Sunday Shootaround

BOSTON -- Like most fanatical movements, the Cult of Kobe is best viewed from afar. Wade too deeply inside the sphere and you can’t help but be swept up in the dogma coming from both believers and apostates. Arguing with one side or the other is akin to trying to win a policy debate with a partisan political operative. You may make excellent points and boost your page views, but you can’t claim victory if the other side refuses to concede.

From a safe atheistic distance, Kobe appears largely unmoved by the constant swirl of opinions around him. He’s not immune to using the disses and the skepticism as motivation -- he is human, really -- but beyond that most basic gesture of awareness he stubbornly continues down his path, compelling us to marvel at the singular force he has become.

Kobe has always been better appreciated as a projection rather than a reality. He was, and is, whatever you want him to be: hero, villain, saint, sinner and so on. What most people can agree defines him as a basketball player is his thirst for competition. The accolades and collateral damage that come with that obsession are are the primary concerns for those who obsess about him, but Kobe insisted that’s not the whole story.

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"People who say that don’t really understand me," Bryant said after a Laker shootaround. "They don’t listen. It’s a myth. The reality is I’ve always taken pride in the building of my game. If I really paid attention to numbers, if I really was hell bent on passing records, I would have gone to college. I (would have come) to the pros and been ready to play and put up big numbers, and not sit on the bench for my first few years in the league."

In a brief non-pack moment, I asked him if he heard the news that Fred Pickett had recently died. One of the great high school basketball coaches in Pennsylvania history, Pickett led the Chester High Clippers into many memorable contests with a young Kobe that locals still recall with crystal clarity. As he does, as well. "Those were epic confrontations," Bryant said with a knowing smile.

His bête noire back then was a pesky guard named John Linehan, who went on to make a name for himself at Providence College. Early in his career, Kobe insisted that no one ever gave him more trouble than Linehan and anyone who watched their battles would be inclined to agree.

A few months before he announced his presence to the world with his decision to skip college and enter the NBA, Bryant and his Lower Merion team faced Linehan and Chester one last time at the fabled Palestra for a shot at the state title. Over the first three quarters, Linehan hounded Bryant into an 8-for-24 shooting performance with five turnovers. Kobe promptly scored a dozen points in the fourth, an extra eight in overtime and finished with 39 points to secure the victory.

"You've got to play with 110 percent confidence," the 17-year-old Bryant said, according to an account in the Philadelphia Inquirer, sounding very much like his 36-year-old self. "You don't have time to doubt yourself."

Some two decades later, standing in the tunnel of the Boston Garden, Kobe was reminiscing about another set of epic confrontations with the Celtics.

"They were the bullies on the block as far as we were concerned," Bryant said. "We had to stand up to these guys. They beat us up."

It wasn’t so much the triumph that Bryant sought, it was the method of achieving victory. To beat the Celtics they had to be tougher and stronger both mentally and physically than the team that sent him to his worst defeat. "Losing Game 6," he said of the 39-point loss that clinched the title for the Celtics in 2008. "That will always sit with me. It was a drubbing."

"It was a big turning point for us," he added. "It really propelled us to win back-to-back championships because we understood the aggressiveness that we needed to play with."

It was hard back then, he acknowledged, to appreciate the magnitude of the moment. But with the passage of time and the ebb of two once-great franchises his part in history has taken on a greater resonance.

"It means everything," Bryant said. "I grew up with this rivalry. In the moment you’re so caught up in trying to beat them that you don’t understand the significance of actually participating in the Lakers-Celtics Finals. That’s crazy. For me growing up to see that and then actually play in one ... Looking back now, that’s amazing."

To get back there again with both teams returned to their former glory?

"That would be nice," he said. "I don’t know about them. I know we’re certainly on the path to be able to do that pretty quickly."

And with that we’re snapped out of the pleasing fog of nostalgia by the cold, hard slap of reality.

Neither team is remotely close to where they want to be, but from an objective perspective the Celtics are sitting on a pile of draft picks, tradeable veteran contracts and improving young players on rookie deals. The Lakers owe a protected pick to Phoenix and are loaded with veterans no one else wants and young reclamation projects. Rookie Julius Randle, their most promising prospect, suffered a broken leg mere days into his career.

What the Lakers have is cap space and sunny Los Angeles, which is a lot more enticing than a dreary Boston winter. And they have Kobe, which begs the ultimate question of whether free agents will be attracted or repulsed by the idea of playing next to a living legend with the highest usage rate in the league. Before the forces of the cult begin to swarm and take sides, we should stop and talk about breakfast.

Conveniently enough, one of the few players who shares Bryant’s particular pathology happens to play in Boston and the two just happened to eat together on Thursday morning. Kobe said that he and Rajon Rondo talked about basketball mostly, just a couple of geeks bonding over an egg and cheese and X’s and O’s. Was there talk of where they are now, stranded on teams adrift in transitional moments?

"Like a mutual intervention?" Kobe responded. "Nah, not really."

The idea of a Celtic and a Laker breaking bread and talking strategy before a game may be anathema to both fanbases and former players. Byron Scott, the Lakers coach and a veteran of those great ‘80s games, was having none of it. "I’m still real old-school," he said. "I don’t have breakfast with Danny (Ainge) and all those guys."

But this wasn’t one of those what’s-wrong-with-kids-today things. It was, as Rondo said later, "Just two assholes having breakfast."

If anything, Rondo and Kobe are the antithesis of that kind of fraternization. They are kindred spirits of a type rarely seen in the league today. Each of them driven by their own peculiar sense of right and wrong, with their share of loyal enthusiasts and loud detractors. They would be fascinating teammates, but are better served as rivals. Preferably as antagonists on these historic teams with a renewed sense of purpose.

All of that set the stage for yet another Celtics-Lakers game. The stakes were much lower, but the energy in the Garden was palpable. Kobe had his followers, as he does in every city, but they were drowned out by the partisan crowd who delighted in a runaway romp for the home team. The games still mean something because they matter to the people who watch them. The rivalry may be on hiatus, but it will never die.

Neither will Kobe, it seems. As long as he plays, he will generate a reaction. Love him, hate him, consider him a savior or a detriment, there will always be a reason to watch someone who cares as much as he does.

We’re a long way from seriously considering All-Star teams, but not so far away that we can’t highlight some potential first-timers.

DeMarcus Cousins: The only thing that can stop DMC is a virus that has kept him out of action for the last week and a half. Cousins’ numbers are off the charts, just as they were last season when he mounted a late push for All-Star inclusion. That wasn’t so much an injustice, as it was an acknowledgement of the Western Conference’s loaded big man depth. This season there is no debate. DMC is a no-brainer to get his first nod.

Kyle Lowry: The well-traveled Lowry should have been an All-Star last season, but DeMar DeRozan represented the Raps instead. No offense to DeRozan, who is heck of a player in his own right, but Lowry is the club’s most indispensable player. That’s become even more apparent with DeRozan out with an injury. Lowry is averaging better than 20 points a game with a PER of 24.7 for the best team in the East through the first month of the season. It’s his time now.

Jimmy Butler: This seems to happen every season: Fourth-year player doesn’t sign an extension agreement, goes on to make the prior salary arguments moot with a breakthrough campaign. Always a solid two-way wing, Butler’s offensive game has matured to the point where he is now a major focus of the Bulls’ attack. He’s averaging better than 21 points per game and has become a devastating pick and roll partner for Derrick Rose.

Klay Thompson: We already knew that Thompson was a talented player, but this season he has scratched the surface of elite shooter territory with a .585 True Shooting Percentage that includes upticks in both two and three-point shooting. Thompson has also made many of us rethink our summer stance that the Warriors should have included him in trade talks for Kevin Love. It’s not so much that one player is better than the other, rather that Thompson may be a better fit for the Warriors’ scheme and system. Regardless, he’s becoming a star in his own right and worthy of consideration.

Mike Conley: The point guard’s game is as unassuming as his personality, which is probably why he shows up on more underrated lists than All-Star possibilities. Conley has been steadily improving for years, making him like a modern-day Derek Harper. The former Mav mainstay never did crack the All-Star team, but as the Grizzlies continue to win, recognition will surely come Conley’s way. It’s hard to ignore that 42 percent 3-point shooting or the career-best assist percentage.