Won't you be my neighbor?

I'm sorry, I don't mean to harp on my Kobe hatred; being vindictive just isn't in my nature. Part of me wants to like him - his game is sick, his stroke is pure, he drives so smooth, and without him, the legs on these three wouldn't be nearly as sexy - but come on. He has been sporting this getup all throughout the playoffs, and I keep expecting Phil Jackson to come out dressed as Mr. McFeely, yelling "speedy delivery." Who is he trying to appeal to here? Gay black men? Undergraduates at Trinity College? Jerry Falwell? Yeah, this will help the street cred, Kob. Who knows, maybe this is the look that pulls hotel maid tail. I guess my confusion articulates my main problem w/the black mamba: I have no clue who he is. Spoiled brat? Street tough? Baryshnikov? Rapist? Privileged bourgeois? Thug poet? Semi-creepy daytime child television host? Show me who you are, Kobe. Let me in; Let me be your neighbor - so I can leave a flaming bag of poo on your doorstep.

I promise, no more Kobe posts for at least a month. OK, a week.