Michael Mitchell

This is the first post on the blog.

Kobe Bryant, an obviously great basketball player, is often brazenly attacked as a "ball hog." However, during his recent streak of 40, 50, 60, and even 80-point games it seems the usual terms are not applying. Apparently now, for the moment at least, there is a "fine line" between a "ball hog" and a "great player." Oh the poetic rationalizations of hypocrisy! It's beautiful really.

The scramble of haters of greatness to redefine terms they never wanted to be fully understood may be fun to watch, but I'd rather never see it again. A "ball hog" is a "ball hog," whether he scores fifty points and his team wins or a hundred points and his team loses. Perhaps it is time, not to redefine, but to define our terms -- or to at least figure out what the hell is meant by them.

If we define a "ball hog" as one who "hogs the ball," then the opposite kind of player would be one who "shares the ball." We call him a "team player." A "ball hog" is "selfish" and wants individual rewards, whereas a "team player" is "selfless" and wants what is best for the team. The assumption and purpose of the terms being to distinguish between two types of players: a player who "hogs the ball" and hurts his team versus a player who "shares the ball" and helps his team.

So, regardless of individual skills and ability, when we see a player "hogging the ball," we tell him to change his ways. "Quit hogging the ball and become a team player," we say. It seems simple and self-evident. But what if that "ball hog" can score 80 points a game? How can it be in the team's best interests to tell him to "share?" Something is not adding up here.

Kobe is so good he is, not shedding new light, but shedding such a bright light on this issue that even the staunchest "team player" advocates are forced to take notice. Of course, they're not conceding, but the reality is too obvious to deny. So they're further obfuscating their terms with "fine lines" and other "clarifications." They say a "ball hog" might be able to win a game or two but not a championship. No one, however, is questioning whether the terms ever applied to begin with.

The truth is terms like "hogging" and "sharing" are invalid and, thus, irrelevant to winning or losing in team sports. If every player on a team "shared the ball," then no player would ever score. And it is impossible for every player on a team to "hog" one ball. But if one player did in fact "hog the ball," then it is what he did with it that matters. If he scored a hundred points, then it is a good thing for the team that he did not "share." If he scored no points, then it is true that he should definitely give up the ball, but who could justify ever "sharing" it again with him. It is not because he "hogged the ball" that he's a bad player; it's because he sucks.

These examples are convenient simplifications, for sure. There isn't only one player on the floor that is great and every other player merely takes up space. But the assumption made by "team player" advocates is that every player on a team is equal. This is blatantly false. Some players are better than others and therefore should have more control of the ball -- if the goal is to win, that is, as opposed to "making everybody happy." (And "control of the ball" means physically possessing it and making the right decisions in order to score, whether that means hitting the open man under the basket or gunning a fadeaway from half court with the shot clock running down.)

The point is these words don't work and they never did, at least not with regards to winning or losing -- and this is a well-known fact. One hears it said all the time that one player (Kobe Bryant, Allen Iverson, Tracy McGrady) is playing too "selfish" and another player (Kevin Garnett, Tim Duncan, Steve Nash) is playing too "selfless." It must be obvious that these words aren't saying what we mean, right? No one, and certainly not media professionals, could think this is good communication. The only way this misuse of language could be effective is if what is really meant is not what is actually being said.

The purpose of these words (the way they're being used) is neither the moral goals of "protecting the integrity of the sport" or "teaching young players to play the right way" nor the practical goals of communicating the best method to win a game or a championship. Their only purpose is to give unjust punishments and rewards to players who -- respectfully -- don't deserve either. "Ball hog" is used to evaluate a player as worse than he really is and "team player" is used to evaluate a player as better than he really is. The hatred and smearing of Kobe is an example of the former; the argument for Steve Nash (not Kevin Garnett or Tim Duncan) as last year's MVP is an example of the latter.

When someone calls Kobe a "ball hog" it has nothing to do with Kobe's ability to play basketball. That someone, of which there are millions, simply hates Kobe because he is a great player. But he can't say "Kobe sucks" so he has to settle for "ball hog." And "ball hog" has to be a negative term or else the hater would have to see for himself that what he hates is greatness. However, the reality (80 points in one game, for instance) remains inexorable, absolute. There are no "fine lines." The actual definition of "ball hog" is "great player."

Every great player in the history of the NBA was a "ball hog." Wilt Chamberlain was definitely a "ball hog." Michael Jordan, "ball hog." Bob Cousy, Elgin Baylor, Jerry West -- "ball hog," "ball hog," "ball hog." Dr. J, Bird, Magic, Isiah, Pistol Pete, Jabbar, Malone, Barkley, the great Bill Russell -- all of them knew what to do with a basketball. And regardless of what these players say now in public interviews, they'd eat their teammates for breakfast if that were what it took to win.

Kobe (with the possible exception of Allen Iverson) is the last player left of this dying breed. No other player today wants to be great because they don't want to be hated by the sports intelligentsia, the media, the fans, and their fellow players (who could never be great). It is said that "selfish" players like Kobe don't care if the team wins but only about their own individual achievements, such as scoring titles, MVP trophies, commercial deals, and 100 million dollar contracts. And this opens the road for today's "selfless" athletes to vulgarly display humility and feign disinterest in such things in order to achieve them, thus earning them not through individual ability but through public relations.

It is in this immoral atmosphere that Kobe dares to be moral, to practice everyday to become a better player and go out every night and play like he's the best player to ever step on a basketball court. (And incidentally, he's the best at public relations, too.) He's called "fake" in an era where everyone is "real." He's vilified as "stand-offish" and "anti-social" because he doesn't go out drinking with his teammates or give the media whatever they want. He's called a "selfish ball hog who doesn't care about his teammates" when he goes out and carries them and the organization and the entire league on his shoulders every night. It is in the face of all this that Kobe has the courage to be great.

Is there really any wonder why his drive and determination and mental toughness might very well exceed that of every other athlete in the history of sports? Nothing less will do. He's not merely playing against the man between him and the basket or the inevitable double or triple team. He's playing against sports writers and analysts, millions of prejudiced fans, other players throughout the league, and, on some nights, even his own teammates and coaches. It's Kobe Bryant against the world -- and guess who's winning?