Kobe Sure Is Good

I am number one.  No matter if you like it.  Ready take this sit down and write it.  I am number one.  Hey hey hey hey hey hey.  -Nelly

Public Service Announcement:  Ok, here we go!  I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, hey Public, first you do lovey-dovey piece on Mariano Rivera and now this?  What, have you grown soft?    

Ok, ok.  Before I get into this, just know, I hate the Lakers.  The fakers.  The dirty rotten snakers.  I hated Magic.  I hated Big Game James.  I hated Dancing Barry.  I hated Riles.  Showtime.  All of it. 

The greatest moment in my sporting life occurred when Kevin McHale went all Stan Bad Man Hansen and smashed Kurt Rambis to the ground.  Cornbread Maxwell:   “Before Kevin McHale hit Kurt Rambis, the Lakers were just running across the street whenever they wanted.”   Kevin McHale stopped all that nonsense.  Kevin McHale forever changed the way Pat Riley coached basketball.  No more open court game.  No more Showtime.  No more poetry in motion.  It’s poetry in motion.  And when she turned her eyes to me.  As deep as any ocean.  As sweet as any harmony. 

But I digress.  I hate the Lakers.  Ipso facto, I hate Kobe.  But the cat sure is good.  I don’t bother chasing mice around.  Singin’ the blues while the lady cats cry:  “Wild stray cat, you’re a real gone guy.”  Kobe’s a real gone guy.  A real gone guy in crunch time.  Crunch and munch time.  In round house punch time. 

Kobe round house punched the reigning World Champeen Spurs real good like.  Round house punched the reigning World Champeen Spurs and once again, carried his team.  He carried his team once again in Game Five of the Western Conference Finals. 

Kobe has been called a lot of things.  He’s been called selfish.  He’s been called a phillanderer, and worse.  He’s been called a baby.  Baby, baby.  Stick your head in gravy.  Wrap it up in bubble gum and send it to the Navy.  Maybe deservedly so.  But now, now, you can just call him clutch.  Michael Jordan clutch.  Larry Bird clutch.  Reggie Miller clutch.  Jerry West clutch. 

Last night, the Lakers came out flat.  Lifeless.  Bloodless.  Spiritless.  Enter the Mamba.  You have offended my family and you have offended the Shaolin Temple.  Enter the Mamba with 6:33 to go in the second quarter.  The Mamba turned a seventeen point blowout into a manageble six-point halftime deficit.  He wasn’t done yet.  Not by a long shot.  He scored twenty-six points after halftime.  He scored seventeen points in the fourth quarter.  He nailed long distance jumpers.  He attacked the basket.  He made ridiculous fadeaways.  He hit runners.  He willed his team to victory.  That’s what clutch players do.  They make the clutchest of plays in the clutchest of moments to win the clutchest of games.  Now Kobe takes his clutchness to the NBA Finals. 

He takes his clutchness to the NBA Finals and attempts to do what naysayers have long naysaid he could not do.  He takes his clutchness to the NBA Finals and attempts to win a ring without the Big Cactus.  Love him or hate him, he’s clutch.  Bill James be damned. 

Public Acknowledgements:  Thomas Dolby, Stray Cats and Bruce Lee

Public Spectacle: 

Peace out Spurs.  Six Two and Even!

Need More? Kobe Bryant, Los Angeles Lakers, NBA