Adjourn Sojourn

by Bryan Mari Argos May heaven bless Auntie Mimi for in the years after Uncle Buboy left her for celestial embraces that are warmer than hers, she has faithfully prayed the rosary; but most of the time, when I see her through the eternal crack of the ancient door to her room, she would roll a single bead between her fingers, while her eyes roll towards heaven and warm, viscid

by Alfred A.Yuson In the beginning was the word before it was made flesh by assigning names to a man, a woman, and the first garden. After which the habitat became a commercial stall where a sly serpent sold the first apple for a bargain between a tree and the first sin. Before the garden, the apple, the sin was the word after which flesh recognized an appetite for temptation. Before the fiction was the need for words to turn all sins into a tree of knowledge where man and woman can climb one another. And after, have a final meal in the garden before that turned into a shopping mall with a busy parking lot for gods and serpents. (Published in Dimsum, a Hong Kong literary journal, December 2006)

by Ernesto Superal Yee Again I come to you: bells, burning incense, twilight hymns, chapel of my breaking to hear measures and measures of that ancient singing, softly warm as candlelight trapped in your colored panes, now becoming secretive as fugue, or of man’s tears for lives he lost, regained.

by Andres Cristobal Cruz DUSK Above the darkly flowing jaded murk Mid slums: malignant spread of nightward shade, When camias bloomed by my estero-side, Halfway you came, Mahal, to the wooden bridge. From a selfless sheath I gently pulled For your lips to bless, for your heart to wear, A soul of worded fragrance white, that Lived where other flowers would have died. From my unmoving lips, to seek your breast My camia flew: heart of a yearning dove that Lost its nest when you, unhearing, feared The darkness of this hovel, fled and left The shattered image of my bloom to plunge Where bird and flower but black outwash become. NIGHT At once my voice an angry shred of wind Returns to where your name once gaily rang A doorbell torn from a lost and roomless day— Your presence, the backdoor light on sheen Of dark and inward tide,

by Jenny Cariño On that last trip up to the sky we wrote in cloud visions. That was the picture you held on to for dear life. Those were the days and nights we shed our skins to let the rains touch our dry and brittle bones. Hungrily we soaked it all up: the ripening fields the glory of grain the silent tears we shed for a lost age. And we brushed the sand from our hair. Offerings to the land, from a journey among the waves. We spread our shells on the verdant green and wished for miracles. There was no return. We are only imagining these overtly vicious surroundings. We make coffee and sip away the visions of a city nestled away in the skies, of a people that we once belonged to. The savage melodies that we once sang to each other as w

Sa Dulo ng Mundo ni Mesándel Virtusio Arguelles Nakaupo ako sa dulo ng huling pangungusap Ng isang tula gaya ng inaasahang munting bantas At sa wari ko’y nakaupo sa dulo ng mundo, Sa bukana ng di-masasabing naghihintay. Sa aking likuran, ang lahat ng dumaang salita, Bigat na hindi ko makakayang buhatin kailanman At nagmamahal. Nililingon ko sila sa abot Ng buong pagkaunawa sa anumang pagkakasala Na nakapaloob sa pagbuo ng anyo at nilalaman Hindi upang igawad ang pangwakas ng husga At hugasan ang aking kamay na nabahiran ng tinta. Batid ko ang takda ayon sa ginaganapang papel At doon ko ibig mahimlay bilang pagpupugay Sa likhang pinagdaanan ang mundo .

Rekindling by Glenn Vincent Atanacio After the storm we march, to seek the aimless Rubble of our house. Beneath filth and boulder, Parts keep, days revealing each to the wonder Of our probing hands. What wistful names possess These items—-wood, lock, familiar foyer Of home, door? Softly, we pronounce them, seizing Memory before word, told once when like warriors We brawled against flood and tempests; time packing Our bags but still we stayed. Suddenly mere glass is more Than window or rim to measure and restore; Remembrance more than a dream we pocket after Sleep. Again, we nail back walls to stand; Patch a future together from nearly nowhere: Cardboard box, iron sheet—-this is roof, remember? Aware, we sift through scraps of preplanned Ventures, and chuck out ones we could not shell Anymore within these shaken borders. This, finally,

Prayer by Francisco Arcellana CLOSE all open things, Lord. Open all closed things. All those who have long received, let them give. All those who have long given, let them receive. All those too long apart, let them come together. All those too long together, sunder them. Let the wise be fools for once, Lord, And let the fools speak their minds. Affirm the long-denied,

She by Cesar Ruiz Aquino She comes with horns and tail In nightmare. Made of air. Yet on film such Lissomeness she carries Heaven when she walks (On all fours she is The metamorphosis) Hair done or undone, True to the touch And true only to her looks Till she comes with horns (Not the moon) And tail (not the comet) Someone no wo

Love Wasted by Mila D. Aguilar 1. Love can be killed so easily, nick after painful nick. Marveling at each drop of blood as it clusters round some blade of grass, adding color to the greenery, you fail to see the paling of the victim, until the nicks become one great big wound surpassing healing. And then the love, it goes so easily.

Pagkamulat ni Ruby Gamboa Alcantara Nirahuyo mo ako Sa idinating mong kabaguhan Sa buhay ko Subalit nang masuong ang buo Kong pagkatao Naging malamig ang init Na dati’y kapiling Ng katauhan mo. Nilason mo Ang kaisipan ko Sa paniwalang ang sa akin Ay sa iyo at ang sa iyo ay sa akin. Ang totoo Walang para sa akin Ang lahat ay para sa iyo Ibinuyo mo Na maghimagsik ako Sapagkat tinakdaan mo Ang hantungan ng aking buhay Na dapat sana’y nasa alapaap Ng isang libo’t isang ligaya. Ibalik mo man Ang karangyaan ng lumipas Na kahapo’y malayo nang manaig Pang muli ang magagandang Pangarap; malabo na ang mga pangitaing Sa guni-guni na lamang makasisinag Ng katuparan.

That I would like to believe again. That I would believe again. And hope To live in pursuit and protection of that faith. As seamless as speech moves From the simple to the poetic, and poems From the lyric to the declaration, My thoughts from Your work to my work— Let me now move. If mine is to be the unnamed, unheard, unread— Let it not matter. I believe, And let that be its own virtue, its own reward. My life its own story, my poems a life of their own. This is all I ask, and all I will give.

Now that the festive singers are gone and only the single star remains sharp and distant, why recall when women came caroling at night, dressed in caps and gowns dark as the air around them? Allowed to stand inside where rough winds only reached my ankles, a rising tide and undertow too slow to harm me then, I watched their mouths go round to bursting notes they flung in eddies, and when a singer saw me she smiled, keeping time to her inner rhythms. I leaned into music and air, leaned into night beyond their lanterns and capes and tousled hair where a moon shrugged against the clouds and that single star impaled was a note pitched too high to hear, burning and burning as if it might be a sign, the bright and shining point of a knife. T. Alan Broughton Sou'wester Fall 2008

In your life there’s someone waiting, lost on streets that no one travels In my dream I see this meeting, we’re a knot that fate unravels But beyond our shameless sorrow, catch me if I’m with the wind We may be the sky tomorrow, we’re a branch that will not bend The world is spinning through my head Your gravity won’t let me go, You’re holding me together, No one ever has to know I’m a dream and you’re fading away, I’m a dream and you’re fading away In your face there’s someone sleeping, lost in years that no one’s counting The only way to hear the weeping, suffering is like a fountain Everything is far away now, held beyond our nameless sorrow Shifting streets that no one wanders, lose the days, we only borrow

The god of the back must be a lonely god, god in the shape of man-headed hawk. Long ago a man had been sailing the river and the hawk had been flying beside him for days. Mornings, the man would wake and look, yes, there it was, dark tip-to-tip, the hawk. His hawk, he began to think of it. And after a time he forgot the point of the journey, he only woke each morning to see if the hawk was there, to move if the hawk moved with him, to not rest if the hawk did not rest. And all of this love was done in silence, between animal and animal. There beside him in the air and there beside him in the water, the yoke of the hawk. Once he had a family. Once he had a city to go to and something to bring back. More and more he began to see his life as a story the hawk was telling holding the rat of the field in its claw, meaning There is another world and I will take you in it. This is when he became the god, god of the back, the beautiful brow of leaving. -- Beckian Fritz Goldberg Lie Wide A

Speaking of sunsets, last night's was shocking. I mean, sunsets aren't supposed to frighten you, are they? Well, this one was terrifying. Sure, it was beautiful, but far too beautiful. It wasn't natural. One climax followed another and then another until your knees went weak and you couldn't breathe. The colors were definitely not of this world, peaches dripping opium, pandemonium of tangerines, inferno of irises, Plutonian emeralds, all swirling and churning, swabbing, like it was playing with us, like we were nothing, as if our whole lives were a preparation for this, this for which nothing could have prepared us and for which we could not have been less prepared. The mockery of it all stung us bitterly. And when it was finally over we whimpered and cried and howled.

The Construct I believe, said it best: I believe it was a defining moment for the UP community. We have always regarded ourselves as the future leaders of the country, the advocates of democracy, and the protectors of our fellow Filipinos especially the masa. Last night was different though. It was clearly us versus them. The educated versus morons. The burgis versus the masa. This criticism shares the same play on semantics of labeling as the April-May 2001 protests with “EDSA 3″ versus “the May 1 Siege.” It’s still the same rift between the middle and lower class. This event, I think, will come under great scrutiny of the University officials. In the advent of crimes committed to members of the academic community by “outsiders” (the Veteran’s Bank robbery, the rapes, the thefts and robberies, etc…), I think that they will be considering “closing” the University and limiting its access to UP people. Sure, we’ll be like Ateneo or any other coño private campus, but check the demogra

THE GUERRILLA IS LIKE A POET Jose Ma. Sison The guerrilla is like a poet Keen to the rustle of leaves The break of twigs The ripples of the river The smell of fire And the ashes of departure. The guerrilla is like a poet. He has merged with the trees The bushes and the rocks Ambiguous but precise Well-versed on the law of motion And master of myriad images. The guerrilla is like a poet. Enrhymed with nature The subtle greenery The inner silence, the outer innocence The steel tensile in-grace That ensnares the enemy. The guerrilla is like a poet. He moves with the green brown multitude In bush burning with red flowers That crown and hearten all Swarming the terrain as a flood Marching at last against the stronghold. An endless movement of strength Behold the protracted theme: The people’s epic, the people’s war. 1968

Trees in the Yard Quick-tempered tribe, this is your season, You who take scant notice of a breeze in winter And will forbear a major snowstorm, Now take offense at any little puff of wind, And get-to-whispering and gossipmongering. What calumnies are you exchanging at night? You who are usually so discreet and wise. How am I to comprehend these sudden outbursts, These long lists of concocted grievances You dwell on and take so much to heart? To us, who are already awake and distressed Regarding some other matter, you appear to Show maternal understanding one moment, and scorn The next, until driven out of our wits We sit up in bed and turn on the TV. Charles Simic

Forgetfulness Billy Collins The name of the author is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot, the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of, as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain, to a little fishing village where there are no phones. Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag, and even now as you memorize the order of the planets, something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps, the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay. Whatever it is you are struggling to remember, it is not poised on the tip of your tongue, not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen. It has floated away down a dark mythological river whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall, well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those who have even forgotten how

We both lie silently still in the dead of the night Although we both lie close together We feel miles apart inside Was it something I said or something I did Did my words not come out right Though I tried not to hurt you Though I tried But I guess that's why they say Chorus: Every rose has its thorn Just like every night has its dawn Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song Every rose has its thorn Yeah it does I listen to our favorite song playing on the radio Hear the DJ say love's a game of easy come and easy go But I wonder does he know Has he ever felt like this And I know that you'd be here right now If I could have let you know somehow I guess Chorus Though it's been a while now I can still feel so much pain Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals but the scar, that scar remains Solo I know I could have saved a love that night If I'd known what to say Instead of makin' love We both made our separate ways But now I hear you found somebody new and

EMOTIONAL WEATHER REPORT By Jessica Zafra Updated February 13, 2009 ...we learned the right way to profess undying love: in an earnest stream of metaphors delivered with a straight face while standing under a mango tree in the middle of an open field, followed by a duet with the beloved. For the generation that grew up in the ‘70s and early ‘80s, the primary source for movies was not video shops but a television program called Sine Siete . It aired every afternoon after the lunchtime variety shows, when good children were supposed to be having their siesta. Summer vacations were a daily retrospective of ‘50s melodramas and war action flicks, ‘60s musicals and romantic comedies, and ‘70s parodies and teenybopper romances. While we were “sleeping,” we were taking courses in cultural anthropology. The sleep we lost may have ruined our chances of growing to be six feet tall, but we learned the right way to profess undying love: in an earnest stream of metapho

From the moment we were pushed out into the world, we’ve been soaked in the need to hold a hand that will hold ours back. As we grow older, we learn to tame that need, to understand the difference between strangers and friends. Along a sloping street in one of Marikina’s buried crevices, there is a small orange building with equally citrus-colored gates. CRIBS (Create Responsive Infants by Sharing) Foundation is a non-government organization that serves as a temporary shelter for surrendered and neglected infants aged only several days to 2 1/2 years old. The center facilitates future adoption of the babies or, less frequently, reunification with their biological parents. There are excellent professional caregivers but due to inadequate staff and funding resources, they can always use a helping hand from volunteers. People either love or hate Valentine’s Day for a single reason: we surprise each other with the many embarrassing ways our raw emotions manifest themselves. Tomorrow, a fri

Declaration Lyrics ....I dedicate this song to all the girls I've loved before...who traveled in and out my door

Parking Space Refusing to leave hidden behind the windshield Mindful of the fleeting silence Inside, everything seems full none to disturb nothing to see except for what is here and contained Light blue car so melancholy, Fred Beneath the gray sky Movement Black and robust Square and yellow Parked

...she may think that she just farted in your face which will either embarrass her or be her dream come true. *Everything You Need to Know About Cunnilingus But You Were Too Busy Picking the Hairs Out of Your Teeth to Ask - Uncle Melon Eating pussy can be one of the most wonderful things you can do for a woman. It makes her feel appreciated, respected, desirable, and has the potential to give her an orgasm that will shatter glass, raise the dead, even wake you in the next room. Besides, lots of women expect it these days, and men who perform great oral sex are always in demand. If you gain a reputation as an expert, many classy, attractive women, way out of your league, may overlook your other shortcomings. Just kidding, but it gives us an excuse to talk more about vaginas. The vagina is a mystery to most men. It’s hidden away. Taken out only for special occasions and then quickly put back into hiding. Like an english muffin, its full of nooks and crannies and tastes best

I learned that it is unfair to expect everything from a partner. I used to have lots of expectations, but look where it got me. Where does one draw the line, really? We all have certain needs, and if the partner fails to fulfill that particular need, what do you do? a. Nothing b. Deal with it yourself c. Go look for others to fulfill it d. Get pissed/frustrated/annoyed/guilty for even thinking of looking for others to fill that void instead of that person you were counting on Needs, in this context, do not necessarily mean sexual. It could be a plethora of things. Emotional needs i.e, tenderness, attention, support, as well as intellectual discourse, financial, what have you. As for my answer, I usually end with the letter D. I learned that it is unfair to expect everything from a partner. I used to have lots of expectations, but look where it got me. And thus my mantra, “No expectations, no disappointments”. I end up bashing myself for wanting those stupid ~needs~ i

“The female angler isn’t the most attractive thing but she’s in the deep deep depths so it doesn’t matter .... desire and deception, lust and fetish, pleasure and pain - it’s all happening beneath the waves” How would you like to have as many as 11 (yes, eleven) lovers as permanent sex slaves, attached you and let them produce semen at your command? Fun, eh? And it doesn’t matter if you’re butt ugly because you’re simply irresistible. In the dark. And you have to be this fish. The Age reports on a book, KamaSEAtra: Secrets of Sex in the Sea by aquatic scientist Sheree Maris. “Desire and deception, lust and fetish, pleasure and pain - it’s all happening beneath the waves,” the book reveails. One of her personal favourites is the Deep Sea Angler (Melanocetus johnsoni), a grotesque looking fish that lives deep in the ocean. “The female angler isn’t the most attractive thing but she’s in the deep deep depths so it doesn’t matter,” says Marris. To attract a male, she secretes a sweet

Some of the devices used in the story to separate the pair are actually dated and had been done by the mother of Leonor Rivera when she broke her daughter’s romance with Jose Rizal. But instead of intercepting letters, it is the cell phone STAR BYTES By Butch Francisco Updated February 12, 2009 12:00 AM In the story, Richard and KC get stranded on a deserted island for a night on their way to a wedding in Palawan. Even if there is initial dislike for each other in the beginning, they still end up having a romance (but, of course — this is a love story!). The trouble is — they are committed to other people: Richard to Iya Villania and KC to Alfred Vargas. From the start there is already a doubt in Richard’s heart about his love for Iya and so we see that their relationship is brittle. From KC’s end, it is easy to understand why she had mixed feelings for Alfred: He is controlling, cold and has no sense of humor. In other words, he is boring. Their proble

By Edu Punay Updated Feb 12, 2009 12:00 AM MANILA, Philippines - The Supreme Court (SC) ruled yesterday that a US Marine convicted of raping a Filipina must be transferred out of his detention facility in the US Embassy. The SC decided that Lance Corporal Daniel Smith should be detained in a facility under the Philippine government’s control and that the US Embassy did not qualify as such a place.

Philstar.com - Tuesday, February 10 "I will always be his No. 1 fan and he will always be the love of my life; I will forever continue to support him, fiercely defend him, care for him, back him up, protect him and uphold him." Blind items have been coming out about the marital status of the vocalist of a popular (“dis”)band and his manager wife, to the effect that the singer has a new girlfriend who is pregnant while his wife is said to have found her own new happiness with the vocalist of another band with whom she’s living-in. The items are a giveaway, right? Yes, those being referred to are no other than Ely Buendia (who’s having another reunion concert with the other Eraserheads guys — Raimund Marasigan, Buddy Zabala and Marcus Adoro — on March 7 at the Mall Of Asia Concert Ground) and Diane who have a son, Eon. The blind items (in the tabs) are not true, according to Diane who sent Funfare the following statement “to set the record straight” once and for all: Though Ely

Mechanics: 1. Candidates for Mr. and Ms. NEDA 2009 must be single and nominated by his/her fellow NEDA employee. 2. There are no limits on the number of candidates. 3. A single nomination/vote is worth PhP 5.00. 4. There will be a preliminary counting of votes on February 11 -12, 2009/ 3:00 PM. 5. Top 3 contenders for both Mr. and Ms. NEDA 2009 will be announced on February 12, 2009 during Valentines Lounge gathering. 6. Candidates with the highest number votes will be declared winners. 7. Date for the winning couple will be arrange at the Valentines lounge (6th floor Lobby plus executive lounge) on February 12, 2009/ 5:00 PM. 8. Free Jaguar limousine service c/o Sec. Ralph Recto For tickets, see your ONE staff representatives.

...never seems to change. Just labelled mentally deranged... Aftermath of the lunar eclipse. Photo taken from Shell Select Edsa-Timog Avenue. Cap the night in Blu Finn Katipunan. Grilled tuna belly. Nothing extraordinary. A bucket of San Mig Pale Pilsen. Php350 total damage.

But oil firm denies claim By Lira Dalangin-Fernandez INQUIRER.net First Posted 15:25:00 02/10/2009 MANILA, Philippines – A giant oil firm has been defrauding the government of some P21 billion in taxes and penalties involving the importation of a component of unleaded gasoline since 2006, the Bureau of Customs has claimed. Pilipinas Shell was importing unleaded gas but was passing it off as catalytic crack gas (CCG) to avoid paying excise tax , according to lawyer Juan Tan, customs district collector of the port of Batangas. Since 2006, Tan said Shell should have been paying the government some P3 billion pesos in excise tax. The amount has ballooned to P21 billion, including penalties, which would allow the government to collect five to eight times the principal amount "if there is fraud," Tan said at the hearing of the ways and means committee on leakages in tax collections at the House of Representatives Tuesday

Peter Cetera Lyrics FUNFARE By Ricardo F. Lo Updated February 04, 2009 12:00 AM In the late ’60s, the rock band Chicago captured the imagination of millions worldwide with its exquisite and endearing sound that produced such hits as If You Leave Me Now; Hard To Say I’m Sorry; Baby, What a Big Surprise; You’re My Inspiration; Stay The Night; Love Me Tomorrow; Happy Man; Feeling Stronger Every Day; Along Comes a Woman, etc. The voice behind these songs was Peter Cetera who broke away from the band in the mid-’80s. As a solo artist, Cetera came up with more hits, including Just You And Me, I’ve Been Searching For So Long, Call On Me, Wishing You Were Here, Old Days, No Tell Lover, The Next Time I Fall (a duet with Amy Grant), Feels Like Heaven (a duet with Chaka Khan), After All (a duet with Cher, included in the movie Chances Are), No Explanations (from the movie Pretty Woman), Hold Me Till T

Le Soufflé, in cooperation with YAMAHA, presents soprano Joscephine Gomez (photo) with pianist Carlos Perion and flutist/saxophonist Boy Abadier in Artfully in Love, a Valentine dinner-concert on Feb. 14, 8 p.m. at Le Soufflé Rockwell. Love songs from the classical and Broadway repertoire as well as contemporary hits such as those popularized by Josh Groban will be performed. Le Souffle @ Rockwell is located at Ground Level, Amorsolo Square, Amorsolo Drive, Rockwell Center, Makati City.

Some of our heroes may have been more brilliant or achieved more greatly, but I find it hard to think of any who lived more purely and more single mindedly than Evelio... his commitment to democracy, to social justice and to a life among the poor in our land. Februay 11, 2009 in Panay Island, Philippines is Evelio B. Javier Day. It is the 22nd Anniversary of the assassination of Evelio Javier. It was a stunning and decisive event towards our eventual liberation from Martial Law later that February 1986. Many in our Ateneo community remember meeting Evelio’s body at the airport two days later, and the Mass and the long march from Baclaran to the Ateneo de Manila on Valentine’s Day, February 14, 1986. We had a Mass at sunset in the field beside the Blue Eagle Gym and ended the Mass with the electrifying experience of hearing Fr. Jose A. Cruz, S.J. read for the first time in public the letter of the CBCP on the elections. Evelio B. Javier was born to Everardo Autajay Javier of Hamtic and

Philippine Daily Inquirer First Posted 23:46:00 02/10/2009 V-day gives us a good excuse to be sweet but corny. Here are the sweetest things celebs have experienced in the name of l’amour. Happy Hearts and No More Hurts Day! Ogie Alcasid: “The sweetest thing I did for love is to publicly proclaim my love for my Regine and the sweetest thing she did was to proclaim she loves me, too.” Angel Aquino: “My BF Lui invited me to his place and made me watch TV till I fell asleep. When I woke up, the house was dark with tea lights everywhere. A dinner table for two was set up and food Lui himself cooked was served.” Baron Geisler: “I gave my girl bananas and told her I’m going bananas over her. I gave her peanut butter and told her I’m nuts about her. She surprised me and brought me my fave sinigang na lobster.” Rufa Mae Quinto: “A former lover made a home-cooked dinner complete with petals of red roses and candles on the table.” Diether Ocampo: “She took her days off even if sh

"Above these two figures is an inverted man in red, mounted on the topmost spot of this most incredible retablo. Together with the five totem-like figures flanking the frames of the top two panels, this “fallen angel” of sorts invites viewers to rethink individually-held cosmologies and in so doing perhaps arrive at new epiphanies in perceiving the divine." EPONA BLESSING NO. 2, Duddley Diaz, 2008, polychrome wood (limewood) acrylic+silver and gold leaf, 19.86"x18.32"3.15" AN epiphany is “an intuitive grasp of reality” through a simple or striking event. It is “an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure” embedded in and born of a most meaningful yet sudden scene or moment. Galleria Duemila invites all to Epifanie: Manifestations of the Sacred, featuring the works of Tuscanny-based Filipino sculptor Duddley Diaz. Diaz essays the divine through traditional iconography, as well as through his appropriations of sacred icons of indigenous and foreign o

Look at the evidence. Am I really a Kobe hater? You be the judge. by Bill Simmons In the case of Simmons v. Bryant, it can be interpreted in one of five ways: 1. I always see my Kobe glass as half empty. I enjoy disparaging his abilities, rooting against him and reveling in his failures. When he succeeds, I look for ways to discredit him. In short, Kobe cannot win with me. I am his antifan. (Not true. I loved watching young Kobe; his 2000-01 season remains sublime for me. When he carried a dreadful Lakers squad into the '06 playoffs, I pushed for him to win MVP. One week before the 61-point game, I wrote on an ESPN.com chat that Kobe was my clear-cut No. 2 MVP choice, behind LeBron James, and marveled at the way he has refined his offensive game; with his knees slowly fading after almost 1,000 NBA games, he added a deadly fallaway and learned to pick his spots on drives. He still gets his 30 every night, just with less wear and tear. Shrewd. Believe me, I am not an antifan.)