Monday, September 10, 2007

My Supernatural "Kobe-rage"



The night before I was set to meet Kobe Bryant, I scavenged through old Sports Illustrated magazines to look for whatever tattered poster I could find of Kobe. Fortunately, a late delivery of the July Slam Magazine arrived that morning and, as if through some kismet happenstance, Kobe Bryant was featured on the centerfold.

Victorious, I packed everything I needed for the big day and went of to bed; hopeful that I could beat my adrenaline to the punch and fall asleep before it kicks in.

Unfortunately, the extra five minutes I spent watching highlights of his previous tour here ten years ago proved to be disastrous as it only triggered my anticipation even more.

So after about an hour of sleep, I picked up fellow-writer Migs Bassig and photographer Nykko Santos – two of the biggest Kobe ‘nuthuggers’ this side of the Pacific – and set for Makati Shangri-la, the site of his press conference.

As the organizers began ushering the media to the Quezon ballroom, I immediately scampered my stocky frame towards the front of press row, determined to get as close as possible to Kobe. Even the sumptuous lunch buffet of Makati Shangri-la (which, by the way, serves the best buffet amongst all hotels in the Philippines) became an after-thought. Food be damned, I figured!

After the longer-than-expected two-hour wait for Mr. 81, the man finally showed up looking excited as can be over the several hundred people craning their necks to get a glimpse of his 6’7” frame. Fortunately, my two-hour hunger strike paid off as, from the front row; no obstructions were in sight to keep me from taking photos of him. I had a pretty clear shot. So with no limbs obstructing my view, I gleefully snapped as many photos of Mamba as my Sony digital camera could hold.

After the press conference, the Kobe circus made its way to the Fort for a charity event with Pampaga’s Eliseo-Belen Elementary School. Kobe donated two signed backboards to the school and, as a gesture of thanks, the students of the school gave Kobe what can only be described as a sort of collage-looking frame, made from drawings the children made of their beloved hero. Nykko, our resident photographer described it as aesthetically gawky. Hearing this, I ever so subtly reminded him that “They’re kids, you idiot! Anything looks good as long as kids make it.” Ok, maybe it wasn’t as subtle as I made it out to be, but you can paint a picture, right?

Anyway, as the festivities – which included Kobe taking a photo-op with a pimped up Kobe jeepney and throwing signed basketballs to the salivating crowd – came to a close, I sneakily made my way to the side entrance of the Nike store, a.k.a. Kobe’s exit point. I figured this would be the best time for my Slam centerfold to be signed. Unfortunately, about a hundred other people had similar ideas and, as Kobe came out - hopping and jumping like a kid that just came out of a candy store - he started high-fiving every hand he could see. ‘Perfect!’ I thought. If he saw that beautiful, glistening centerfold of himself throwing down a vicious reverse dunk on the Memphis Grizzlies, he’d stop, take out a Sharpie and put his John Hancock on it.

Alas, he did none of those things.

He did, however, slap my hand and, in the process, crumple up the said poster.

After the mob scene in the Fort dissipated, my two colleagues and I set out for Kobe’s free-clinic at the Ultra. Watching Kobe demonstrate his “Blackout” workout to a selection of Nike Elite Camp players made me realize how sadistically appropriate the name ‘Blackout’ was for that workout. He was giving these young studs the workout and they couldn’t keep up. I could just imagine if it was me who Kobe was giving the workout to, I’d be out of gas just after the stretching.

After the two-and-a-half hour session, and amidst the constant pleas of the 10,000 fans – it was more nagging than pleading, actually – Kobe finally treated the crowd to a dunking exhibition worthy of YouTube. Unfortunately, my camera’s battery was close to dying out on me and I had used up most of its memory on pictures of Kirk Long running after loose balls. Begrudgingly, I settled for my courtside seat and reveled in the atmosphere of Kobe jumping over two players on his way to a thunderous dunk.

On the way home, I kept thinking of the surreal day that had just passed.

I spent the day with Kobe Bryant.

And while I did fail in securing an autograph, I was happy knowing I was going home with over 1000 photos, a crumpled up centerfold, and a memory to last a lifetime.