T.S. Eliot once told us that “April is the cruelest month.” He may have been more focused on the inner-workings of the human condition, our fraility, and the dashed expectations of hope, but I can’t help believe that - if Mr. Eliot was writing The Wasteland today, it would have been in front of a laptop, watching the 2008 Spurs-Suns first round series.

Each year, at the dawn of the NBA Playoffs, hope springs eternal. Good can defeat evil, the underdog can rise to topple mountains, all certainly has the chance to be right in the world. In other words, we trick ourselves to forget that, within two short months, the Spurs will have another title, and Manu Ginobli’s deal with Lucifer will have once again paid off in spades. So it should come as no surprise that, approximately one and a half rounds into version 2008, I feel as though I’ve been violated.

Oh sure, New Orleans is giving the Spurs a run for their money, and, yeah, Atlanta pushed Boston to an improbable seven games in the first round (setting aside the fact that both of those events - among others - have totally rendered my Pick n Roll bracket as a worthless novelty from a bygone era when I actually believed I could predict sporting events). But we also know how this will end - that either the Spurs or Lakers will walk away with the West - that either Boston or Detroit is coming out of the East. When something unexpected actually does occur…well, just ask Lebron what happened last year after the Cavs’ feel-good, long-shot trip to the Finals.

Maybe it’s just that I’ve gotten my heart broken one too many times. Maybe it was watching the Suns and Mavericks both fold in the first round, before subsequently running their top-tier coaches out of town. Maybe it was Manu “He’ll Flop If Someone Farts Around Him” Ginobli pull in the Sixth Man trophy. But looking deep down into the filthy-black heart of it all - when you start asking yourself what the Playoffs tell us about ourselves, about our dreams and wishes, and the little obstacles floating around the ionosphere preventing us from achieving or obtaining happiness or accomplishment - when you really, truly boil it down, you just have to blame Kobe Bryant.

The frustrating thing about Bryant is that he is a remarkable player with a beautiful shot and otherwordly skills up and down the court. On the other hand, he’s also a selfish blowhard who is willing to sell his team down the river when times get tough. A player who slammed the everloving hell out of Andrew Bynum at the beginning of the season before he realized his team had a star center in the making. A player who didn’t himself catapult the Lakers to the top of the West, but had to wait for Pao Gaol to show up and make everyone feel better about jumping back off the Clippers bandwagon. A player who, in Game 7 of the 2006 Lakers-Suns first round match-up, basically laid down in the second half - scoring only one point and taking only three shots - to allow his team to lose by 31 points. A guy, in other words, who we know can go off for 80 points if the mood serves him, but is equally as prone to throw a hissy…and throw his team’s season in the toilet.

So this is the guy that wins Most Valuable Player in 2008.

To more accurately articulate what it means for Kobe Bryant to win the MVP trophy, it is perhaps fitting to imagine George W. Bush winning a Peace Prize for the war in Iraq. On its face, the war was said to take aim at terrorists. But, at its core, it was a ill-conceived flexing of American military muscle, likely initiated to secure Middle Eastern oil reserves, and has not only destabilized an entire region, but will reek havoc on the American economy for years to come.

In other words, Kobe Bryant is the best player on the best team in the Western Conference. But he doesn’t make his teammates better, he doesn’t respect the game so much as a situation that will prove advantageous to himself, and his strong-arm tactics against the Laker front office has set the horrible precedent that one player’s strategy of mood swings and slashing at team morale can - and should - win out in the end.

Kobe’s possession of the trophy is not only a massive injustice to basketball in general, but to Chris Paul - the young point guard who has not only rejuvinated the New Orleans Hornets and their hometown through unselfish play and actually giving a shit about the other guys on the court, but also brought his team within a hair of the Lakers’ record in a loaded Western Conference.

Of course, I’m not talking about Chris Paul’s happiness, but my own. Watching Kobe hoist the Maurice Podoloff trophy over his head last Wednesday night before the Lakers took down the Jazz was like having the schoolyard bully give you a wedgie and then get awarded by the teaching staff with cupcakes and a good-natured armpit tickle. Kobe stole our lunch money, people, and now he’s your 2007-2008 hall monitor. Try as you might, but injustices in the realm of sports just don’t come any more offending than that.

I could be proven wrong, and I’m begging Derron Williams to keep playing superstar hoops for two more games, shut down the Laker hit factory, and do just that. But until someone gives me a reason to believe that hope is alive and well in the NBA, I’m just flat convinced that the there is a league-wide conspiracy that will keep the Spurs and Lakers in power for another four years. And even money says that its all about oil.