Kobe.

Ball up a wad of paper. Aim for the trash can. Shoot. Shout his name.

In this modern age of the viral, this simple act was just something that kind of happened. Even if you weren't a Lakers an it was a ritual practiced offhandedly by a whole generation. I know I've done it and I have seen it done. For no good reason at all except that is just how it's done.

Kobe Bryant's play was phenomenal, a game that relied on artistry, ability and a deep well of confidence you could feel in the cheap seats. In the NBA Finals with his big brother Shaq in foul trouble, Kobe looked at his teammates, patted himself on the chest and basically said to the world I got this. And then he went and got it. While we argue today over who the best NBA player of all time was - Michael or Lebron, the Black Mamba has a resume that makes you wonder why his name is never brought up. Championships, gold medals, MVP awards and the list goes on. Magic Johnson, who I would argue is the best player of all-time called Kobe the best player of all time.  

And he passed some those genes down to his daughter Gigi. I watched the clip of her play, and she'd already started to adopt some of her father's mannerisms. Her fade-away was already a smaller version of his dad's, which wasn't good news for future opponents. We'd only just met her, but I already thought she'd be one of black America's little sisters, one of those little girls we all look out for just because.

Retired from the game, Kobe's second career as a storyteller had already netted him an Oscar. I can only imagine if he had been able to bring his legendary intensity to bear on his new path what works he would have wrought. He wasn't about to fade away, but only just begun to find his new footing. But as they say, tomorrow is never promised.

Ball up a wad of paper. Aim for the trash can. Shoot. Kobe!