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**LA LAKERS THREAD** Sitting on 17! 2023-2024 offseason begins
- Thread in 'Sports & Training' Thread starter Started by licensed to ball,
- Start date
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wanted to share with yall
Made this a few years ago and won a Nike Contest with it
one of the best accomplishments of my life and jt was a contest for Bean man (Kobe Prelude Pack)
Made this a few years ago and won a Nike Contest with it
one of the best accomplishments of my life and jt was a contest for Bean man (Kobe Prelude Pack)
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This one is tough...just hits different for me. People I havent talked to in years are hitting me up, knowing my love for Kobe and the Lakers. This is a tough day.
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Seeing post from celebrities and regular folk who I never thought were b-ball fans come out.
really crazy.
mamba legend is real.
really crazy.
mamba legend is real.
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I’m sorry y’all.
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Man this just isn't right. Having to even type and think that Kobe getting a statue and inducted into the Hall Of Fame will be posthumous
D
Deleted member 107398
Guest
I’m done hating LeBron...
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Same
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Really can’t believe it guys. We grew up watching him. Just remember when I first joined this thread how many crazy arguing matches folks would have defending Kobe. Now he really gone....just heart breaking, especially seeing him show up to more Lakers game with Gianna and now to this.
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yobyellav
formerly cord15
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Those arguments still happen regularly. I always chuckle at them. Can’t believe he’s gone.
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Watching as Kobe Bryant's helicopter crashed and burst into flames
I was sitting at my dining room table Sunday morning when I heard the whir of helicopter blades.
www.latimes.com
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Heart hurts guys. Can’t believe it
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Plaschke: How can Kobe Bryant be gone? His legend wasn't supposed to end this way
Kobe Bryant was our childhood hero, our adult icon. It seems impossible to believe he has died at age 41.
www.latimes.com
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There is only one.
Like Bruce Lee, who's son Brandon also tragically perished. The Lee lineage ended with Bruce.
My man Kobe the Legend. I'm honored to have watched him. There is only one.
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Legend gonna grow even larger
like 2Pac after he died
like 2Pac after he died
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Kobe Bryant is gone, and those are the hardest words I’ve ever had to write for this newspaper, and I still don’t believe them as I’m writing them. I’m still crying, and go ahead, let it out. Don’t be embarrassed, cry with me, weep and wail and shout into the streets, fill a suddenly empty Los Angeles with your pain.
No. No. No, damn it, no!
Bryant, 41, and his 13-year-old daughter, Gianna, were among nine people who died in a helicopter crash Sunday in Calabasas and how does that happen? Kobe is stronger than any helicopter. He didn’t even need a helicopter. For 20 years he flew into greatness while carrying a breathless city with him.
This can’t be true.
Kobe does not die. Not now. Kobe lives into his golden years, lives long enough to see his statues erected outside Staples Center and his jerseys inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame. He lives long enough to sit courtside at Staples when he’s stooped and gray, keeping alive the memories of two decades of greatness with a wink, maybe even fooling everyone one last time by retiring in a community next to Shaq.
How can Mamba be dead? Mambas don’t die. Why this, why now, why him, why them? Kobe and Gianna leave behind an incredibly strong wife and mother, Vanessa, and daughters Natalia, 17, Bianka, 3, and Capri, who was born last summer. The horror of this is unspeakable. The tragedy of this is immeasurable.
Go ahead and keep crying, you won’t be alone. A huge hole has been cut out of Los Angeles’ heart, and the wound is breathtaking.
Kobe was your childhood hero. He was your adult icon. For 20 years he was on posters in your bedroom, on the television in your living room, in the lunch talk in your school cafeteria, in the smack talk at your office water cooler, and ultimately riding on a truck down Figueroa Street while you cheered and bragged and bathed in his greatness.
You watched him grow up, and this city’s relentless approach to sports grew with him, and soon, even with all of his off-court failings, many people felt they carried a little piece of him.
On your best days, the days you landed a big account or aced a big test or just survived a battle with traffic, you felt like Kobe. You were Kobe. And in the end, as he retired into a life of movies and books and coaching Gianna’s basketball team, he was us.
For me, he not only dominated my professional life, he consumed it. He arrived in Los Angeles two months before I began writing this column. We used to joke that we started our journeys together. But then he would pat me on the back and shake his head at that notion because, well, he always followed his own path.
He was the one Laker who never had an entourage, and many nights after games we would chat as I walked with him to his car. Except when he would get mad at me for what he considered unfair criticism, and then we wouldn’t talk for weeks, because when he playing, he was that rare fighter who never dropped his fists.
I covered his first game. I covered his last game. I wrote about everything in between, the titles and the sexual assault charges and the trade demands and the titles again and then finally that 60-point career-ending game against Utah.
I screamed from press row that night, just as I’m screaming now, still shaking, still not believing.
Kobe Bryant is gone.
We just talked last week.
I emailed Kobe with a request to speak to him about being passed on the all-time scoring list by LeBron James.
He emailed me back immediately. He always did.
He cleared his calendar and made time to chat on the phone because, as he always said, “You’ve been there for everything with me.”
But then, in our 20-minute conversation, he showed a side of Kobe that I had not seen before.
The edge was gone. The arms were open. He urged acceptance of LeBron. He preached calm for Lakers fans. He said greatness wasn’t worth anything if you couldn’t share it.
After about five minutes the message of this call was clear, the steely-eyed Mamba was purposely moving into a role of a wise, embracing and grateful leader of a community that had shown him so much patience and love.
“It’s crazy, watching this city and growing with it,” he said before hanging up. “I feel such an appreciation, I can never pay the city back for what it’s given me.”
And now he’s gone. Kobe is gone. Kobe is gone.
I’ll say it 81 times and it still won’t make any sense.
Kobe Bryant is gone and, so, too, is a little bit of all of us.
No. No. No, damn it, no!
Bryant, 41, and his 13-year-old daughter, Gianna, were among nine people who died in a helicopter crash Sunday in Calabasas and how does that happen? Kobe is stronger than any helicopter. He didn’t even need a helicopter. For 20 years he flew into greatness while carrying a breathless city with him.
This can’t be true.
Kobe does not die. Not now. Kobe lives into his golden years, lives long enough to see his statues erected outside Staples Center and his jerseys inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame. He lives long enough to sit courtside at Staples when he’s stooped and gray, keeping alive the memories of two decades of greatness with a wink, maybe even fooling everyone one last time by retiring in a community next to Shaq.
How can Mamba be dead? Mambas don’t die. Why this, why now, why him, why them? Kobe and Gianna leave behind an incredibly strong wife and mother, Vanessa, and daughters Natalia, 17, Bianka, 3, and Capri, who was born last summer. The horror of this is unspeakable. The tragedy of this is immeasurable.
Go ahead and keep crying, you won’t be alone. A huge hole has been cut out of Los Angeles’ heart, and the wound is breathtaking.
Kobe was your childhood hero. He was your adult icon. For 20 years he was on posters in your bedroom, on the television in your living room, in the lunch talk in your school cafeteria, in the smack talk at your office water cooler, and ultimately riding on a truck down Figueroa Street while you cheered and bragged and bathed in his greatness.
You watched him grow up, and this city’s relentless approach to sports grew with him, and soon, even with all of his off-court failings, many people felt they carried a little piece of him.
On your best days, the days you landed a big account or aced a big test or just survived a battle with traffic, you felt like Kobe. You were Kobe. And in the end, as he retired into a life of movies and books and coaching Gianna’s basketball team, he was us.
For me, he not only dominated my professional life, he consumed it. He arrived in Los Angeles two months before I began writing this column. We used to joke that we started our journeys together. But then he would pat me on the back and shake his head at that notion because, well, he always followed his own path.
He was the one Laker who never had an entourage, and many nights after games we would chat as I walked with him to his car. Except when he would get mad at me for what he considered unfair criticism, and then we wouldn’t talk for weeks, because when he playing, he was that rare fighter who never dropped his fists.
I covered his first game. I covered his last game. I wrote about everything in between, the titles and the sexual assault charges and the trade demands and the titles again and then finally that 60-point career-ending game against Utah.
I screamed from press row that night, just as I’m screaming now, still shaking, still not believing.
Kobe Bryant is gone.
We just talked last week.
I emailed Kobe with a request to speak to him about being passed on the all-time scoring list by LeBron James.
He emailed me back immediately. He always did.
He cleared his calendar and made time to chat on the phone because, as he always said, “You’ve been there for everything with me.”
But then, in our 20-minute conversation, he showed a side of Kobe that I had not seen before.
The edge was gone. The arms were open. He urged acceptance of LeBron. He preached calm for Lakers fans. He said greatness wasn’t worth anything if you couldn’t share it.
After about five minutes the message of this call was clear, the steely-eyed Mamba was purposely moving into a role of a wise, embracing and grateful leader of a community that had shown him so much patience and love.
“It’s crazy, watching this city and growing with it,” he said before hanging up. “I feel such an appreciation, I can never pay the city back for what it’s given me.”
And now he’s gone. Kobe is gone. Kobe is gone.
I’ll say it 81 times and it still won’t make any sense.
Kobe Bryant is gone and, so, too, is a little bit of all of us.
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Pelicans doing gods work tonight.
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Bron lost his big brother man
That **** haunts me that Kobe’s last posts were passing the torch to him “moving the game forward”
Like we never realized how close they were until recently
bron had Mamba4Life on his kicks last night bro..
That **** haunts me that Kobe’s last posts were passing the torch to him “moving the game forward”
Like we never realized how close they were until recently
bron had Mamba4Life on his kicks last night bro..
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But Kobe's legend is far greater than Pac's
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Never got to see him play live but my fav game/memory is him locking Tmac down with one shoulder .
