“Let Me Walk — Kobe Walked”: Tyrese Haliburton’s Moment of Reckoning and Respect
INDIANAPOLIS — The crowd inside Gainbridge Fieldhouse fell into eerie silence. No thud, no scream—just a limp, sudden motion as Tyrese Haliburton crumpled to the hardwood, clutching his ankle. It was the third quarter of a heated playoff game, and in a moment, the Pacers’ brightest star, their rising engine, their All-Star point guard, was on the floor, motionless.
He knew instantly.
“I felt like someone kicked me in the back of the leg,” Haliburton recalled in the postgame presser, his voice somber, his leg wrapped and elevated. “But nobody was there. I knew right away.”
Achilles. That dreaded word. The injury feared by hoopers from high school to the Hall of Fame.
But as team doctors rushed toward him and teammates circled around, Haliburton said something unexpected—barely a whisper at first.
“Let me walk.”
His trainer froze. “Ty, don’t push it. Wait for the stretcher.”
But Haliburton looked up, defiant, eyes burning. “Kobe walked,” he said. “I’m walking.”
The memory was seared into his mind. April 12, 2013. Kobe Bryant—after tearing his Achilles tendon against the Warriors—had limped to the free-throw line, drained two clutch shots, then walked off on his own power. It was one of the Mamba’s most legendary moments. And now, over a decade later, Haliburton—who had grown up idolizing Bryant—found himself in the same place, emotionally and physically.
“I always told myself, if that ever happened, I’d try to do what Kobe did. You want to honor the greats in your own way.”
With help from two teammates, Haliburton rose. He tried to plant his right foot.
No chance.
“It felt like my foot wasn’t there,” he said. “Like I was standing on air.”
Reality hit. He couldn’t walk. Not yet. He couldn’t even stand without buckling. The crowd, seeing the pain and frustration on his face, stood and applauded as he was helped off the floor. Not for the injury—but for the heart.
Back in the locker room, after initial evaluations confirmed a partial Achilles tear, Haliburton watched the old Kobe footage on an iPad. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “He really did that.”
Tyrese wouldn’t shoot free throws. He wouldn’t walk off. But he would rise again.
“Respecting Kobe isn’t just about copying his actions,” he said later. “It’s about living his mentality. He walked. I’ll heal. I’ll come back. And I’ll walk again stronger.”
The basketball world responded with a wave of love. Damian Lillard posted:
> “Ty’s got that Mamba mindset. Heal up, bro.”
Even Vanessa Bryant, Kobe’s widow, shared a short message:
> “He walked because he had to. You’ll rise because you choose to. #MambaMentality 💜🐍”
Injury may have stolen Haliburton’s moment. But in that brief instant, in his defiance and his desire to honor the legend, Tyrese Haliburton etched his name into a deeper chapter of basketball’s spiritual lineage—where heart, not stats, defines greatness.
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End.
