Mamba Mentality: The Random Cruelty of Losing Kobe Bryant

Sad and angry and thankful. That's how I feel.

First, the sad part: Kobe Bryant, his daughter Gianna, and seven other souls perished in a helicopter crash yesterday. Kobe was only 41. I only met him twice—at an Academy Awards symposium and then backstage in the winners room when he subsequently won an Oscar for his work on Dear Basketball—and only followed his career from afar, safely in the confines of my personal man cave, so I won't invent false grief from my end when the affected family, friends and former teammates deserve this space. My condolences go out to everyone who loved him and knew him. At the same time, I am sad, and he's a guy who meant an excessive amount to me during a time when sports shouldn’t have meant so much.

Maybe I wasn't part of his life, but he was a huge part of mine. He gave joy to me in a time where joy was rationed to me. So it’s a dreadful day for Lakers fans, as well as fans of basketball in general. I cannot recall an athlete dying who crossed so many borders of industry and life, was so dear so much to so many people in so many different worlds, or was idolized so passionately by the youth looking for a clear path to their dream.

Kobe passed away before the Basketball Hall of Fame found a place for him. He's going to make it this year, as scheduled (this summer's finalists have already been announced and he will be part of the arguably the best incoming class ever). Now, they'll have the ceremony without him in Springfield, Mass., and everyone will say, "It's a proud day, but it's also a bittersweet day because he wasn't here to see it," and then they'll put up his plaque and we'll go on with our sadness.

Now, the angry part, the majority of fans who are rightfully sad and distressed love him for his basketball life, still holding near and dear his incredible play on the court. Indisputably, Kobe was as top 10 player of all time, and 18 time all star, and the greatest defensive guard of his era, maybe of any era: nine first team All-Defensive appearances and on the second team). That doesn't even begin to describe how destructive he played on that end. He was equally devastating on the offensive end. I am angry because someone I was awe in on the court was making real impact off the court. My access the Academy Awards allowed me to see his work and spend time in his presence. Hear his philosophies in candid situations, away from the cameras. He was real at that symposium. He wasn’t someone trying to grab the spotlight from Glen Keane as they spoke about his “love letter to basketball.” He spoke of the process and was thankful to his teammate who made his concept into something real. Detractors will tell you he won because of name recognition but truly this film was easily the best short film nominated that year. His relentless work ethic that drove his 20 years in the NBA also propelled drive his transformation into a business mogul, author, mentor, and advocate of women’s sports. I saw this through the prism of my media work. I am better off for the experiences. It seems impossible to find anyone in this sphere of human who did so much for so many.

The thankful part lays in his Mamba Mentality. He validated my intense love for the process of gaining success through hard work. He nicknamed himself the Mamba and it stuck and authored “The Mamba Mentality: How I Play,” a book where his revealed his famously detailed approach and the steps he took to prepare mentally and physically to not just succeed at the game, but to excel. We learned how he studied an opponent, how he channeled his passion for the game, and how he played through injuries. In the book he described Mamba Mentality: “To be on a constant quest to try to be the best version of yourself. That’s what the mentality is. It’s not a finite thing. It’s a constant quest to try to be better today than you were yesterday and better tomorrow than you were the day before.”

I’ve been preaching this mentality in my process since I was 20 working in New York City. Be a grinder I tell my people. It’s the clear path to success. Some people can’t handle this intensity. I was far more intensive as a young person. I’ve mellowed as I hit my fifties. I don’t throw hockey pucks through glass doors, and micromanage every detail of my staff’s daily workload. But I’ve never relented on the need for following the process. Kobe was that way too. You were either on board and all in, or he didn’t want to play with you. Every player who wanted to take the easier route and cut corners by ignoring the process received my mocking smile. I did the same when others on my three decades of marketing/advertising teams got the same treatment.

Today, I am searching to make sense of all of this tragedy. I doubt I ever will. Maybe I should be thankful for the many versions of Kobe I experienced in 24 years of being near his rarefied air.