Goodbye Kyle
Mr. Lowry.
Nay, Mr. Raptor.
Heart.
You will forever be remembered north of the border for this.
You’re barely 6 feet tall. And I’ll be god dammed if there is one player in this league who could get the better of you in the post.
You punch above your weight, each and every night. At times, with utter abandon.
No player in the NBA has hit the floor more times in the last 5 years.
As if that stat could possible encompass what you have meant to this team.
The city.
The franchise.
The nation.
You got dawg man. And you gave us something we’ve never had before.
Respect.
We were a joke. Thankfully, it’s easy to forget that now. Thanks to you and your buddy Demar.
The budding bromance that broke the glass ceiling hovering over this bitch.
Because it got bad there for a long time.
Vince left.
T-Mac bounced.
Chris left.
Bargnani… got drafted.
And those first 3 sat court-side, while you won a ring.
The fans only reached the place where we could forgive those guys, because you helped us get over them.
You and Demar.
Gone now.
But you did what you came here to do.
And you could’ve left.
You had every opportunity to. Hell, this last season alone you could’ve gone at least seven different times.
No one would’ve blamed you. It was a long shot we’d get into the play in tournament.
But you didn’t leave. You stuck it out. You didn’t bitch.
You didn’t whine.
And I’m devastated your last season as a Raptor wasn’t even in Toronto.
But that’s you. A guy, who despite all odds, would go. Anyone. At anytime. At anyplace.
With you running the show, I never thought the Raps were out of it.
We always had a chance.
A punchers chance.
Because when shit looked gnarly, when it was getting out of hand, you always knew. You’d do exactly what the team needed you to.
It could’ve been a charge. A flop. A three.
Maybe it was as simple as finding a guy in post. Or in the corner.
It could’ve been a steal. Or a strong take to the rack. When the momentum was against us, or it was just getting going for us, you knew. And we knew you knew.
We’d look up at the screen, see the ball in your mitts and whisper “It’s all good. Kyle’s got this”
You are one of the two last great floor generals.
The other was just in the finals.
And watching you leave sucks.
Because I wanted you to get back there.
Not in Florida. Not in the South.
Up here.
With us.
Where you’ll never be forgotten.
Because The North will remember you, Kyle Lowry.
