The news of Kobe Bryant’s untimely death spread through the internet far too fast. So fast that many learned of his tragic passing even before his family could be informed. The initial TMZ report was shared over 200K times on Twitter. The tweet came with such a brisk, factual headline that many wondered if the account had been hacked. It was surreal. There was no way that Kobe, only 41, could be dead.
It was true though, and as news of Kobe’s death spread, people flooded social media with reactions and tributes, turning to the public sphere to collectively bond and wail over an event that seemed to defy any kind of logic.
There’s some kind of comfort in collective grieving. At it’s best, it’s a way to feel less alone in our shock and sadness. It’s a way to connect to our shared humanity, even if it is through 240 characters and a broken heart emoji. Yet, as Sunday wore on, the NBA world, where Kobe undoubtedly meant the most, was forced to grieve in public, whether or not they wanted to. The day’s slate of games was not cancelled and shell shocked players, some openly weeping, took to the court and tried to play.
It became clear that many players were having a hard time dealing with the news, and the struggle to watch them remain composed was heartbreaking.
Here’s Bradley Beal, eyes red-rimmed, trying to keep it together on the bench. And Tyson Chandler, unable to hold back his own tears. Or Trae Young, wearing No. 8 to honor his mentor. A camera caught LeBron James too, wiping his eyes as the Laker team plane landed in LA.
After the games, as locker rooms opened up to the press, grief was once again caught on camera, and again not totally by choice. Here’s Melo talking about Kobe, and Doc Rivers breaking down in front of reporters.
In our age of being extremely online, where we share everything from the mundane to the extraordinary, should grieving be any different? NBA players especially have become social media stars, sharing so much of their private lives that the line between persona and personal is indistinguishably blurred. It seems natural then, that something as shocking and unfathomable as Kobe’s death would also play out in front of cameras.
Still, there are moments that deserve to be private, away from the gaze of a public that seeks to consume and discard. It was hard to not feel like the cameras should have cut away from Beal, and that they lingered far too long on Chandler.
Initially, I didn’t think the NBA needed to cancel yesterday’s games, but now I’m not so sure. What’s most important is the health and well being of the league’s players, and watching several of them breakdown on the bench proved that maybe they had been pushed too far.
No one should have to hide how they’re feeling, but neither should players be forced to live out their trauma in front of thousands. Collective mourning can be a good thing, and watching images of powerful men feel their feelings can chip away at toxic notions of masculinity. Still, we have to ask when is it OK to look and when should we have the decency to turn away.
As the days and weeks go on, there will many more of these images. There will be a funeral to attend, countless tributes and memorials at arenas across the country, plus an All-Star Game. For all of it, players and fans will have cameras shoved in their faces, and grieving will become a public spectacle.
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