omething magical happens when a girl touches a basketball for the first time. Power is in her palms. She can do anything, be anything.
When she is on the court, she doesn't have to shrink. She can call a play as loud as she wants. And she can count on the court. The court never changes. It is the same when she arrives on a Monday, a Friday.
To love basketball, as a young girl, is to love something in a way that only other young-girl hoopers can understand. It's different from family love. Different from friend love. Different from relationship love. It's a deep-down love that resists explanation.
Gianna "Gigi" Bryant had that deep-down love.
And that's what you hear when you ask those who knew Gigi about her. Those who coached her and coached against her in AAU. Those who trained her. Those who watched her play, who knew her as a friend, as an opponent.
The memories they hold close are of a girl who was hardly seen without a ball hugging her hip. A girl who would bust out crossovers, any time, any place. A girl who didn't back down. To anyone.
Not even the reigning WNBA Rookie of the Year.
It's right before Christmas. During a workout, Gigi's father, Kobe Bryant, whispers into Minnesota Lynx forward Napheesa Collier's ear, "Don't take it easy on Gigi."
Collier is 23 years old and 6'2".
Gigi is 13 and 5'6".
Gigi doesn't care. She locks down in a defensive stance and swarms Collier, who of course scores easily over her, again and again, posting her up. Gigi fumes. She believes she can—and should—be stopping Collier.
And then she does. She finally gets a stop. Then Gigi takes the ball, crosses over, pump fakes and scores on a step-through move.
She isn't afraid of anyone.
Bleacher Report spoke to more than 30 people who were close to Gigi, and in the stories they tell, you can feel how grief works, how memory works.
You find yourself driving down the freeway, and all of a sudden, you flash back to some moment with Gigi. It seizes you. You see Gigi's bright smile. You remember her infectious giggle. You remember how kind, how sweet, the Mambacita was. How she befriended even her staunchest opponents. How she loved her mother, Vanessa, and her three sisters, Natalia, 17, Bianka, three, and Capri, eight months.
You remember how she loved peanut butter chocolate smoothies so much that she learned to make them for herself at home. You remember how she loved to make TikToks, how her dad/coach often told the players on her team, Team Mamba: "My house is a TikTok house! All these girls do is TikTok!"
You remember the time a teammate threw a pass to Gigi that soared over her head and rolled out of bounds. Gigi was upset. Not at her teammate but at herself. She expected herself to catch that ball, any ball. She was a leader, one who took responsibility even if she wasn't at fault.
You try to keep the hurt at bay, try to go on with the day, but hours later you'll be walking down the street and it's a new memory, flowing in and out of time, taking hold of you.
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