The very first time Kobe Bryant suited up in his No. 8 purple and gold Lakers jersey – Oct. 11, 1996 – he established himself firmly as a fan favorite without playing a single second.
It was my privilege to have been at the University of Hawaii at the Moana Special Events Center to bear witness to the first moments of what would become the 20-year reign of Kobe-mania in the NBA. Then, I was a Denver Nuggets beat writer for The Denver Post, and the Nuggets were in Honolulu for two exhibition games against the Lakers, who had been holding their training camp in Hawaii for many years, punctuating their stay in the Aloha State with a couple of preseason games. This time, the Nuggets (and those who covered them) were the fortunate ones chosen to spend a few days in paradise.
Denver was on its way to another dud of a season and those of us who covered the team knew it would be a long slog. But a trip to Hawaii and a chance to see if Bryant, the 18-year-old phenomenon from Ardmore, Pa., was the real deal was a nice way to get things started.
But the anticipation ahead of Bryant’s first game had been dealt a setback. Kobe had suffered an ankle injury in a pickup game a few days before the Lakers made their trip to Hawaii. He was brought along slowly during practices, and head coach Del Harris wanted to take no chances with the youngster Jerry West had given up Vlade Divac to obtain from the Charlotte Hornets. A decision was made to hold Kobe out of the two exhibition games in Hawaii.
Kobe was told of the decision and grudgingly accepted it, though he made it clear in a brief pregame exchange with a few reporters that he felt totally ready to play and would make the most of pregame warmups because there was no way he wasn’t going to suit up.
Then he turned the Lakers’ pregame layup line into a dress rehearsal for what would eventually be his winning repertoire at the 1997 All-Star game slam dunk contest.
It was spectacular and the fans were slack-jawed. They didn’t know about Harris’ decision to err on the side of caution with his precocious rookie’s playing time. They didn’t understand why Kobe was glued to the bench. By the middle of the fourth quarter, they were howling for his preseason debut.
“We want Kobe! We want Kobe!” they chanted, and the pleading went on and on … and on.
Finally, Shaquille O’Neal, seated next to Kobe on the Lakers bench through the entire fourth quarter, joined in the chanting himself.
He began nudging Bryant, who clearly relished the moment, that magnetic smile lighting his face.
After a few rounds of O’Neal’s prodding, Kobe stood, waved to the fans and took a bow.
On the end of the bench, Cedric Ceballos feigned a faint and flopped on the floor, face first.
The crowd loved it, even if the entreaty to Harris fell on deaf ears.
Kobe’s charisma had been established, even though his line on the box score was “DNP-CD.”
In the stunned disbelief that followed the first text to hit my iPhone on Sunday afternoon with news of the helicopter crash that took the lives of Kobe, his 13-year-old daughter, Gianna, and seven others, the memory of the impact Kobe made without even playing came flooding back. That memory had been part of a warm conversation I had shared with Kobe after he made his final appearance in a game against the Spurs at AT&T Center.
On that occasion, Feb. 16, 2016, I watched Bryant score 25 points in 33 minutes. Afterward, I hurried through a few postgame interviews in the Spurs locker room, then quick-stepped to the Lakers locker room, fearful I would find it empty. Instead, Kobe was the lone Laker left. Laker’s media relations director Alison Bogli informed me that Kobe was meeting children from the Make-A-Wish Foundation and there was no telling how much longer he would be because Kobe would not be rushed through an exercise in kindness about which he was so passionate.
I was welcome to wait, she said, but it could be a while. We chatted quietly and watched from the hallway outside the locker room as Kobe signed autographs, posed for pictures with kids, some in wheelchairs, as parents smiled and watched Kobe interact with their sons or daughters in a natural and loving manner. He whispered in the youngsters’ ears, seeming to give each one a special secret to keep.
Smiles were ear to ear. There were tears of joy from youngsters, moms and dads.
A lump developed in my throat.
Eventually, Kobe emerged from the locker room to make his way to the team bus, but he stopped to shake hands and reminisce a bit.
I reminded him I’d been there for his very first preseason game and was happy I’d caught him before he departed so I could bid him farewell and pay respect to his 20 great seasons.
“Appreciate,” he said. “I remember that night, too. I was so pumped to finally put on that uniform and so bummed I couldn’t even play a couple of minutes. But I still had fun.”
And now that lump is back in my throat and it won’t seem to go away.
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(Photo: Andrew D. Bernstein / NBAE via Getty Images)
