I couldn’t ever tell what he was so mad at.
Whether it was me or people like me — reporters, those who never played the game, who could not know what life was like in the arena — or his teammates or his coaches or the whole world. Probably it was me.
Kobe Bryant and I were acquainted for five years. He was the best player in the NBA or something close. I was a baseball writer assigned by the L.A. Times to cover the Lakers. It almost certainly showed.
Also, I was the guy standing there when Shaq said something he didn’t like, or when Phil hinted at looming discord, or when they lost, or when he returned wrung out from Colorado with still a game to play, or when he really wanted to be getting home to his young daughter.