At the Super Bowl’s Opening Night, Kobe Bryant’s Memory Looms Large
MIAMI — As soon as the black and white photo of Kobe Bryant appeared on the jumbotron hanging above Marlins Park, the party vibes of Super Bowl’s Opening Night stopped. The bass of indistinguishable techno thumping from the speakers set up on the teal carpet rolled out over the outfield quieted. The fans, who paid money to watch reporters talk to their favorite players six nights before Super Bowl LIV, stopped talking. The lights went down. The crowd started chanting “Kobe! Kobe! Kobe!” And then, for a moment, silence filled the ballpark.
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While his picture didn’t stay up there all night, Bryant loomed over the whole evening. The basketball legend and his 13-year-old daughter Gianna passed away Sunday in a helicopter crash while traveling with seven other people to Gianna’s basketball practice. Bryant’s legacy is complicated; he was charged with a count of felony assault for alleged rape in 2003. The case was dropped and a civil suit the accuser brought against Bryant was settled in 2005, and Bryant publicly apologized.
Bryant retired from the NBA in 2016 with five championships. A generation of athletes grew up inspired by his out-of-this-world athletic ability and his ruthless competitive drive, and his sudden death is one of the most shocking tragedies to rock the sports world in years. The news broke while the Kansas City Chiefs and San Francisco 49ers were en route to Miami; Chiefs quarterback Patrick Mahomes tweeted about Bryant before landing.
It felt a little strange to walk into this football circus the day after Bryant’s passing. The Super Bowl’s Opening Night is supposed to be a celebration of the two best teams in the NFL, America’s most popular league, and it’s morphed into a scene more than a chance to do real reporting. But this year’s kick-off felt slightly less gimmicky than it has in the past. Fewer men were dressed up as literal clowns, fewer people were wearing barrels as shirts, fewer people were trying to prank the players and trick them into saying ridiculous things. It’s hard to know whether that’s because of Bryant’s death or because the shticks have started to get old. But Monday’s event certainly felt more subdued than in the past.
Many—if not most—players and coaches were asked about Bryant. Chiefs coach Andy Reid, who knew Bryant (a native of the Philadelphia suburbs) from his time coaching the Eagles, spoke about Bryant several times over the course of the 45 minutes Reid was on the podium.
“Kobe, a great person. Just by the outpouring you understand his greatness,” Reid said. “Most of all, though, I care about his family. They’re still here and they’re going to get back into the swing of life and do great things. “
It was strange to hear Reid address such a serious topic only to have it followed up by a question about how Mahomes’s love of ketchup affects the quarterback’s performance. But there was, perhaps surprisingly, some balance to the night. Players seemed glad to have a chance to pay tribute to a man who is widely admired; Mahomes said that he watches videos of Bryant before games to remember what true athletic greatness is, and that he was just as inspired by Bryant’s career in business and family life as he was by Bryant’s athleticism.
There’s a fine line between cathartic and exploitative, and Monday’s event managed to walk it. It’s hard to know the best way to publicly grieve, and it’s hard to know how to publicly grieve a person who was larger than life. There was certainly some cognitive dissonance to the bright teal and pink color scheme, the upbeat music and the celebratory atmosphere after the shock the sports world received just a day earlier. But Opening Night came as close as a circus like that could to acknowledging the weight of the tragedy without turning Bryant’s passing itself into a spectacle.
It would have seemed strange not to ask players about him. Bryant’s passing has hit so hard because—regardless of your opinion of him—he didn’t seem mortal. He had a superhuman athletic ability and far-reaching fame that projected him as more than just a person. He wasn’t bound by the same laws of physics as the rest of us. He didn’t live a normal, private life; he was big and strong and highly accomplished in many arenas apart from the Staples Center (he won an Oscar, founded a sports academy, wrote a novel, etc.). He was in the early stages of his life after basketball, and he was vocal about how he wanted his next chapter to be even better than the previous. He particularly invested in Gianna’s own bourgeoning basketball talent. He coached her youth team and had said that he hoped she would someday play in the WNBA.
Bryant’s death dominated the news cycle in a surreal way; in texts, in tweets, and in conversation people just kept saying, “I can’t believe it.” Bryant seemed untouchable and out of reach. An accident wasn’t supposed to happen to him. For many—athletes, fans, reporters—his death drove home the fragility of the human experience. Fate and chance don’t care who you are, it seemed to say. Bryant’s painful past brought a complexity to the grief. So too did his open adoration of his family. Despite his grandeur and celebrity, he was relatable. On some level, he was just another dad on his way to sports practice with his kid. He was only 41.
Like life, Opening Night never makes much sense. Most reporters complain about it; I’ve always thought there’s something harmlessly delightful about devoting an evening to the lighter side of sports. On Monday, however, there was a defined shadow. And because of it, the event often felt a little off, such as when Mitchell Schwartz was asked to imitate Mahomes’s voice immediately after paying tribute to Bryant. But for the most part, the night didn’t run away from the darkness or exaggerate it. It just acknowledged the truth of the moment while still celebrating the players who were there. Sports—an industry where there are clear winners and losers—aren’t great at letting two things be true at once. Monday somehow proved to be a welcome exception.
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