Whenever LeBron James and Carmelo Anthony come to town, I am happy
to see local folks wearing their jerseys. I respect other people’s
basketball passions, even if they are vaguely treasonous. But whenever
Kobe Bryant comes to town, my stomach burns with hate. So last week
when I walked into KeyArena and saw at least a thousand people wearing
Kobe-fucking-Bryant jerseys, I almost vomited.
Bryant is magical, mysterious, and completely terrifying—like
Darth Maul in high tops. What kind of twisted person roots for Darth
Maul?
Well, last week, those twisted fans cursed and sulked when a referee
gave Bryant two technicals and kicked him out of the game in the middle
of the third quarter. Those fans had spent their hard-earned money to
buy too-expensive tickets and were now temporarily living in a Kobeless
world.
I rejoiced and gave a one-man standing ovation for the Jedi referee
who’d booted Bryant.
“That’s a moral victory,” I shouted to no one in particular, but the
Bryant-jersey-wearing fan in front of me turned and gave me a
sympathetic smile. “Moral victories are all I got left,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “I’m with you.”