I had to ask him.

Kobe Bryant had just accepted the most meaningful, coveted most-valuable-player award of any sport, gripping it tight amid a hotel ballroom teeming with legends and love.

But I had to ask him.

Now that he is basketball's official king of unselfishness, does he regret those times last spring when he was so selfish?

Now that he is basketball's official portrait of teamwork, does he regret those summer days when he was the Lakers' worst teammate?

"No," he said, staring coldly. "I was right the whole time."

He paused. The room fell silent.

"I'm joking!" he said suddenly with a laugh, and, filled with great and obvious relief, everyone laughed with him.

Maybe he was joking. Maybe he wasn't. The only thing certain is that those five seconds symbolized a dozen years.

Bryant can make you shake your head in sadness, then shake your head in amazement.

He can make you scream with frustration, then scream with excitement.

He can make you wish he would disappear, then pray he never leaves, all in the same 11-month period, which is exactly what has happened during this most surreal of seasons.

"It's Hollywood," Bryant said with unabashed glee. "It's a movie script."

The award, officially announced Tuesday during a news conference, appropriately paints a season that serves as a metaphor for a career.

MVP.

Most Vexing Player.

Most Valuable Player.

It is impossible to separate one from the other, if only because one feeds off the other.

What makes Bryant so difficult off the court is precisely what makes him so great on the court.

The cold blood that led him to call Lakers owner Jerry Buss an "idiot" is the same cold blood that enables him to brilliantly take, and make, every big shot.