Tennis players have long had a peculiar relationship with the calendar. They are expected to live on airplanes, play through aching bodies, cross time zones as casually as they change rackets, then somehow be fresh when the tournament director calls their name.

The electric vehicle has arrived in the Philippines with a promise familiar to anyone who has spent an afternoon crawling along EDSA: less dependence on gasoline, quieter motoring, and a little less money disappearing into the fuel tank. It’s an appealing proposition. The only complication is that the Filipino road has never been particularly interested in making life easy for anyone.

A gun is not ill-gotten wealth simply because it is a gun. But a P900,000 gun is not invisible money either.

There is a particular moment in every Filipino basketball game when somebody on the sidelines becomes a coach. It does not matter if the game is in the PBA, UAAP, NBA, or a barangay court with one hoop, a cracked backboard, and a dog wandering underneath it. Somebody always knows what the team should be doing. “Pass!” “Box out!” “Take the shot!” “Why is he still playing?” It is not necessarily criticism. It is participation.