“I’m in love,” says the dark-haired little boy a little too loudly. I rap my feet against the hollow tiles beneath me and tune into the grumble and hum of the air conditioning. I tuck my hair behind my ears and pull my hood ...

Dear Kobe, From the moment you drove the lane into our collective basketball consciousness, we fell in love. We didn’t need “rolled up tube socks” of imagination because we had you. Brash teenager, “Air” apparent,...