When I first heard a few weeks ago that Kobe Bryant wanted to change his number from 8 to 24 next season, I smiled. He said 24 was a number he wore when he was in high school, but I didn't care about the real reason. I thought it was appropriate because when I hear 24, I think of the TV show and its lead character, Jack Bauer.
And at the time I heard about Kobe's numerical switch, he seemed to be the Jack Bauer of the NBA.
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| Easy there, Jack, err ... I mean, Kobe. (Getty Images) |
So, I thought 24 was the perfect number for Kobe. And then the playoffs started.
Everyone was astonished by Kobe's play in the postseason. Not because of those amazing winning shots. We have come to expect that of Bryant. No, people were amazed because he was doing something they had never seen him do before. He was passing the ball. He wasn't looking for his shot first. He was getting his teammates involved, even those we'd never heard of before. And after each game, he talked as if he were an elder statesman, describing his pleasure in his teammates' success.
The guys who called the games on TV were so surprised by the way Kobe was playing, that even when he wasn't having a great game, they said he was -- just because he passed the ball.
So, what had happened? How had he gone from Selfish Kobe to Unselfish Kobe? And was this a wise thing? We always hear that if a certain style of play got a team to the playoffs, they shouldn't change that style. But this was a drastic change, and it seemed like everybody was saying that Bryant and Phil Jackson were geniuses for making it.
Ah, Phil Jackson. I'm always surprised that a coach makes such a big difference in professional sports. The players have played so long and know how to play so well that you'd think it wouldn't matter who coached them. But of course, it does. So now, had the guy who would called Kobe "uncoachable" in his book somehow managed to coach Kobe into being a team player? And if so, why had he waited until the playoffs?
It didn't make sense to me. Until I thought of Jack Bauer again. Then, I realized that Kobe had gone into "deep cover," just as Jack would do if necessary. Kobe's pretending to be someone else to lull the other teams into forgetting that he can score almost at will.
But that's a very dangerous game. If you don't shoot for three quarters, and then want to start shooting when the game's in doubt, it's not easy to suddenly become a shooter. And how does he know when it's too late to drop one role for the other? We saw what happened in Game 6 Thursday night against Phoenix. He may have scored 50. He may have made some fantastic shots. But did he turn into the "regular season Kobe" too late?
Regardless of what happens for the rest of the playoffs, his ability to change identity has certainly added some unexpected interest to the playoffs. Who would have ever thought that people would be watching games to see how many assists Kobe would get or how many shots Sasha Vujacic would make?
But my suspicion is that we haven't seen the last of the Jack Bauer Kobe – the Kobe who doesn't care what anyone thinks, the Kobe who shoots first and never asks questions. I don't think he could have possibly changed as much as he seems to have. In fact, I think, deep down, he's still the same Kobe. His wife gave birth to their baby a few hours after Game 4. But Shaq's wife gave birth six minutes earlier. Same old Kobe. Still trying to compete with Shaq.
