KOBE AND MICHAEL: A PEERLESS BROTHERHOOD

Another public eulogy will serve to remind that Bryant, not LeBron James, came closest to Jordan’s force field, which should be obvious after MJ presents his late friend for Hall of Fame enshrinement

     The winds were still. Kobe Bryant was staying In Los Angeles, no longer demanding a trade, quieting the outrage that had turned him into a national diva. So it stunned me when he appeared in the Lakers’ locker room, inside Chicago’s United Center on a winter’s night, and wanted to talk about what almost had happened months earlier.

     He very nearly was traded to the Bulls. In fact, he and his wife had toured the suburbs in search of real estate and schools for their kids, including a one-year-old daughter named Gianna. Bryant confirmed all of this and more, which couldn’t have pleased coach Phil Jackson and the team brass, but his agenda was clear. He continued to be obsessed with his personal basketball Jesus, the legend whose statue was outside the building, and he seemed a bit wistful that he’d never play home games in the House That Michael Jordan Built.

     You know how his Happily Ever After went. Pacified by the acquisition of Pau Gasol, Bryant calmed down and won two more championships — without Shaquille O’Neal — before the Lakers unraveled amid ownership upheaval and embarrassing internal soap operas. Those titles, his fourth and fifth, validated what had become obvious in his first 15 NBA seasons: Kobe never could be Michael, just as no player could be Michael, but he was the one who came closest to penetrating the Jordan force field.

     Not LeBron James.

     Kobe Bean Bryant.

     This weekend, we’ll hear more stories about Bryant and his maniacal quest to be like Mike, beginning as an 18-year-old rookie who stalked Jordan after games like a starstruck fan and took it literally when Jordan told him to ‘‘call me if you ever need anything.’’ Hopefully, the mood will be lighter than the last time Jordan spoke publicly about his ‘‘`little brother,’’ at the memorial service days after Kobe and Gianna died in a helicopter crash. The tragedy happened 15 1/2 months ago, but it feels like forever, foreshadowing a global pandemic in a double-whammy that made us ask what kind of world we’re living in. We had little chance to mourn Bryant’s passing — to eulogize and absorb the horror — before we were buying masks, hoarding toilet paper and isolating ourselves from the evil COVID-19 droplets. A more complete celebration comes Saturday at a Connecticut casino — no MJ gambling jokes, please — where Bryant’s ‘‘big brother’’ presents him for enshrinement at the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame ceremony.

     No matter what Jordan says in his latest speech, it will remind us of the close relationship between the two most magnificent showmen, exquisite scorers and driven competitors in basketball history. We only can hope it stops the never-ending nonsense that James is the second-greatest or even greatest player ever. The other day, a TV debate show posed a question — will LeBron pass Michael if he wins another championship? — without acknowledging that the Lakers, with a brittle James and injury-addled Anthony Davis, might not survive the first play-in game next week. Millennials and Gen-Zers are stuck in generational biases, thinking the sport wasn’t played before LeBron arrived. Without dwelling on James’ erratic postseason record and other glitches, let’s just say the prominence of Jordan and Bryant as cutthroat combatants and tempestuous, roster-maximizing leaders should shine through the festivities.

     ‘‘He used to call me, text me at 11:30, 2:30, 3 in the morning," Jordan said at the eulogy. ‘‘At first, it was an aggravation, but then it turned into a certain passion. This kid had passion like you would never know." Kobe was the kid who ‘‘for whatever reason,’’ Jordan said, ‘‘always tended to get in your stuff. Your closet, your shoes, everything. It was a nuisance, if I can say that word. But that nuisance turned into love over a period of time."

     Said Bryant, recalling his MJ fixation on ``The Last Dance’’ docuseries: ‘‘You can't learn if you don't ask. I know a lot of players were intimidated by him. I wasn't intimidated. I think he understood my competitiveness. I think he was looking at my journey, too. It was a rough couple of years for me in coming to the league, because at the time, the league was so much older. It was not as young as it is today. Having teenagers or guys in their early 20s was not the norm. And so being an outsider from that standpoint, I think he wanted to provide a little help for me, a little direction for me."

     As Internet meme-ists know, Jordan is a cryer. His tears surely will appear again, only days after he revealed in an ESPN.com interview that he still looks at the final scroll of text messages left by Bryant on his phone. ‘‘He was just so happy,’’ Jordan said. ‘‘He was doing so well.’’ Unlike the younger days, when he would badger Jordan at all hours of the night, Bryant’s last text came early on the afternoon of Dec. 8, 2019. He wanted to thank his mentor for the box he’d been gifted: a bottle of tequila, courtesy of Jordan’s new brand.

     Little brother: ‘This tequila is awesome.” 

     Big brother: ‘‘Thank you, my brother.’’

     Little brother: ‘‘`Yes, sir. Family good?"

     Big brother: ‘‘All good. Yours?"

     Little brother: ‘‘All good."

     Deciding to be devilish, Jordan told writer Jackie MacMullan that he poked fun at Bryant’s new career as daughter Gigi’s coach. ‘‘Coach Kobe??!’’ texted Jordan, who added ‘‘that little crying/laughing emoji.’’

     ‘‘Ah, back at you, man," wrote Bryant ‘‘`Hey, coach, I'm sitting on the bench right now, and we're blowing this team out. 45-8."

     How perfect, as Jordan pointed out, that one furious competitor would tell another that his daughter’s team was routing an opponent. Not that James isn’t fueled by similar urges, but today’s NBA canvas can be about social-media oneupsmanship as much as winning a title. There’s a reason the sports world is talking about Steph Curry and Russell Westbrook right now. They are fueled by the same inferno as Michael and Kobe.

      I’ll never forget studying Bryant’s voice cadence when he was younger. My God, he was trying to sound just like Jordan, particularly obvious when both would say, ‘‘Most definitely.’’ After a while, he grew up and heeded Jordan’s advice about basketball, leadership and life in the public eye, which grew dark for Bryant when he was accused of sexual assault in Colorado. Just when it seems Jordan has been showered with every possible tribute, here’s one of the best: Not only did he make every one of his teammates better, he helped turn Kobe Bryant into the best version of himself.

     ‘‘Everyone always wanted to talk about the comparisons between he and I," Jordan said. ‘‘I just wanted to talk about Kobe."

     He’ll have ample time Saturday. Other than Lou Gehrig’s retirement speech and Knute Rockne imploring his players to ‘‘win one for The Gipper,’’ sports offers no comparable moment. In death, there is life.

     Jay Mariotti, called ‘‘the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ is the host of ``Unmuted,’’ a frequent podcast about sports and life (Apple, Spotify, etc.). He’s an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and radio host. As a Los Angeles resident, he gravitated by osmosis to movie projects. Compensation for this column is donated to the Chicago Sun-Times Charity Trust.