Goodbye 24

On a foggy Sunday morning in the hills of one of the most beautiful suburbs in LA three families
were taking their daughters to play in a basketball game. Along for the ride were an assistant
basketball coach and the pilot. For reasons we don’t yet know the plane crashed and everyone on
board died. An entire community devastated for what was supposed to be just another afternoon
ride like they have done time and time before.

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But this ride would be different.

This ride would be etched in the minds of millions and leave the world in shock and sorrow.
Kobe and Giana Bryant (An NBA legend and humanitarian, his daughter)
John, Keri and Alyssa Altobelli (A legendary junior college baseball coach with ties to the
University of Houston, his wife, and daughter)
Christina Mauser (A woman’s basketball coach)
Ara Zobayan (The pilot)
Sarah and Payton Chester (A mother and daughter)

Parents, daughters, coaches, and a pilot were all gone in a split second. Parents, children, and
loved ones waiting at the sports complex for the helicopter carrying those nine individuals to
arrive got news they never will forget. “We regret to inform you that your loved ones have
perished in a helicopter crash.” Denial sets in first. Then unbelievable pain as reality comes into
focus. Shock takes over as one replays the last moments in their head to make sure this was not a
dream.  Finally, acceptance creeps in as tears begin to fall and questions that will never have
answers begin to form.

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“Why them?”
”Why now?”
“Why so soon?”
“Why, why, and why?”

The “whys” come from the families, the friends, the colleagues, and the world. School officials
try explain to young minds not yet developed enough to understand the meaning of death.
Friends and colleagues try to comprehend what happened while families are just numb to it all.
Families from the same community are broken.
Sunday, January 26, 2020

The day was just an ordinary Sunday for me. I took pleasure in watching my son play on the
floor with his toys. I watched my wife prepare for an interview later that evening. The dogs were
running around, the sun was shining, and I was getting things lit on the grill as I prepared meat to
go on the pit. Playing in the background was a college basketball game when was Sunday was
interrupted. Big as day across my cell screen on TMZ’s twitter feed were the words, “Kobe
Bryant dies in a helicopter crash.”

But that can’t be, right? That can’t be real? He’s Kobe, the KOBE, Kobe doesn’t die, he goes on
to build movie studios or buy professional basketball teams. He watches his daughter take
women’s basketball to another level. I rubbed my eyes to refocus them and I take another look at
my phone.

“Kobe Bryant and Rick Fox die in a helicopter crash?” I say to myself.
Rick Fox?  Rick Fox and Kobe together? Wait! I look to see my wife, who is always up on
entertainment news, looking puzzled at the distraught look on my face, “What’s going on she
asks?” I show her my phone, she puts her hand over her mouth, grabs her own phone, and we
both shared the same flustered look.

“Oh my GOD, they’re saying all his daughters were on the plane!” We scroll social media feeds
looking for information, we turn on the news for confirmation. All the news is scattered with
differentiating details except one.
Kobe Bryant is dead at 41.

Is this real?

At some point, the realization sets in that Kobe Bryant, superstar player for the Los Angeles
Lakers, is, in fact, dead.

Rick Fox tweets he isn’t dead. More details emerge. It’s not Kobe’s entire family, which one can
be grateful for, but that is nothing to celebrate but rather something to which to be grateful.
However, one of Bryant princesses is gone, the one that loved basketball, Giana.

A girl and her dad

Giana, the middle child with the Mamba mentality, was the one to carry on the baller legacy. She
reintroduced her dad to basketball and gave him a new reason to love the game.  She was the one
he traveled with, trained, coached, and the one who was most like him. He wore #24 and as a
chip off the old block she dropped the #4 to just wear #2. She wanted to be just like him and he
wanted her to be better than him. We will never know her true potential. We will never see her
wear that #2 Husky jersey (Uconn was her favorite college team). We will never know her other
talents for young Giana would die alongside her father on the way to do something she loved and
what they shared.

Play in a basketball game.

The husband, The father, The man

The journalist in me knows I should tell you about all his basketball accomplishments. I should
talk about my favorite moment on the court when I knew he was my favorite player. I should
recall the championships, the awards, and other accolades but that was just a portion of the man
that a giant for more than basketball. The points, awards, and accomplishments seemed bigger
than life only to seem insignificant now.

I watched an interview he gave to high school kids when he was maybe twenty-one years old. He
told them how he defined success – working hard, finding a woman that you love, and having a
family that loves you back. One of the kids laughed and told him that made him soft.  Kobe
laughed back and told him, “I’d still whip your ass on the court.”
Those weren’t just words he said. That was his mantra. He married the love of his life, Vanessa,
and though some of their struggles were public knowledge they stayed the course and created
four beautiful daughters. His life with Vanessa and his daughters was everything to him. In fact,
it was one of the reasons he traveled by helicopter. He wanted to train like a beast but still
wanted to take and pick his daughters up from school. For ten years or more he’s been on
helicopters flying around LA like the Superman he was.

Kobe represents greatness to me. He was willing to walk away from everything after winning
three straight titles because he knew his legacy wasn’t complete unless he did it without Shaq.
He lost games and won games but didn’t stop until he was a champion again.
As men, we aren’t supposed to be emotional, especially not about a basketball player that we
only know from watching him on television. However, finding out Kobe died hurt me in a way
that has only hurt when I lost someone I loved.

I won’t apologize for being a fan, for appreciating greatness, for celebrating his Oscar win like it
was for all of us. Read the Instagram captions, read the articles, listen to the stories – He was an
amazing man. A man that lived his life without fear of failure, a man that was kind and courteous
to everyone he came across.

He wasn’t on a helicopter with an entourage or a security team. He wasn’t on his way to Vegas
or the Grammy’s. He was on a helicopter with coaches and parents who had a vast love for their
children on a Sunday morning going to support their kids at an AAU basketball game. Listen to
him talk about his daughter, listen to him talk about his players, listen to the way he spoke about
his daughter and listen to the love in all the answers.

 

His love for his children was great. In my heart, I believe his love for Vanessa was even greater
because she gave him that those girls he adored. I can’t begin to imagine how she feels now. You
lose a husband; a daughter and you have three other daughters at home that you have to explain
why daddy and their sister are not coming home. They don’t understand what’s going on or the
concept of death. You must be their rock of understanding, support, and love.  The world is
expecting you to be Jackie Kennedy, the gracious grieving window when all you want to do is
close your eyes, shut them out and hope what you are going through is just a very bad nightmare.

Vanessa doesn’t owe us anything. Instead, we owe her. We owe her thanks for all those nights
Kobe shared with us while missing out on quality family time. We owe a debt of gratitude for all
those times Kobe inspired our children instead of spending time with his own.
I’m thirty-six years old. Kobe was forty-one. This isn’t a case of me idolizing a man; this is the
case of me being proud of one. Kobe Bryant was one-of-a-kind.

A boy that had to learn how to be a man on camera;
A husband that had to learn how to love his wife in front of the world;
A once in a lifetime father that sometimes had to put his career before family;
A basketball great that made us believe we could do whatever it was we wanted to do in this
world.

At the tragic end of Kobe’s life, he was just beginning to start the next chapter of his life with his
philanthropic efforts. He was showing us that he was more than just basketball. He was revealing
his true character and grit proving that Kobe Bryant was bigger than basketball itself.
Long live the legend of Kobe Bryant.
Rest in peace Kobe, Giana, John, Keri, Alyssa, Christina, Sarah, Payton,

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Confident Black Men and Women Scare America

I have written about LaVar Ball since he popped on the scene because in the beginning I felt like it was a click bait story. You want to get a couple shares, a couple retweets, write about LaVar Ball. So I stayed away from it but then something happened. I started to see the hypocrisy in the way we society views black men and independence. Let me give you a couple of examples.

  1. Nike exec George Raveling on LaVar Ball: “The worst thing to happen to basketball in the last hundred years.”
  2. Unnamed NFL Coaches, “Colin Kaepernick is a traitor and I would never want him on my team.”
  3. Republican Congressman, “Obama took 400,000 for a speech; we need to take his pension.”

What do all three of these things have in common?  The black men involved weren’t docile enough.

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Why is that whenever I hear about Lavar Ball I never hear that he’s been convicted of any crimes? Why is it that I’ve never heard of his sons getting in trouble or of him hitting his wife? Why is it that I haven’t seen one piece on him being a good father and mentor while I’ve seen two hundred stories on black boys and them surviving without fathers? That’s not the story they want to put out there, they’d rather focus on how bad of a guy he is because he doesn’t want to take their handouts.

Now let’s talk about Kaepernick, teams were saying he’s asking for too much money and most people were happy to accept that was the truth. Meanwhile he comes out and says, “No one has talked to me or returned my calls so how would they know what I’m asking?” Guys have beat their wives, killed people drunk driving, fixed games and the worst person in the league is a guy that took a knee to bring awareness to cops killing black men and women?

Lastly, President Obama was criticized and attacked more than any President in history when there was no basis for it. The worst thing he probably did was wear that tan suit that time. After eight years of this Republicans lost their minds seeing him on vacations and smiling. They lost their minds that he and his wife got this huge book deal and they lost their minds even more when it came out that he was getting 400k for a speech. I live in Texas, ex-politicians and athletes have been getting paid for years to give speeches but now it’s a problem?

Confident Black Men scare America because they hate our strength. When Tiger Woods was winning Majors he was “Blasian,” I’d honestly never heard that term in my life. When he got caught cheating, he was a black man. When Kanye West said, “Yeezy’s will jump over Jordan’s,” we laughed and said no one buys Adidas. Now you can’t find a pair of Yeezy’s anywhere, they stay sold out.

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Lavar Ball says, “If the Lakers draft my son, they’ll make the playoffs next year.” He didn’t say they’ll win a Championship or that his son will be the best Laker of all time. He said a team full of young talent with a pass first point guard could make the playoffs. People are literally hostile at that. He has confidence in his son and that makes you uncomfortable? Just because Archie Manning wasn’t on TV every day doesn’t mean he wasn’t behind the scenes making sure his sons were taken care of.

Conversations Between Adults “Fighting Over the Remote”

Conversations Between Adults

Conversations Between Adults

“We’re not watching basketball!” She was standing in the kitchen warming up the food even though neither one of us needed another plate. We were eating just because it was there.

“What’s the matter with basketball?” I hid the remote behind my back.

“Ummmmm. Beyonce is on!!!” She said that really loud like I was supposed to care, I mean, Beyonce was fine, but she couldn’t dunk a basketball.

“I don’t really care that Beyonce is on, you don’t like her anyway! All you’re going to do is talk about her, hater!”

“Since I’m such a hater, how about you come in here and fix your own plate and what’s the fun in watching someone on TV if you can’t hate a little. It’s not like I’m doing it around anyone but you.” I stood up and stretched.

“You never know, I could know Beyonce.”

She smiled, “And I could know Denzel or Prince William but I don’t!”

She walked in carrying the two plates; I grabbed some paper towels and forks and a bottle of wine. I have no idea why we got so much Chinese food but since it was my first night off in awhile and she this was her cheat night it was all good.

No sex tonight.

“I’m serious Allen, we aren’t watching football! OKC SUCKS!!! They aren’t winning this series without that fine African guy and Kevin Durant is too skinny to be Jordan!” She was really passionate about trying to watch Beyonce.

“Who cares about Beyonce’s 105th television special?! Does she ever take a break; don’t you get tired of seeing her on Awards Shows?! If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one that told me you get tired of her.”

She put her plate on the coffee table and just stared at me like this conversation was just that serious.

“I care and since I made the plates and called the food in, we’re going to watch what I want! Now where’s the remote boy!?”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!!!” I couldn’t stop laughing.

“You took food out of a container and put it on a plate, you can’t take credit for that.” I poked her in the chest.

“But someone had to unwrap the food, put it on paper plates, warm it up and all the other stuff. You weren’t trying to do it; you’re too busy trying to watch stupid basketball! NOW GIVE ME THE REMOTE! I’M NOT PLAYING WITH YOU!” She was really getting mad, it was cute.

“If I don’t give the remote, what are you going to do? You can’t beat me up.”

My plate was snatched out my hand with viciousness!

“GET OFF ME GIRL! GET OFF ME!” She jumped in my lap and started tickling my sides and yes I was a grown man that was ticklish.

“ARE WE WATCHING B?! ARE WE WATCHING B!? WHERE’S THE REMOTE ALLEN?! WHERE’S THE REMOTE!?”

“OK! OK!” I reached behind my back and handed her the remote. She jumped up and down like she’d just knocked me out in a Championship fight.

So for the next forty five minutes we ate ourselves into a coma and watched Beyonce on ABC. I can’t even lie, it was cool as hell, but I would never tell her that. I listened to her talk about the poor girl like she’d stolen her purse or something.

“Now, can we please catch the end of the game?” She threw me the remote.

“No problem baby.”

“DAMN GIRL! Look at what you’ve made me miss! San Antonio is beating the hell out of them.” She finished off the wine bottle.

“They’re not going to win, you wanna bet?”

“You hate gambling.” She went and got two Limearitas out the fridge.

“Who said anything about money? It’s obvious we are both beat from all the running around today but we can’t leave the kitchen dirty.”

“So we’re betting to see who’s going to clean the kitchen?”

“Of course, but that’s no fun by itself. So this is the deal. The loser has to clean the kitchen, run the winner some bath water and bathe them and has to pleasure the winner before bed. No kissing, no “my turn!” Just straight head to the victor, are you down?”

“So let me get this straight, if I win, I get to watch SportsCenter while you clean up the kitchen, give me a bath and then I get a blow job. If I “lose,” I have to wash a couple of dishes, play with you in the water and then do something I would have done tonight anyway?”

I turned the volume on the game up, “I’m down!”

Twenty minutes later the game was over and you would have sworn she belonged on ESPN as a special commentator.

She slapped me on the ass and jumped on the couch, holding the remote like it was a Gold Medal. My baby was such a sore winner but I guess that’s just another thing I loved about her.

I washed the dishes, wiped off the counter and stove, mopped the floor and put up the food. I cleaned up the bathroom, changed the sheets on the bed and ran her bath water. Bath salts and lots of steam and bubbles but not too hot. I knew she hated sleeping in panties or clothes period so I grabbed a towel and her robe and laid everything out.

I walked back in the living room and I already knew what I would see. She was on the couch knocked out, holding onto the remote for dear life. I just stood in the doorway and watched her sleep. A pair of fitted purple sweats on, a white tank top. Pail pink toe nail polish.

I picked her up and carried her to the bed, “You know you still lost the bet baby.” She was talking but half sleep.

“I know, I’ll pay up tomorrow.”

“Okay, I love you Allen.”

“I love you too.”

I didn’t bother taking off my jeans or t-shirt or even my light sweater. We didn’t even get under the covers. I got in the bed behind her and wrapped my arms around her while we fell asleep to the sound of the night.