Dear Kobe Bryant,

A few short days ago, you, another legend in the basketball arena, announced that this season would be your last. Similar to Michael Jordon, you wrote a touching tribute to a game that has become your life. It was honest, real, and emotional, something that I truly did not expect from you. So I felt that, as a basketball fan, I owed you a thank you—a response to a letter that changed the game of basketball.

Media today has changed. It allows writers to convey their voice from their iPhones, iPads, and laptops, however we still struggle to come to terms with this voice. So we keep our announcements, emotions and feelings, to ourselves until it is too late, until we are left with only one chance, one choice, and one voice. Yet, in your letter in The Players’ Tribune you paved a new path, a path of openness for not just athletes, but for all those who are struggling to express their voices.

For this, I am thankful.

I know that many people will say that they are sorry that you couldn’t retire with more championship rings than Michael Jordon. Yet, what they are forgetting is that you're leaving with five championships and have a whole season left to claim a sixth. Whether you claim this year's title or not, five championships is still pretty impressive. (Just ask Carmelo Anthony.)

Your legacy will be one of the largest in basketball. LeBron James can wait a season until you retire to inherit the crown. Since the three-peat championship your name was destined for the legends. In addition to the three-peat, you are the MVP of MVPs. Four MVP trophies from the All Star Games, two from the finals, and one for the entire season of 2008 is beyond impressive. I hope that they mean as much to you as they do to basketball fans everywhere. Those trophies are physical proof of the legendary career you have led.

The point, however, is that trophies may be the physical proof, but your actions are the real proof. You changed the game. You were a superstar, a champion, an inspiration, and a dominant force—a title that many players will never hold.

Sure you didn’t always get along with Shaq, referees, or, allegedly, the new players of the Lakers, but you still walk away with friends and teammates. Yet, even through all of this you still managed to touch the fans, other players, the organization, and me.

Your decision, however, was the correct one. Frankly, I am amazed that you still have another season in you, but I guess that this is part of your legacy—the legacy of fighting on. You've fought on through the fractures, torn Achilles tendon, the torn rotator cuff, the rehab, the surgeries, and the general aches and pains that come with age.

If you listen to the fans, commentators, fellow players and coaches, they believed that you would die on the court before ever retiring. Yet, your legacy will carry you on through the ages.

You are only 37, meaning that you have a lifetime of memories left. This isn't the end, but a new chapter. It's a chapter where maybe life can have some normalcy, where arenas will be sold out to honor you, and charities will beg for your name and face to boost their sustainability. You have a lot of life ahead of you and we, the fans, will wait anxiously in the crowd for the success to continue.

Make this season count—your farewell tour will be similar to the likes of Jordan, Montana and Jeter. Take risks on the court, but be careful. Make amends with players and refs. We, the fans, will always be here for you. Legacies like yours cannot die or be forgotten in our eyes.

I guess that this means that "thank you" and "good-bye for now" are the only things that remain. May you remember the power and impact that you possess as you say good-bye to a game that has become your life, legacy, and love.

Best,

Basketball Fans Everywhere