Sports Illustrated
Skylar Diggins-Smith first met him, hermentor/inspiration/idol turned most improbable friend, at a commercial shoot. They filmed in 2013, after her star turn at Notre Dame, before she became a WNBA mainstay, because Nike sponsored her him.
Diggins-Smith had grown up in Indiana, which hit her on that afternoon, eyes widening into frisbees. , she told a friend. Eventually, she mustered the courage to approach , this basketball deity, beloved across the NBA, the world. She asked for a photo, starstruck, and uploaded it to Instagram; her favorite picture, even now. But while her hero appeared to understand what he meant to other people, he didn’t act like he knew his presence filled hearts and weakened knees. That combination, famous and authentic, separated him. Because it was , a star as distinct and otherworldly as any to ever play professional sports. Where fame often changes souls or vice versa, for him, those notions intersected, each improving the other, making him unrelatable and relatable, touchable and not.
“He was and he was just Kobe, if that makes sense,” she says. “He didn’t try to be anybody else. He was real, genuine. Him.”
That Diggins-Smith refers to Kobe Bryant the same as the rest of the world, by his first name, no additional identifiers necessary, speaks to his impact, its depth. She’ll never forget that day. Nor will she forget Jan. 26, 2020, a Sunday, the worst day, when Bryant, his 13-year-old daughter Gianna, and seven others died in a helicopter crash. It took Diggins-Smith years to understand, let alone explain, the significance, to her and his family and everyone else.
She knows where she was exactly—doing interviews for USA Basketball, a passion she shared with Kobe. Knows her reaction ranged from shock to paralyzation to disbelief. Knows she frantically searched online for confirmation. Weeks became months. She couldn’t accept the truth. Favorite foods tasted terribly. If the sun came up, she saw clouds. Kobe wasn’t just a five-time NBA champion, Hall of Famer and all-time great; he was all that and way more.
Kobe spread basketball. But he also, specifically, spread women’s basketball. He called Breanna Stewart after she ruptured an Achilles tendon offering guidance on an injury he understood too well. He wore WNBA gear, proudly and publicly. He supported his daughters at the youth level. He founded the Mamba Sports Academy, a training center dedicated to access in sports. “No one had more impact,” Diggins-Smith says. Each female player saw in him the title of his book, . Each also saw that mentality in themselves.
They weren’t alone. Kobe wrote television and commercial scripts. Kobe produced documentaries. Kobe read . Kobe befriended strangers, colleagues, writers, directors and celebrities. Kobe challenged himself, in basketball and outside it. Kobe invested in BodyArmor, the sports drink, then recruited other athletes (like her, Rob Gronkowski, Mike Trout, Andrew Luck) to endorse it. He pushed for an equity stake, then pushed to enlarge it, writing all the scripts and convincing proud athletes with egos and management teams to film uncomfortable spots. (Diggins-Smith led a Jazzercise class, in full neon! James Harden dressed as a pirate!) His initial $6 million brand investment grew into a valuation of around $400 million, or more than he made in his NBA career ($323 million).“That was the Mamba mentality, mentality,” he says. “To find and nurture the best version of yourself.”
She sees his death as a propulsion of sorts, an accelerant for followers of his famous mentality and its ongoing, ever-widening spread. No one will ever be like Kobe. But Emmy, Grammy and Oscar winners can all borrow from his approach, as can athletes, in all sports, actors, aficionados, video game designers, Italian basketball coaches, auctioneers, graffiti artists, even Beyoncé’s dad. The tired cliché of many things to many people was Kobe and limited Kobe, who he was and what he meant. He was things, to people, and Diggins-Smith believes that stems from the rare duality baked into him.
“Kobe is everywhere,” she says. For his life, his death and everything in between. Forever. Maybe, because it’s Kobe, far beyond forever, even.