I was never a Kobe Bryant fan.  I hate the Cowboys.  I hate the Dodgers.  I hate the Redwings.  I would hate the Yankees except for the fact that as one born in Buffalo, my other two choices were the Mets and the Blue Jays.

The Mets.

The Blue Jays.

Yeah, so we are Yankees fans.

And I have always disdained the Lakers.  While Shaquille O’neal and Kobe Bryant’s feud back in the 90’s was probably more due to the fact that they are both intellectual instead of both egotistical (I may be wrong on that one), it was nice seeing them break up so they would not be able to rival my Michael and Scottie championship duo.

I started listening to basketball on AM 1000 in 1986 when we moved to a suburb of Chicago.  The Bulls had just drafted a young guy out of North Carolina.  I sat by the radio and listened to his ascendance.  It was a highlight of my 10, 11, and 12 year old life.

And following Michael’s lead, we grew to hate the Lakers and Celtics and Pistons and Knicks.  Michael stayed in Chicago and slowly but surely helped build the dynasty of the 90’s that was the Bulls.

It was inevitable.  Magic and Larry were on their way out.  Michael kept walking toward the league cocked and loaded and everyone knew it was just a matter of time.

He became the new assassin.

Cold-blooded.  Unmerciful.  Killer.

Winner.

He followed in Larry’s and Magic’s and Isiah’s footsteps.  He, like they, were on the court to win – not to have fun.  Having fun was a by-product.  Winning was the game.

They were killers.  They would lock you in their sights and without the slightest remorse put a slug through the head of the Patrick Ewings and John Stocktons of the world.

They would rip your heart out and throw it at midcourt and step on it on their way to ending your season.  They were killers.  Winners.

The bigger the stage, the higher their level of performance.  They longed for the bright lights.  They would not think of passing up on the last shot.  It was theirs.

The goal was not simply to acquire a ring (Lebron, ineptly known as “the king”, has rings thanks to Dwayne Wade, but has yet to reach the pinnacle of basketball – leading his own team to the top of the basketball heap.)

It requires an assassin.  Lebron is not one, at least not yet.  He is a great basketball player, but he is too nice, too affected by media, too interested in feelings.  Assassins kill.  Lebron shoots people in the leg and then tries to get them to sign a surrender.  Winners like Michael Phelps put a slug through the head and then a knife through the heart just for good measure.

Along came Kobe.  He was an extension of the assassin’s era.  Throughout his 20 years, the assassins retired one by one.  The venom of the game was antidoted.  The rules changed.  We became politically correct as a nation.

Players like Bosh and James sold out their clubs in order to attain a ring.  Durant was taken to school by James because Durant and James are friends and friendly.  They shoot each other in the leg.  Jordan and Pippen would have taken the Miami Heat of 2011 and 2012 and spat on the idea of the big three.  There would have been no pre-game gabbing or post-game smiles.  It would have been a slug to the temple of Wade (the leader of that team) then a slug to the temple of Bosh and then a slug to the temple of James.  Winners win.  That is what winners do.

Kobe won with Shaq and he won without Shaq.  When on the big stage, he won.  He was heartless.  A killer.  A winner.

Winners are usually hated presently and revered later.

Kobe’s Lakers flailed in their recent attempts to put a decent team on the court.  Kobe was injured.  One final year, Kobe said, that would be it.

One final game.  The assassin’s last game.  With the basketball world watching and with the sports world watching and with many casual fans even tuning in, “the mamba” would have one final shot at winning.

As the pomp finally subsided for the game (I did not watch it, but saw some highlights), Kobe came out misfiring.  0-5.  Was he intimidated?  Was he timid?  Did he pout?  Did he defer?  Did he back down?

No, he is an assassin.  He loaded his rifle and aimed it at the head of the Utah Jazz and, metaphorically, at all of his basketball opponents.

And pulled the trigger one last time.

He willed his team as Larry and Magic of old – to a win.  He refused, as Jordan did so many times, just refused to lose his last game.

And so he rides off into the sunset of American sports – a winner.  A five-time champion.  The last of a quickly fading era of competitors.

Those of us in our 30s and 40s and 50s will miss the ice in his veins – the last of the assassins – Kobe Bryant.