I would dislike Kobe Bryant pretty much no matter what. I am a Portland Trail Blazers fan, and one of his greatest victories came at their expense. I'm convinced that he is not nearly as good as everyone would have you believe, on account of his heinous shot selection, his half-committed defense that he still managed to get rewarded for all the goddamn time, and his never-ending stream of superior big-man teammates who floated him to the Finals while he screamed at them in practice and whined about them to reporters. His endless boring turnarounds are dull. His hard-work mystique is the most performative crap imaginable—he once stayed late in the arena after a game to get up shots after an embarrassing loss, luxuriating in the click-clack of cameras and the breathless pen of rube sportswriters who bought into his devotion to the game whole hog. I even think his shoes are ugly.
But that loathing is separate from the most hideous fact of Kobe's life: he was charged with raping a hotel employee in Colorado. The details of the incident are heinous: blood and semen evidence, vaginal tearing consistent with sexual assault, bruising on the accuser's neck, and blood on Bryant's shirt.
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