(this article appeared on www.basketballboards.net on June 8, 2004)

The smoldering spotlight over the suburbs of Philadelphia never could shine bright enough for two homegrown superstars, for it reluctantly lit the path of one.

In 1996, Lower Merion's Kobe Bryant and Richard "Rip" Hamilton, of Coatesville, were two of the finest high school basketball players in the country and, quite obviously, absolutely dominant at the local level. Both appeared stretched out while plastering thin muscles on lithe 6'6" frames. Their bodies seemed almost interchangeable, as if they were identical action figures with removable heads.

Yet for every ounce of similarity in their dimensions, everything else about them was as different as Sam Kinnison and Steven Wright.

Bryant, the chosen one, took joy in the paradox of playing far away and in close, mixing deep jumpers with vicious slams. Hamilton, the other one, excelled from the middle ground. A runner here. A pull-up there. While the lesser known entity exposed cracks in the center of the defense, the greater known smashed craters in the floor and the ceiling.

Any aspiring hoopster who grows up on the outskirts of the Cheesesteak City struggles to earn respect. Drop 37 and you shoot too much. Rack up double-digit assist numbers and you lack aggression. But Kobe's skill set was universal and undeniable. A yo-yo handle. Defense so sticky it should be sponsored by Bubble Yum. Unmatched range. And that vertical. That ridiculous vertical.

Still, fans and writers alike could not bring themselves to utter his name alongside the other Southeastern Pennsylvania legends who hailed from within the city limits. Wilt Chamberlain. Guy Rodgers. Lionel Simmons. Tom Gola. Hank Gathers and Bo Kimble. Even Rasheed Wallace was apparently out of Kobe's class. As Sports Illustrated and the rest of the national press exclamated the obvious, the Philly writers slowly conceded that Bryant was indeed quite special. But as they sheepishly hopped on the Kobe Bryant bandwagon, they left his counterpart at the station. As piece after piece was penned on the nationally acclaimed phenom, the Rip Hamilton stories were left unwritten.

Coatesville and Lower Merion are separated by a stretch of one lone road, Route 30. Firmly rooted in between them is the affluently influenced Main Line, essentially leaving the two schools on opposite ends of the same long street, on opposite sides of an economic and cultural divide. A bleak town molded from grit and a lack of wealth increasingly prevalent in surrounding communities, Coatesville could very easily be wrought with resentment. Instead it is a prideful place. Lower Merion is Yuppieville, USA. Within the massive homes surrounded by chemlawned estates, old money and new money are frequently shaking hands.

Bryant danced around defenders game after game and, in doing so, he sprinkled Lower Merion with flavor. Certainly something they had never experienced before.

Rip scored points the old fashioned way, he earned them. Quick cuts, followed by curls, followed by quick cuts, followed by curls. An ever evolving labyrinth with one goal: Getting open. One of those rare players who will drive defenders dizzy before he even touches the ball.

In the eyes of local basketball gurus, the roles of Bryant and Hamilton were firmly established. And boy were they blindly ignoring Rip. While Kobe kept pro scouts salivating with talk of a Garnett-esque prep-to-pros leap, Hamilton's game gave true basketball purists something to bite into.

Their paths crossed, albeit far too briefly, in the District One semi-final. Coatesville was highly favored versus a Lower Merion squad lacking substance to surround the brilliance of Bryant. No matter. Kobe was still capable of capturing the district crown, and an eventual state championship, single-handedly. The performance catapulted Bryant into a legitimate scholastic star and once again Hamilton was trapped in the ever-widening shadow.

Richard Hamilton has never escaped the shadow of Kobe Bryant.

When Rip committed to the collegiate powerhouse program at the University of Connecticut, Kobe entered the NBA Draft. Both played in the McDonald's All-American Game, but it was Bryant who was raved about. A year after high school graduation, Hamilton earned recognition as Big East Rookie of the Year and, as a sophomore he was one of the leading scorers in the conference. A year after high school graduation, KB earned the praise of Hall of Famers and, in his second season, became the youngest NBA All-Star ever. Rip won a National Championship, Kobe won a ring. How did Bryant top Hamilton's Final Four MVP award? He became the best player in the world.

Fate must have a sense of humor. And, for that matter, a sense of justice and retribution. How else can you explain why the 2004 NBA Finals pit Bryant's Los Angeles Lakers against Hamilton's Detroit Pistons? Not only are they meeting in a high-stakes situation as the best player on their respective teams, but the cities they represent are also reminiscent of their high school playing days. Detroit is baggy eyes personified. A city of brash, blistery toughness. L.A. is the glamorous, stylish landscape of the rich and the optimistic. Crisp money with a tan. Grit vs. Glitz. It is the NBA version of Coatesville vs. Lower Merion. Or, more specifically, it is a grand scale version of Rip vs. Kobe. Who they represent. What they stand for. Most importantly, who they are. Only this time, you can be sure the local writers are taking notes.

Kobe Bryant and Richard Hamilton are eternally connected through freakish parallels and now they are linking up for the sport's highest honor. The differences are inherent throughout their styles of play and hometowns and, well, basically everything aside from their passion for the game. Turns out that long, shadowy road still separates them. Opposition has never been a more fitting term.