The size and diversity of Los Angeles makes it hard to form a unified identity. A second generation Vietnamese immigrant in San Gabriel has a completely different world view from a midwestern transplant in North Hollywood, both of whom will not recognize the life of a movie studio executive in Santa Monica. Their paths may never even intersect over an entire lifetime because of how much trouble it is to get to the other side of town.

Sports are the exception to that rule, particularly the Lakers and the Dodgers. Lifelong natives have stories of their immigrant grandparents rooting for these teams in the playoffs. Transplants over the last 15 years can recall the city celebrating championships in the streets. In this way, we are tremendously fortunate to have not just a strong sports culture, but a winning sports culture. LA sports fans have the unique experience of wanting something badly, and then getting it over and over. A lot of that rested on the shoulders of Kobe Bryant.

When celebrities pass away, their memory takes on haunting and tragic implications. When I think of Prince, I see pictures in black and white. When I think of Robin Williams, I feel the darkness behind laughter. It is insane to me to think that Kobe Bryant will be taking on that kind of tragic iconicism. I cannot yet fully comprehend him as a figure of tragedy. It does not feel compatible with reality.

That’s part of why we loved Magic Johnson so much. His HIV diagnosis was thought to be the beginning of the end. He became a tragic figure, and yet, we enjoyed (and continue to enjoy) so many more years of him in our life. We prematurely made him a solemn figure and now we appropriately enjoy every day we have with him.

Kobe Bryant was deeply invested in crafting his legacy. He was a meticulous self-mythologizer. Every move — from positioning himself as a clone of Michael Jordan to his post-career moves in media creation — was designed to bolster Kobe Bryant’s place in the culture. The five championships were the point, for sure, but even those were in service of making sure we would still be talking about him in his 40s, 50s and 60s. He was just now planting the seeds for that.

Sports writers and commentators that haven’t spent the last 20 years here can only explain some of Kobe’s impact on Los Angeles. For many, he was an extended fixture of their family, someone they cheered for with their family almost every Christmas day. His worldliness made him a favorite among immigrants. He validated Los Angeles’ place at the top of the world, which sounds like a silly thing for a city with Hollywood. But the film industry never created a mythology or culture around living in LA, because it would be too different city-by-city; they never defined what it meant to be an Angeleno the way a New Yorker or a Southerner was defined by art and culture. But the Lakers did.

I never anchored my identity to Kobe Bryant or the Lakers. I grew up as a fan of players instead of teams, particularly Penny Hardaway, because I was the right age to enjoy his shoe commercials. In that way, I don’t experience the full psychic blow of January 26. But I love Los Angeles, and I could appreciate that he did the most out of any single person to define the city’s identity. I understood what he meant to the soul of this city and the fabric of being an Angeleno. I knew immediately that everything would be different now.

When I looked out into the street, everything seemed to take on a somber form of silence. When I saw passing cars, I could be certain that an eerie shock was occupying every driver. When I went out to dinner, I could see the day’s events on everyone’s face. To say nothing of the Lakers jerseys and hats that were out that night.

I can’t think of a time when someone passed away while at the peak of the culture. Michael Jackson had been out of the spotlight and relegated to nostalgia by the time he passed away. Kurt Cobain was rising but his star grew exponentially because of his death. If NASCAR was one of the most popular sports in the entire world, Dale Earnhardt would be the only point of comparison. But this full tragedy, the story of his career and his daughter and the other families aboard that helicopter, will almost certainly never be matched for generations.

It is certain that being a Lakers fan in 2020 takes on a different air. It suddenly feels like a solemn act with a grim memorial hanging over it. It’s like being a fan of Tupac or Heath Ledger — living with the loss is just part of it. Even if we enjoy 5 more championships, they will be viewed as a post-mortem tribute to Kobe Bryant. Everything the Lakers do from here on out will be in the wake of his passing.

Kobe’s legacy project has ended. He had far more he wanted to create, but that part is done, and his legacy will continue based on the inertia of his existing actions. He’ll be remembered as an avatar of work ethic, an almost supernatural being that people will tap into when they want to achieve excellence. He’ll be thought of as the only truly iconic Angeleno. No entertainer, athlete or artist will ever come close to the way we’ll celebrate him from here on out. But most of all, his legacy is a tragedy, a dour black curtain that stretches across 4,000 square miles of Los Angeles. It’s a crater in the world, and the way we negotiate with it will be our identity as Angelenos.