Kobe continued...........
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John Linehan's voice rises as he says, "You just watch Kobe this year. He always comes through in adversity, and I know he's going to be awesome when he gets back on the court. He's all alone right now, shooting jumpers and thinking about it. He'll use it as motivation. That's the type of person he is."
There's no guarantee Bryant's return to the Lakers this fall will be a lasting one. The crime he's been accused of carries a sentence of four years to life. The circus will reconvene in Eagle County for the preliminary hearing on Oct. 9. A trial is likely to follow sometime in 2004.
Even Kobe's critic, the unnamed basketball man, says, "I don't want to see him go to prison. But he shouldn't get off because everyone thinks he's a nice guy; he should get off if he didn't do it. Even if he's exonerated, though, it won't be the same for him. His altar boy days are over."
To be sure, no one will get out of this unscarred -- not Bryant, not his accuser, not the media, not the 13-year-old girls hanging out on the lawn of the Eagle County Justice Center with microphones in their faces and "Kobe Is Innocent" felt-tipped onto their arms. The enterprise has sullied everything it touches.
Lose the hysterics and histrionics, and what's left is a famous man, alone. Alone with his talent. Alone with his drive, alone in the back of the bus, alone with the ball. And, on the last night in June, alone with his judgment and a 19-year-old hotel worker in an isolated mountain resort.
What really happened? Two people know. In the meantime, the central question hangs in the air. Too many people with too many agendas will continue to tell you who Kobe Bryant really is. But it remains a question nobody -- maybe not even the man himself -- seems capable of answering.
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John Linehan's voice rises as he says, "You just watch Kobe this year. He always comes through in adversity, and I know he's going to be awesome when he gets back on the court. He's all alone right now, shooting jumpers and thinking about it. He'll use it as motivation. That's the type of person he is."
There's no guarantee Bryant's return to the Lakers this fall will be a lasting one. The crime he's been accused of carries a sentence of four years to life. The circus will reconvene in Eagle County for the preliminary hearing on Oct. 9. A trial is likely to follow sometime in 2004.
Even Kobe's critic, the unnamed basketball man, says, "I don't want to see him go to prison. But he shouldn't get off because everyone thinks he's a nice guy; he should get off if he didn't do it. Even if he's exonerated, though, it won't be the same for him. His altar boy days are over."
To be sure, no one will get out of this unscarred -- not Bryant, not his accuser, not the media, not the 13-year-old girls hanging out on the lawn of the Eagle County Justice Center with microphones in their faces and "Kobe Is Innocent" felt-tipped onto their arms. The enterprise has sullied everything it touches.
Lose the hysterics and histrionics, and what's left is a famous man, alone. Alone with his talent. Alone with his drive, alone in the back of the bus, alone with the ball. And, on the last night in June, alone with his judgment and a 19-year-old hotel worker in an isolated mountain resort.
What really happened? Two people know. In the meantime, the central question hangs in the air. Too many people with too many agendas will continue to tell you who Kobe Bryant really is. But it remains a question nobody -- maybe not even the man himself -- seems capable of answering.
