the championships gifted to us; I vibrated with your spectacular flight and wild dunks. I always admired you for your integrity and discipline and your strength and maturity to correct the wrong path; for your winning spirit and your love and respect for basketball; for the elegance of your unique and extraordinary style of play in this wonderful sport that you gave, and that gave you everything. I was proud to wear lo the yellow and purple jersey and along with Raquel I would always cheer you in the parades after each of the championships you had conquered for us. It also filled me with pride to know that one day you and your daughters joined the audience at one of the performances that our 24th Street Theatre company presented in Costa Mesa, I regretted that I could not meet you all and thank you for having honored us with your presence.
image by Jay McAdams
Now I see how that transparent bubble, containing my story inside of it, accompanies you along with Gigi through that other dark tunnel that you now travel. A tunnel from which you will surely emerge victorious to once again spread your wings, and take flight in a blaze of glory that will entertain other galaxies causing them to fall in love with your magic, and thrill them as always with your trademarked and electrifying last five seconds: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Have a nice trip, dear Kobe and Gigi! Thanks for the visit.
by Jay McAdams
I am not a sports fan. But lately I’ve wanted to be. I rejected being a sports fan for most of my life, because I grew up in a place where sports meant everything to everybody. And that always seemed a little nuts to me. So while I love playing sports, I intentionally resisted becoming a passionate sports fan because of this cultural over-adoration of sports that I witnessed growing up. Still, when I heard the news of Kobe Bryant’s death, I gasped as loudly as Jack Nicholson must’ve. Not once, not twice, but three times. I was utterly slack-jawed. Just like every avid Laker fan. I kept saying “Oh My God! Oh My God!” over and over.
It makes perfect sense that sports fans were so overwhelmed by grief. If you viewed Kobe as a role model, then of course you were heartbroken. But I did not. So I was surprised at how much his death moved me, a non-sports fan who didn’t really know that much about Kobe. Until his death I didn’t know about his philanthropic work with the Mamba Foundation or even the specific details of his basketball career. So why did I react so strongly since I’m not really a Laker fan or even a fan of the game? Why was I moved to tears by the Grammy tribute to Bryant just hours later?
Certainly the helicopter crash was a tragedy, and that kids were killed made it even more tragic, and his youthfulness made it worse too. So yes, there was much to be sad about, even for non-sports fans. But this was bigger than just a tragic accident. This was a national moment, a cultural moment reminiscent of the space shuttle blowing up, when our collective grief overrode our differences and everything else receded into the background for a bit. This felt huge, like the death of Princess Diana, which gripped everyone everywhere. And you didn’t have to be a royal-watcher to care. We all cared.
It’s been so long since Americans have cared about the same thing at the same time. We’ve spent the last 3 years being pitted against each other by our own government. Families have been torn apart in our bitter partisan divide. Friends have been lost. Our values have been mocked and societal norms have been shredded. Even if you don’t follow politics, you feel the increased hostility in our country. We crave peace and fraternity like never before. So Kobe’s death served as a much-needed opportunity for people to put everything else on hold and come together as loving human beings.
The tsunami of emotion being expressed by Kobe fans has been such a beautiful and healing thing that even non-sports fans like me have been drawn to it like a moth to the flame. In the days immediately following the crash, I changed my route home from work just so I could drive through downtown LA to see all the skyscrapers lit up in purple and gold. Yes, I intentionally drove through downtown Los Angeles at rush hour. That’s how much I wanted to be in it. I needed to feel the love. I followed a bus that said RIP KOBE on its route sign. It felt so good to be on the same page as my fellow citizens. It felt so good to feel something other than rage. Even grief was welcome. On the Wednesday, 3 days after the accident, the tallest new skyscraper downtown changed the purple and gold back to normal and removed the giant number 24 from the top of the building, and I was so disappointed. And it wasn’t because I’m partial to the number 24, which I am. No, my disappointment was much more primal. The wave of love and empathy I was feeling was so needed that I simply didn’t want it to end.