Okay, so there's this hierarchy of commercials. The laws of marketing dictate that even between the most useful product in the world and the most willing consumer in the world, commercials provide a vehicle for, often artificially, regulating the distance between consumer and consumable. And whether a commercial is something that you look forward to or an annoyance that poisions the time it takes you to reach for the TiVo remote, the truth is that the hierarchy of commercials plays a big role in how jazzed you are about stuff you may or may not even like. So here goes:
Level 1: Commercials that inspire mass product returns, boycotts, and even protests. Crosses: good. Fire: good. Madonna: ehh... but put the three together, and you get something that didn't make a lot of people very fond of Pepsi.
Level 2: Commercials that make you not want to buy something. Some people liked them, but for many people, the Quiznos "spongemonkeys" had a certain "eewww" factor, and those people, when they were hungry for a sub sandwich and came upon a Quiznos, would keep on driving until they got to a Subway.
Level 3: Commercials that keep you indifferent. "Taco Bell has a new product? It's got carne asada and some kind of tangy mayo concoction? Great...when's the ballgame on?"
Level 4: Commercials that make you interested. The teaser trailer for that movie you may or may not see in six months didn't get you making plans to go see it, but it got the seed planted in your brain. That's level 4.
Level 5: Commercials that inspire purchase intention. I don't have enough money to get every DVD that comes out on the market. But when I can, I'm totally getting the Seinfeld Seasons 5 & 6 that comes with the handwritten script and all the special features.
Level 6: Commercials that make you go out and get something. If you like music, and if you have a particular fondness for U2, and you weren't in the Apple store ten minutes after seeing the U2 iPod commercial, then you don't have a pulse.
And for a long time, at least for me, that was the list. But a couple weeks ago a commercial came along that changed everything.
Back in October of 2000, things were pretty good. I was experiencing the dizzying heights of the mania known as eBay Addiction. I had purchased numerous LPs, a couple Willie McGee jerseys, and some out-of-print books, and, not to brag, my feedback score was skyrocketing. There's been a certain ebb and flow to my eBay usage since, but I've never stayed away for long.
When the "Daydream Believer" commercials came out, I absolutely loved them. The commercials called to mind a feeling that lots of people have toward eBay, and the song, plus the imagery of getting "it," whatever "it" is, caused me to do something I didn't think was possible. I love the commercial so much I've had to invent Level 7.
Level 7: Commercials that make you want to give your money directly to the company. Go ahead, eBay. You can have it. Take whatever you want. Seriously. I don't even want anything in return. Not the Traveling Wilburys CD, the Simpsons cel with certificate of authenticity, the life-size Han Solo in carbonite, or the Beatles' Yesterday and Today LP with the butcher cover. Not even the powder blue Lance Alworth jersey. The perfect marriage of product and message has shot you straight to the top of the advertising hierarchy, and as a result I just want to give you my money. That's how much I love your latest commercial.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
A Way Out for Marshmallow and Yam
Before heading off to Crawford, President Bush did something very important today. Here's my entry from last year's ethics journal, on the timely topic of animal rights:
This year's turkeys aren't going to a farm; they're going to Disneyland to become grand marshals of its Thanksgiving Day Parade, which will bring us a long way toward answering the age-old question of whether animals are capable of feeling ridiculous.
Today was a somewhat exciting day in my family because it was the day that President Bush pardoned the turkey and sent it off to a farm to live out the rest of its days. This is not normally something that registers on the Lauve radar, but my father works for the turkey segment of Cargill, and this year one of his colleagues, who is serving in a rotation as president of the Turkey Federation, went to Washington with his family to present the turkey. So a family I’ve known for a long time got to schmooze with the President and take part in this cute tradition that ensures that a turkey’s life will be spared this Thanksgiving.
Except the fortunes of the turkey are not nearly as pleasant as most people believe. Since the turkey is bred for consumption, he is much too fat to be any good in a natural environment. So he goes off to a farm with a lot of other animals and dies almost immediately. When I told my mother this last night, she reacted as if I was telling her that pro wrestling was fake.
I don’t know how many people would make a stink about this, but I don’t know why they can’t just use a wild turkey (I would guess it’s tough to get one that’s docile enough) or just do away with the ceremony completely. To me it just seems like a waste to doom an eatin’ bird to a fate it’s not suited to.
This year's turkeys aren't going to a farm; they're going to Disneyland to become grand marshals of its Thanksgiving Day Parade, which will bring us a long way toward answering the age-old question of whether animals are capable of feeling ridiculous.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
The Top 50 States with the Strongest Personality
1. Texas
2. California
3. Florida
4. Hawaii
5. Alaska
6. Massachusetts
7. New York
8. Colorado
9. Louisiana
10. Virginia
11. Arizona
12. North Carolina
13. Vermont
14. Tennessee
15. Oregon
16. Utah
17. Indiana
18. Georgia
19. Connecticut
20. Kansas
21. Oklahoma
22. Missouri
23. New Jersey
24. Mississippi
25. Iowa
26. Pennsylvania
27. Montana
28. Nebraska
29. Wisconsin
30. New Mexico
31. Michigan
32. South Carolina
33. Wyoming
34. Minnesota
35. Idaho
36. Illinois
37. Alabama
38. Maryland
39. Arkansas
40. Maine
41. New Hampshire
42. Washington
43. Kentucky
44. Nevada
45. Rhode Island
46. Ohio
47. West Virginia
48. South Dakota
49. Delaware
50. North Dakota
2. California
3. Florida
4. Hawaii
5. Alaska
6. Massachusetts
7. New York
8. Colorado
9. Louisiana
10. Virginia
11. Arizona
12. North Carolina
13. Vermont
14. Tennessee
15. Oregon
16. Utah
17. Indiana
18. Georgia
19. Connecticut
20. Kansas
21. Oklahoma
22. Missouri
23. New Jersey
24. Mississippi
25. Iowa
26. Pennsylvania
27. Montana
28. Nebraska
29. Wisconsin
30. New Mexico
31. Michigan
32. South Carolina
33. Wyoming
34. Minnesota
35. Idaho
36. Illinois
37. Alabama
38. Maryland
39. Arkansas
40. Maine
41. New Hampshire
42. Washington
43. Kentucky
44. Nevada
45. Rhode Island
46. Ohio
47. West Virginia
48. South Dakota
49. Delaware
50. North Dakota
Thursday, November 10, 2005
A Well Deserved Cy
Back in late September, I had a conversation with Chris Carpenter that really told me a lot about him.
At the time, he had had a couple bad starts in a row after having basically nothing but quality starts all year. Needless to say, he was not in the best spirits. "Yeah, it's been a good year," he said, "but lately I feel like all the innings I've pitched are catching up to me. I just can't locate my pitches the way I did earlier in the season."
I tried to reassure him. "You've been the best pitcher in the league all year, and you'll get it back together."
"I sure hope so," he said as he dropped his head, his eyes disappearing beneath the brim of his cap. "I feel like I'm letting the team down with my performance lately. I just don't want to screw things up for them."
"Chris, that's ridiculous," I said. "The team wouldn't be anywhere without you. You've been its star all year. Sure it's been rough at times, but you've carried us through. And yeah, we're in ninth place right now, but without you we wouldn't be above 12th or 13th place. I'd say the team is pretty proud of you."
Slowly, as he thought about what I had said, he began to pick his head up, and he looked at me with a sideways glance that was at the same time frustrated and amused. He stared at me for a couple seconds, and then he said, "I'm talking about the Cardinals, skip, not the Crickets!!"
-----------------------------------------
The Crickets were born out of my friend Adam's fantasy baseball league. It was my first time playing fantasy baseball, and to say that I screwed up the draft would be a tremendous understatement. My first two picks were Edgar Renteria (ranked #39) and Joey Gathright (ranked about #800), and while a few fantasy nerds would tell you that those were not the best choices, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But my best pick was the first pitcher I chose, Mr. Chris Carpenter. I later told Adam about the pick, and I said that I was able to get Carp because some people thought that his great 2004 year was a fluke. Adam said that, yeah, he kind of thought that it was a fluke, too.
Apparently Carpenter was listening, because he put together a remarkable year. I was lucky enough to see him pitch twice this year; in the first game he pitched eight shutout innings to defeat Andy Pettitte, and the second, also in Houston, was his 20th victory. I was honored to be able to attend that game, which at the time made a Cy Young seem almost certain. Carpenter slipped a little down the stretch, and you could make a great argument for Willis or Clemens or Pettitte (though they went a combined 0-4 against Carpenter), but it's great to see him get the Cards' first Cy Youong award since Bob Gibson. He started three of the Cardinals' five postseason victories, and he was one of two players on the team who really deserve whatever postseason accolades come their way. Way to go, Chris. There's a spot in the 2006 Crickets' starting rotation waiting for you.
At the time, he had had a couple bad starts in a row after having basically nothing but quality starts all year. Needless to say, he was not in the best spirits. "Yeah, it's been a good year," he said, "but lately I feel like all the innings I've pitched are catching up to me. I just can't locate my pitches the way I did earlier in the season."
I tried to reassure him. "You've been the best pitcher in the league all year, and you'll get it back together."
"I sure hope so," he said as he dropped his head, his eyes disappearing beneath the brim of his cap. "I feel like I'm letting the team down with my performance lately. I just don't want to screw things up for them."
"Chris, that's ridiculous," I said. "The team wouldn't be anywhere without you. You've been its star all year. Sure it's been rough at times, but you've carried us through. And yeah, we're in ninth place right now, but without you we wouldn't be above 12th or 13th place. I'd say the team is pretty proud of you."
Slowly, as he thought about what I had said, he began to pick his head up, and he looked at me with a sideways glance that was at the same time frustrated and amused. He stared at me for a couple seconds, and then he said, "I'm talking about the Cardinals, skip, not the Crickets!!"
-----------------------------------------
The Crickets were born out of my friend Adam's fantasy baseball league. It was my first time playing fantasy baseball, and to say that I screwed up the draft would be a tremendous understatement. My first two picks were Edgar Renteria (ranked #39) and Joey Gathright (ranked about #800), and while a few fantasy nerds would tell you that those were not the best choices, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But my best pick was the first pitcher I chose, Mr. Chris Carpenter. I later told Adam about the pick, and I said that I was able to get Carp because some people thought that his great 2004 year was a fluke. Adam said that, yeah, he kind of thought that it was a fluke, too.
Apparently Carpenter was listening, because he put together a remarkable year. I was lucky enough to see him pitch twice this year; in the first game he pitched eight shutout innings to defeat Andy Pettitte, and the second, also in Houston, was his 20th victory. I was honored to be able to attend that game, which at the time made a Cy Young seem almost certain. Carpenter slipped a little down the stretch, and you could make a great argument for Willis or Clemens or Pettitte (though they went a combined 0-4 against Carpenter), but it's great to see him get the Cards' first Cy Youong award since Bob Gibson. He started three of the Cardinals' five postseason victories, and he was one of two players on the team who really deserve whatever postseason accolades come their way. Way to go, Chris. There's a spot in the 2006 Crickets' starting rotation waiting for you.
Monday, October 24, 2005
The Case for MLB Opening the Roof
On the eve of the first World Series game ever to be played in Texas, there is much consternation at the House That Special Purpose Entities Built. Major League Baseball has announced that if the weather is nice, it will intervene and order the roof open for game 3. While I have major problems with a sports league making such a mandate, there is a case to be made for it. Essentially, we're caught in a prisoner's dilemma.
Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that every team in Major League Baseball has a retractable roof. If you accept the premise, which is tough to refute, that baseball played outdoors is better than baseball played indoors, then the best situation for everyone is for all roofs to be open all the time. In any given city, however, the best situation is to keep your own stadium's roof shut for home games because it will allow your team's fans to have a greater effect on the game. So while optimizing overall utility, or happiness, or whatever, for all baseball fans requires roofs to be open, teams acting in their own interests will always act unilaterally to maximize individual payoffs, leading to a suboptimal outcome.
If its participants maximize their own utility, the prisoner's dilemma must end in a suboptimal outcome, unless there is an outside authority to enforce cooperation. Enter Bud Selig. John Nash would be proud.
Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that every team in Major League Baseball has a retractable roof. If you accept the premise, which is tough to refute, that baseball played outdoors is better than baseball played indoors, then the best situation for everyone is for all roofs to be open all the time. In any given city, however, the best situation is to keep your own stadium's roof shut for home games because it will allow your team's fans to have a greater effect on the game. So while optimizing overall utility, or happiness, or whatever, for all baseball fans requires roofs to be open, teams acting in their own interests will always act unilaterally to maximize individual payoffs, leading to a suboptimal outcome.
If its participants maximize their own utility, the prisoner's dilemma must end in a suboptimal outcome, unless there is an outside authority to enforce cooperation. Enter Bud Selig. John Nash would be proud.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Plato vs. Aristotle in the World Series
More than ever before, this year's World Series is not just a clash of two teams but a clash of opposing philosophies on the playoffs. You could say that this debate goes all the way back to the original Tony Kornheiser and Michael Wilbon, Plato and Aristotle.
I've always enjoyed the fact that we have many different ways of crowning a champion. College basketball gives 64 teams a shot at the title, while college football pits the top two teams against each other (and was entirely determined by a vote until a few years ago). What I think is regrettable is that since more playoffs bring more money, there is a seemingly irreversible trend toward having more teams participate in the postseason. Some people enjoy the excitement of expanded playoffs, while others think that it's a poor way of choosing a champion. Which begs the question: just what is a champion?
One of Plato's most important ideas was the theory of forms. He believed that there existed a world outside of space and time that held universals, or archetypes, and that what we experience in our own existence is just an approximation of what exists in the world of forms. The most common example used is that of a chair. Plato said that when we call something a chair, we do so because it has "chairness"; that is, it calls to mind the ideal form of a chair. We will never experience a true chair, only our own earthly approximations of a chair.
Aristotle thought differently. He said that if something is made of wood (or something else suitable for making a chair) and is in a shape such that it can be sat on, then it's a chair. There are no forms; the particular is the thing.
So to Aristotle, the champion of a sports league is probably the team that walks away with the trophy. But to Plato, the true champion exists in the world of forms, and playoffs should tell us which team best exemplifies this ideal.
Once upon a time, the best team in each league won a trip to the World Series. Starting in 1969, each league was split up into an east and west division, whose champions would play in a league championship series. In 1995 the number of playoff teams was doubled once again, as a central division was added and a wild card slot was awarded to the team with the best record that did not win its division.
Those who take a Platonic view believe that the team that wins the most games is most likely to be the "true" champion, just as a larger sample size yields a greater chance that an observed result is the "true" result.
The wild card has greatly increased the chances that a team that has demonstrated itself to be not as good as a division rival can still have a shot at the title. Luck, and other factors, can account for 2 or three game differences between a division winner and its nearest rival, but the 22-game deficit with which the 1998 Red Sox won the wild card is pretty clear cut. Ditto the 2001 Athletics, who finished 14 games behind the Mariners. Of course, neither of these teams had much success in the postseason, but what are we to say about the 1997 and 2003 Marlins, who won the World Series despite finishing behind the Braves by 9 and 10 games, respectively?
Well, that depends on where you're coming from. Someone sharing Plato's views would probably argue that a long season is a better determination of the champion than a short playoff, but an Aristotelian would argue that a champion is whatever Major League Baseball says it is.
Which brings us to this year's World Series. Throughout the year, the Chicago White Sox have displayed quite a bit of what Plato might call "championhood." All year they have had one of the two best records in the league, and they have been solid in every aspect of play (hitting for average, hitting for power, baserunning, pitching, and defense). Plato would be proud.
The Houston Astros, as has been pointed out, have been built for the postseason. They have three dominating pitchers, a solid bullpen, and an almost unhittable closer carrying a team that is proficient but not dangerous with the bat. Actually, even proficiency took a while to develop. When the Astros started 15-30, and during some offensive droughts that were spread through the season, they routinely wasted great pitching performances by scoring one run or fewer. Though they had the eighth-best record in baseball during the regular season, if they prevail in the Series they will have done everything Aristotelians require to call them a champion, namely winning eleven postseason games.
So, by rooting for a participant in this year's World Series you're actually participating in a philosophical debate that has been argued for centuries.
Applying Greek philosophy to baseball may sound far-fetched, but actually it's quite appropriate. You see, Plato was quite a baseball fan, and the game inspired some of his most important ideas.
"Gee, Mr. Peabody, I didn't know that Plato watched baseball!"
"Why yes, Sherman. Surely you've heard of the...allegory of the dugout?"
I've always enjoyed the fact that we have many different ways of crowning a champion. College basketball gives 64 teams a shot at the title, while college football pits the top two teams against each other (and was entirely determined by a vote until a few years ago). What I think is regrettable is that since more playoffs bring more money, there is a seemingly irreversible trend toward having more teams participate in the postseason. Some people enjoy the excitement of expanded playoffs, while others think that it's a poor way of choosing a champion. Which begs the question: just what is a champion?
One of Plato's most important ideas was the theory of forms. He believed that there existed a world outside of space and time that held universals, or archetypes, and that what we experience in our own existence is just an approximation of what exists in the world of forms. The most common example used is that of a chair. Plato said that when we call something a chair, we do so because it has "chairness"; that is, it calls to mind the ideal form of a chair. We will never experience a true chair, only our own earthly approximations of a chair.
Aristotle thought differently. He said that if something is made of wood (or something else suitable for making a chair) and is in a shape such that it can be sat on, then it's a chair. There are no forms; the particular is the thing.
So to Aristotle, the champion of a sports league is probably the team that walks away with the trophy. But to Plato, the true champion exists in the world of forms, and playoffs should tell us which team best exemplifies this ideal.
Once upon a time, the best team in each league won a trip to the World Series. Starting in 1969, each league was split up into an east and west division, whose champions would play in a league championship series. In 1995 the number of playoff teams was doubled once again, as a central division was added and a wild card slot was awarded to the team with the best record that did not win its division.
Those who take a Platonic view believe that the team that wins the most games is most likely to be the "true" champion, just as a larger sample size yields a greater chance that an observed result is the "true" result.
The wild card has greatly increased the chances that a team that has demonstrated itself to be not as good as a division rival can still have a shot at the title. Luck, and other factors, can account for 2 or three game differences between a division winner and its nearest rival, but the 22-game deficit with which the 1998 Red Sox won the wild card is pretty clear cut. Ditto the 2001 Athletics, who finished 14 games behind the Mariners. Of course, neither of these teams had much success in the postseason, but what are we to say about the 1997 and 2003 Marlins, who won the World Series despite finishing behind the Braves by 9 and 10 games, respectively?
Well, that depends on where you're coming from. Someone sharing Plato's views would probably argue that a long season is a better determination of the champion than a short playoff, but an Aristotelian would argue that a champion is whatever Major League Baseball says it is.
Which brings us to this year's World Series. Throughout the year, the Chicago White Sox have displayed quite a bit of what Plato might call "championhood." All year they have had one of the two best records in the league, and they have been solid in every aspect of play (hitting for average, hitting for power, baserunning, pitching, and defense). Plato would be proud.
The Houston Astros, as has been pointed out, have been built for the postseason. They have three dominating pitchers, a solid bullpen, and an almost unhittable closer carrying a team that is proficient but not dangerous with the bat. Actually, even proficiency took a while to develop. When the Astros started 15-30, and during some offensive droughts that were spread through the season, they routinely wasted great pitching performances by scoring one run or fewer. Though they had the eighth-best record in baseball during the regular season, if they prevail in the Series they will have done everything Aristotelians require to call them a champion, namely winning eleven postseason games.
So, by rooting for a participant in this year's World Series you're actually participating in a philosophical debate that has been argued for centuries.
Applying Greek philosophy to baseball may sound far-fetched, but actually it's quite appropriate. You see, Plato was quite a baseball fan, and the game inspired some of his most important ideas.
"Gee, Mr. Peabody, I didn't know that Plato watched baseball!"
"Why yes, Sherman. Surely you've heard of the...allegory of the dugout?"
Monday, October 10, 2005
The Southwest Parable
I saw the most fascinating commercial yesterday. It came from Southwest Airlines and urged viewers to go to Set Love Free and join the fight against the Wright Amendment. For those who don't know, the Wright Amendment is a piece of legislation that has limited the ability of Southwest to fly from its home airport of Dallas Love Field. As the other carriers left for DFW Airport, Southwest was left with Love all to itself, which caused a backlash from the major airlines that manifested itself in legislation banning interstate flights from Love. As enacted, the amendment allowed flights to and from the states surrounding Texas, and it has since been expanded to a few more states.
Just as the natural enemy of the hole is the pile, the natural enemy of the corporation is the government. Government intervention has always played a role in the fortunes of business, but how fatal can it be? The following story is for anyone who thinks that "things would be different if only we could get Uncle Sam off our backs":
Back when the earth was young, airlines operated much differently than they do today. There were a few carriers, and the government told them where they would fly and how much they would charge. It was nice--airlines made some good money and lived a very comfortable, color-by-numbers existence.
Enter Southwest Airlines. Southwest began operations in Dallas in 1971 after fighting (for 12 years) litigation intended to put it out of business. It aimed to become a low-cost carrier for the state of Texas, but its purpose was not fully realized until the Airline Deregulation Act turned the airline industry on its ear in 1978. The act subjected airlines to market forces, which prompted markedly different responses from Southwest and the rest of the airlines.
Most airlines sought to return to the stability they had seen under regulation. They organized themselves into hub-and-spoke patterns that gave each major airline a dominant territory and allowed it to (more or less) dictate prices within that region. Sometimes new carriers would enter and serve the same routes. Sometimes aggressive pricing and airport rules would drive them away; sometimes they would stay and cause a drop in prices. At any rate, the hub-and-spoke system allowed airlines to retain some of the comfort regulation had given them.
While government intervention was ending for other airlines, it was just beginning for Southwest. Regulation was a welcome current that lifted all planes, but the Wright Amendment was intended to keep only Southwest down. But rather than flee from Love Field (which is located in the heart of Dallas as opposed to DFW's suburban location), Southwest embraced it. It has incorporated the heart into its marketing communications, and it also chose the ticker symbol "LUV" when it joined the New York Stock Exchange.
Rather than trying to mirror the days of regulation, Southwest decided to compete in a new way. Southwest went from city to city rather than using hubs, and it stayed away from the behemoth airports that other airlines were flocking to. This, in addition to Southwest's using only 737 aircraft, led to quick turnaround times and high utilization. The airline also eschewed travel agents and frills and pursued an aggressive fuel hedging strategy in allowing itself to compete on cost and offer the lowest fares in the industry.
Air travel was naturally hit hard by the events of September 11, 2001. After flights were grounded for days after 9/11, the struggling airlines were bailed out by Congress through a $15 billion financial aid package.
So, all the airlines should have vivid memories about how the government has affected their operations. Hub-and-spoke carriers will have fond memories of how the government brought them guaranteed profits in the era of regulation and then gave them free money when their ability to serve customers was called into question. And Southwest will emit a distinctive scowl as it thinks about how the Wright Amendment has, to this day, hampered its business at its flagship airport.
The effect of government intervention on the airline industry is clear. And yet, it doesn't correlate with financial results. The "big" carriers have been devouring cash for years, and no amount of money from Congress is about to change their dire collective outlook. Southwest has been profitable for 32 straight years, despite government and competitors trying to keep it down. Southwest was delighted when deregulation came, and it did not need the 2001 bailout.
It’s not uncommon for businesses to view the interference of the government as a key factor in determining success or failure. Recently, the Sarbanes-Oxley Act, an overambitious attempt to correct the wrongs of Enron et al., has become the whipping boy of businesspeople, who say that it’s hurting the ability of smaller businesses to keep up (compliance costs resulting from the act are really high). While legislation certainly plays a role, the example shown by the airlines proves that it’s not deterministic. The bigger factor (and it's not even close) is the ability of a company to adapt and to reach customers, which arguably could be retarded by the government help that many firms would love to have.
The kind of thing that Southwest has that allows it to prosper goes by many names: a business model, core competencies, synergy, a mission, a vision. Let's just call it love. And to paraphrase one of history's greatest philosophers:
If I have planes and routes and cash,
And I have help from Uncle Sam,
And I have Uncle Sam holding down the other guy,
But have not love, then I have nothing.
Just as the natural enemy of the hole is the pile, the natural enemy of the corporation is the government. Government intervention has always played a role in the fortunes of business, but how fatal can it be? The following story is for anyone who thinks that "things would be different if only we could get Uncle Sam off our backs":
Back when the earth was young, airlines operated much differently than they do today. There were a few carriers, and the government told them where they would fly and how much they would charge. It was nice--airlines made some good money and lived a very comfortable, color-by-numbers existence.
Enter Southwest Airlines. Southwest began operations in Dallas in 1971 after fighting (for 12 years) litigation intended to put it out of business. It aimed to become a low-cost carrier for the state of Texas, but its purpose was not fully realized until the Airline Deregulation Act turned the airline industry on its ear in 1978. The act subjected airlines to market forces, which prompted markedly different responses from Southwest and the rest of the airlines.
Most airlines sought to return to the stability they had seen under regulation. They organized themselves into hub-and-spoke patterns that gave each major airline a dominant territory and allowed it to (more or less) dictate prices within that region. Sometimes new carriers would enter and serve the same routes. Sometimes aggressive pricing and airport rules would drive them away; sometimes they would stay and cause a drop in prices. At any rate, the hub-and-spoke system allowed airlines to retain some of the comfort regulation had given them.
While government intervention was ending for other airlines, it was just beginning for Southwest. Regulation was a welcome current that lifted all planes, but the Wright Amendment was intended to keep only Southwest down. But rather than flee from Love Field (which is located in the heart of Dallas as opposed to DFW's suburban location), Southwest embraced it. It has incorporated the heart into its marketing communications, and it also chose the ticker symbol "LUV" when it joined the New York Stock Exchange.
Rather than trying to mirror the days of regulation, Southwest decided to compete in a new way. Southwest went from city to city rather than using hubs, and it stayed away from the behemoth airports that other airlines were flocking to. This, in addition to Southwest's using only 737 aircraft, led to quick turnaround times and high utilization. The airline also eschewed travel agents and frills and pursued an aggressive fuel hedging strategy in allowing itself to compete on cost and offer the lowest fares in the industry.
Air travel was naturally hit hard by the events of September 11, 2001. After flights were grounded for days after 9/11, the struggling airlines were bailed out by Congress through a $15 billion financial aid package.
So, all the airlines should have vivid memories about how the government has affected their operations. Hub-and-spoke carriers will have fond memories of how the government brought them guaranteed profits in the era of regulation and then gave them free money when their ability to serve customers was called into question. And Southwest will emit a distinctive scowl as it thinks about how the Wright Amendment has, to this day, hampered its business at its flagship airport.
The effect of government intervention on the airline industry is clear. And yet, it doesn't correlate with financial results. The "big" carriers have been devouring cash for years, and no amount of money from Congress is about to change their dire collective outlook. Southwest has been profitable for 32 straight years, despite government and competitors trying to keep it down. Southwest was delighted when deregulation came, and it did not need the 2001 bailout.
It’s not uncommon for businesses to view the interference of the government as a key factor in determining success or failure. Recently, the Sarbanes-Oxley Act, an overambitious attempt to correct the wrongs of Enron et al., has become the whipping boy of businesspeople, who say that it’s hurting the ability of smaller businesses to keep up (compliance costs resulting from the act are really high). While legislation certainly plays a role, the example shown by the airlines proves that it’s not deterministic. The bigger factor (and it's not even close) is the ability of a company to adapt and to reach customers, which arguably could be retarded by the government help that many firms would love to have.
The kind of thing that Southwest has that allows it to prosper goes by many names: a business model, core competencies, synergy, a mission, a vision. Let's just call it love. And to paraphrase one of history's greatest philosophers:
If I have planes and routes and cash,
And I have help from Uncle Sam,
And I have Uncle Sam holding down the other guy,
But have not love, then I have nothing.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
A Film Industry for the 21st Century
Last week, I was thinking about going to see The Aristocrats. I've always been somewhat interested in comedic theory, and the subject matter of that film, plus the people appearing in it, have made it one of those films that I have made a point to go see.
But I haven't gone to see it yet. Two things have stood in my way. The first is the fact that, at the time of its initial Austin release, the film was showing only in one inconveniently located theater at an inconvenient time. The second, and most important, is the frustration I experienced with the thought that I even have to go to a theater to see this movie.
With all of the problems the film industry has been experiencing lately, there's been a lot of talk about the problems that have been created by DVDs and home theaters, as if movie studios are locked into the current business model forever. Like record companies, film companies find themselves at a crossroads, and like record companies, they will continue their downward spiral unless they try to adjust to consumers rather than dictating to them.
It seems to me that the lure of the theater has always been twofold: it is an experience and it’s a deliverer of content. For many movies, primarily action, horror, science fiction, and the like, the theater provides the ideal setting in which to experience a film. It also provides a destination for couples and for groups that has been a part of American culture for generations. But in many other circumstances, the movie theater has always been the only way to see a film that you really don't care where you see it.
Given that theaters have played such a large role in the development of the movie industry, it's understandable that any noteworthy film must pass through them. But looking at it with a fresh set of eyes, it's peculiar that if, heaven forbid, you want to see Must Love Dogs, you must choose between spending a ton of money to see it on the big screen and waiting several months for it to come out on DVD. What value does the theater add for a film like that, or for countless other films that are making pointless pit stops at movie theaters? If we could rebuild film distribution from scratch it would probably look completely different than the system we have arrived at. The good news is that we can still get there in a few steps:
1) Destigmatize direct-to-video releases
2) Release DVDs more quickly, in many cases bypassing theaters altogether
3) Align film promotion with distribution
4) Make theaters fun again
In 2004, the big six movie studios made profits of almost $14 billion on the video releases of their films and almost $16 billion on television licensing, while losing over $2 billion at the theaters (admittedly, much of the profit/loss mix probably has to do with wacky Hollywood cost accounting, but at any rate theaters have certainly declined recently). It's clear that theaters aren't working the way they should, and I think the most obvious solution is for films that aren't well served by theaters simply to go straight to DVD. In the new system, films that do not require massive sound systems and are not likely to enjoy a two-month theater run get to premiere at Blockbuster.
The obvious problem that exists with this proposal is that "direct-to-video" has always been synonymous with "clunker." This really shouldn't be--there are some films that are made for theaters and some that aren't. But if you think eschewing a theatrical run is a death knell, take a look at Disney. After releasing successful animated films, its sequels have primarily gone direct to video. After Pocahontas became a hit in theaters, Disney made rental/home video hits out of Pocahontas: Journey to a New World, Pocahontas Down Under, Pocahontas and the Ghastly Ghost Town, Pocahontas Meets the Jetsons, Pocahontas vs. The Harlem Globetrotters, and Pocahontas2K.
The key is to expand the public's perception of what qualifies as a direct-to-DVD release. In order to help transition consumers to a new way of viewing movie rentals, studios should start things off with a near-blockbuster, a comedy or drama starring a Cameron Diaz or a George Clooney, with essentially the same promotion a big-time theater release would receive.
A distribution system that has shifted in favor of rentals means some big changes for film promotion. For theater releases, it’s all about opening weekend, which almost always establishes a high point for revenues and precedes a geometric decline over the following weeks. Presumably, a film that’s starting out in rental outlets can be a little smarter about promotion. Rather than an all-out media blitz, studios could use a phased approach to advertising and television appearances, staying longer in consumers’ minds and retaining the ability to adapt promotions to changing perceptions and other new developments.
Whatever the future movie distribution arrangement may be, it is obvious that movie theaters will need to make some changes. Considering the cost, the distance, and the cell phones and talking, movie theaters are beginning to lose the battle with home theaters. In a word, they’re boring. To become the meeting places they used to be, they should take a page from drive-ins, Rocky Horror, and other innovative theater concepts of years past. Theaters that serve meals, invite participation, and show old movies in new ways are doing quite well, and they could well be more sustainable than a stale viewing experience that is entirely dependent on Hollywood’s ability to produce movies that are not themselves stale.
Every year, Hollywood gets together, hands out some statues, and pats itself on the back, proclaiming the love that everyone else has for what they do. That love, though, is not a given, at least not any longer. If box office receipts are any indication, the way consumers want to experience movies is changing, and movie studios can position themselves well for the future if they stop pointing fingers and start listening to movie watchers.
But I haven't gone to see it yet. Two things have stood in my way. The first is the fact that, at the time of its initial Austin release, the film was showing only in one inconveniently located theater at an inconvenient time. The second, and most important, is the frustration I experienced with the thought that I even have to go to a theater to see this movie.
With all of the problems the film industry has been experiencing lately, there's been a lot of talk about the problems that have been created by DVDs and home theaters, as if movie studios are locked into the current business model forever. Like record companies, film companies find themselves at a crossroads, and like record companies, they will continue their downward spiral unless they try to adjust to consumers rather than dictating to them.
It seems to me that the lure of the theater has always been twofold: it is an experience and it’s a deliverer of content. For many movies, primarily action, horror, science fiction, and the like, the theater provides the ideal setting in which to experience a film. It also provides a destination for couples and for groups that has been a part of American culture for generations. But in many other circumstances, the movie theater has always been the only way to see a film that you really don't care where you see it.
Given that theaters have played such a large role in the development of the movie industry, it's understandable that any noteworthy film must pass through them. But looking at it with a fresh set of eyes, it's peculiar that if, heaven forbid, you want to see Must Love Dogs, you must choose between spending a ton of money to see it on the big screen and waiting several months for it to come out on DVD. What value does the theater add for a film like that, or for countless other films that are making pointless pit stops at movie theaters? If we could rebuild film distribution from scratch it would probably look completely different than the system we have arrived at. The good news is that we can still get there in a few steps:
1) Destigmatize direct-to-video releases
2) Release DVDs more quickly, in many cases bypassing theaters altogether
3) Align film promotion with distribution
4) Make theaters fun again
In 2004, the big six movie studios made profits of almost $14 billion on the video releases of their films and almost $16 billion on television licensing, while losing over $2 billion at the theaters (admittedly, much of the profit/loss mix probably has to do with wacky Hollywood cost accounting, but at any rate theaters have certainly declined recently). It's clear that theaters aren't working the way they should, and I think the most obvious solution is for films that aren't well served by theaters simply to go straight to DVD. In the new system, films that do not require massive sound systems and are not likely to enjoy a two-month theater run get to premiere at Blockbuster.
The obvious problem that exists with this proposal is that "direct-to-video" has always been synonymous with "clunker." This really shouldn't be--there are some films that are made for theaters and some that aren't. But if you think eschewing a theatrical run is a death knell, take a look at Disney. After releasing successful animated films, its sequels have primarily gone direct to video. After Pocahontas became a hit in theaters, Disney made rental/home video hits out of Pocahontas: Journey to a New World, Pocahontas Down Under, Pocahontas and the Ghastly Ghost Town, Pocahontas Meets the Jetsons, Pocahontas vs. The Harlem Globetrotters, and Pocahontas2K.
The key is to expand the public's perception of what qualifies as a direct-to-DVD release. In order to help transition consumers to a new way of viewing movie rentals, studios should start things off with a near-blockbuster, a comedy or drama starring a Cameron Diaz or a George Clooney, with essentially the same promotion a big-time theater release would receive.
A distribution system that has shifted in favor of rentals means some big changes for film promotion. For theater releases, it’s all about opening weekend, which almost always establishes a high point for revenues and precedes a geometric decline over the following weeks. Presumably, a film that’s starting out in rental outlets can be a little smarter about promotion. Rather than an all-out media blitz, studios could use a phased approach to advertising and television appearances, staying longer in consumers’ minds and retaining the ability to adapt promotions to changing perceptions and other new developments.
Whatever the future movie distribution arrangement may be, it is obvious that movie theaters will need to make some changes. Considering the cost, the distance, and the cell phones and talking, movie theaters are beginning to lose the battle with home theaters. In a word, they’re boring. To become the meeting places they used to be, they should take a page from drive-ins, Rocky Horror, and other innovative theater concepts of years past. Theaters that serve meals, invite participation, and show old movies in new ways are doing quite well, and they could well be more sustainable than a stale viewing experience that is entirely dependent on Hollywood’s ability to produce movies that are not themselves stale.
Every year, Hollywood gets together, hands out some statues, and pats itself on the back, proclaiming the love that everyone else has for what they do. That love, though, is not a given, at least not any longer. If box office receipts are any indication, the way consumers want to experience movies is changing, and movie studios can position themselves well for the future if they stop pointing fingers and start listening to movie watchers.
Sunday, September 4, 2005
Three Days in September
This weekend I was lucky enough to see all three games the Cardinals played against the Astros in Houston.
Remember when Mr. Burns wanted to charge the town of Springfield for power so he built a big sun blocker to keep the town in perpetual darkness? I can’t help but think that C. M. Burns was brought in as a consultant on the construction of Enron Field. Like the sun blocker, the roof at Minute Maid Park is capable of moving but only serves the purpose of keeping the sun out. The last seven games I have attended in Houston have all featured a closed roof. It seems like attaching to your stadium a cool thing like a “retractable roof” comes with a responsibility, namely, to open it every now and again. Otherwise what you’ve got is a plain old roof. The sun is nice to have during a ballgame. That’s all I’m saying.
Friday, September 2, 2005
The first game looked to be the most lopsided matchup. Mark Mulder went for the Cardinals against Ezequiel Astacio, and he was about as perfect as you can be while giving up two runs. In the second inning, two bloop hits and an error led to the two runs. In the third, Mulder issued only a walk. In the fourth through eighth, Mulder retired all eighteen batters consecutively, and the ball never left the infield. For the Cards, hits were steady, but the Astros were able to work around much of the damage. Astacio allowed eight hits in 5 1/3 innings, but he walked none, and the three runs he allowed came from opposite field home runs to Molina (solo) and Edmonds (two runs). When the eighth inning ended, the Cardinals had three runs on ten hits, and the Astros had two runs on two hits.
Enter Jason Isringhausen. The first batter he faced was Morgan Ensberg, who homered to give Houston three runs on three hits. The crazy thing about it is that I had a bad feeling before Izzy came in. Not that he’s an unreliable closer, but you wonder about removing Mulder from his masterful appearance and bringing in someone who hasn’t had a lot of work lately. But he did end the inning with two strikeouts and a ground out to send the game into extras.
In the top of the tenth, Pujols led off with a double, was bunted to third by Edmonds, and was brought home by John Rodriguez on one of the gutsiest squeeze play calls I’ve ever seen. John Rodriguez? Sometimes I think La Russa does these things just to entertain himself.
In the bottom of the inning, Ausmus went yard on Isringhausen. Blown save number two, essentially.
The Cards were retired in order in the eleventh and twelfth. And they handed the ball to Cal Eldred for the bottom halves of those innings, which made me rest easy. I’ve always liked Eldred. I think part of it is his story, as profiled in Three Nights in August. Part of it is seeing him at spring training last year. I was standing about five feet from him, on the other side of a chain link fence, watching him endure a few autograph hounds. One guy was carting around a big box, in which he had multiple 8 x 10 photographs of each player. He set down his box right by Eldred, fished around for a while, and dug out a picture of Eldred wearing a Chicago White Sox uniform. He rolled it up and passed it through the fence, and when he got it back it begrudgingly bore the signature of one of the newest Cardinals. Spring training taught me what an absolute beating autograph signing is, and I’ve always respected guys who do a lot of it. (Kudos to David Eckstein for going above and beyond the call of duty during this series--joking with fans during throwing drills and signing after doing some stretching.) Also, I think Eldred’s a very consistent reliever. And he got the job done, working around a leadoff double in the 11th and, after giving up a single in the 12th, benefiting from Pujols’s read-the-bunt-play-perfectly-and-sprint-and-slide-toward-the-ball-and-field-and-make-a-perfect-throw-to-get-the-lead-runner greatness.
Edmonds led off the 13th with a home run. In the bottom, Ensberg led off with a single off Tavarez but was forced out at second on a very bad call on a sacrifice bunt play. Lane singled, and Tavarez intentionally walked Vizcaino to load the bases for Orlando Palmeiro. La Russa brought in King, who plunked in the tying run and was immediately taken out. Reyes then got Ausmus to pop out but allowed the winning run to score on a Bruntlett single to left. It was a very strange half inning that capped off probably the greatest game I’ve ever seen.
Saturday, September 3, 2005
Today was one of those days that made me think back a ways. In 1985, a guy named John Tudor joined the St. Louis Cardinals. After a 1-7 start, he finished the year 21-8, finishing the year almost unhittable. In most seasons, almost unhittable will get you a Cy Young award, but unfortunately for Tudor a kid named Dwight Gooden was genuinely unhittable that year. Tudor’s ERA was a sublime 1.93; Gooden’s was an unreal 1.53.
What John Tudor was unable to do in 1985, Carpenter might be able to do in 2005. No Cards pitcher has won a Cy Young since Bob Gibson, but Carp’s the real deal. I was there for his brilliant 2-0 victory over Andy Petitte back in June. Before today's game I did a little research and discovered that the Astros had scored one run off him in 24 innings this year. I had a chance to see Chris Carpenter win his 20th game and take a big lead in the Cy Young race, but he would have to get past his old mentor Roger Clemens.
The Cardinals used to have incredible trouble with Roger Clemens, until game 7 of the 2004 NLCS. Since then they have wins in 3 of 4 games against him, and in the one they lost they scored four runs on him.
Carpenter worked around trouble in the first and second, getting two guys out between third and home and allowing just one run to score despite allowing four straight hits (and three straight doubles) across the two innings. The Cardinals took a 2-1 lead in an inning in which only Pujols’s lead off single left the infield. A walk, an error, and a swinging bunt single created the rest of the damage.
Clemens left after five because of a hamstring injury. Berkman’s sixth inning homer took him off the hook for the loss, but Cardinal runs in the 7th and 8th gave Carpenter all he would need. He went the distance, retiring the final 11. Hugs all around as Carpenter set himself further apart from the rest of the field. He is now 3-0 against Clemens and Dontrelle Willis.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
The usually hittable Wandy Rodriguez faced the minimum number of batters through five innings, thanks to a couple nifty snags of hard hit balls by Willy Tavares. Meanwhile, the resurgent Jason Marquis gave up a homer to Lance Berkman in the fourth.
In the top of the sixth, Rodriguez walked the Nunez, leading off the inning from the 7 spot, and hit Luna with a pitch. The baserunners were advanced by a Marquis bunt and brought in by an Edmonds single.
After the Berkman homer, Marquis was nearly perfect. He gave up one hit over the last 5 1/3 and retired the last seven. In the perfect fifth and sixth, he retired two by strikeout and had four balls tapped back to him. He threw six pitches in the eighth and, oh yeah, went the distance in a 4-1 win.
Here’s my stat of the series: 26 to 16 1/3. Over the three games, Cardinals starters averaged three more innings than Astros starters. Rodriguez was the workhorse of the Astros staff with six innings pitched; Mulder, who threw eight but easily could have gone nine, was the laggard of the Cards staff.
Remember when Mr. Burns wanted to charge the town of Springfield for power so he built a big sun blocker to keep the town in perpetual darkness? I can’t help but think that C. M. Burns was brought in as a consultant on the construction of Enron Field. Like the sun blocker, the roof at Minute Maid Park is capable of moving but only serves the purpose of keeping the sun out. The last seven games I have attended in Houston have all featured a closed roof. It seems like attaching to your stadium a cool thing like a “retractable roof” comes with a responsibility, namely, to open it every now and again. Otherwise what you’ve got is a plain old roof. The sun is nice to have during a ballgame. That’s all I’m saying.
Friday, September 2, 2005
The first game looked to be the most lopsided matchup. Mark Mulder went for the Cardinals against Ezequiel Astacio, and he was about as perfect as you can be while giving up two runs. In the second inning, two bloop hits and an error led to the two runs. In the third, Mulder issued only a walk. In the fourth through eighth, Mulder retired all eighteen batters consecutively, and the ball never left the infield. For the Cards, hits were steady, but the Astros were able to work around much of the damage. Astacio allowed eight hits in 5 1/3 innings, but he walked none, and the three runs he allowed came from opposite field home runs to Molina (solo) and Edmonds (two runs). When the eighth inning ended, the Cardinals had three runs on ten hits, and the Astros had two runs on two hits.
Enter Jason Isringhausen. The first batter he faced was Morgan Ensberg, who homered to give Houston three runs on three hits. The crazy thing about it is that I had a bad feeling before Izzy came in. Not that he’s an unreliable closer, but you wonder about removing Mulder from his masterful appearance and bringing in someone who hasn’t had a lot of work lately. But he did end the inning with two strikeouts and a ground out to send the game into extras.
In the top of the tenth, Pujols led off with a double, was bunted to third by Edmonds, and was brought home by John Rodriguez on one of the gutsiest squeeze play calls I’ve ever seen. John Rodriguez? Sometimes I think La Russa does these things just to entertain himself.
In the bottom of the inning, Ausmus went yard on Isringhausen. Blown save number two, essentially.
The Cards were retired in order in the eleventh and twelfth. And they handed the ball to Cal Eldred for the bottom halves of those innings, which made me rest easy. I’ve always liked Eldred. I think part of it is his story, as profiled in Three Nights in August. Part of it is seeing him at spring training last year. I was standing about five feet from him, on the other side of a chain link fence, watching him endure a few autograph hounds. One guy was carting around a big box, in which he had multiple 8 x 10 photographs of each player. He set down his box right by Eldred, fished around for a while, and dug out a picture of Eldred wearing a Chicago White Sox uniform. He rolled it up and passed it through the fence, and when he got it back it begrudgingly bore the signature of one of the newest Cardinals. Spring training taught me what an absolute beating autograph signing is, and I’ve always respected guys who do a lot of it. (Kudos to David Eckstein for going above and beyond the call of duty during this series--joking with fans during throwing drills and signing after doing some stretching.) Also, I think Eldred’s a very consistent reliever. And he got the job done, working around a leadoff double in the 11th and, after giving up a single in the 12th, benefiting from Pujols’s read-the-bunt-play-perfectly-and-sprint-and-slide-toward-the-ball-and-field-and-make-a-perfect-throw-to-get-the-lead-runner greatness.
Edmonds led off the 13th with a home run. In the bottom, Ensberg led off with a single off Tavarez but was forced out at second on a very bad call on a sacrifice bunt play. Lane singled, and Tavarez intentionally walked Vizcaino to load the bases for Orlando Palmeiro. La Russa brought in King, who plunked in the tying run and was immediately taken out. Reyes then got Ausmus to pop out but allowed the winning run to score on a Bruntlett single to left. It was a very strange half inning that capped off probably the greatest game I’ve ever seen.
Saturday, September 3, 2005
Today was one of those days that made me think back a ways. In 1985, a guy named John Tudor joined the St. Louis Cardinals. After a 1-7 start, he finished the year 21-8, finishing the year almost unhittable. In most seasons, almost unhittable will get you a Cy Young award, but unfortunately for Tudor a kid named Dwight Gooden was genuinely unhittable that year. Tudor’s ERA was a sublime 1.93; Gooden’s was an unreal 1.53.
What John Tudor was unable to do in 1985, Carpenter might be able to do in 2005. No Cards pitcher has won a Cy Young since Bob Gibson, but Carp’s the real deal. I was there for his brilliant 2-0 victory over Andy Petitte back in June. Before today's game I did a little research and discovered that the Astros had scored one run off him in 24 innings this year. I had a chance to see Chris Carpenter win his 20th game and take a big lead in the Cy Young race, but he would have to get past his old mentor Roger Clemens.
The Cardinals used to have incredible trouble with Roger Clemens, until game 7 of the 2004 NLCS. Since then they have wins in 3 of 4 games against him, and in the one they lost they scored four runs on him.
Carpenter worked around trouble in the first and second, getting two guys out between third and home and allowing just one run to score despite allowing four straight hits (and three straight doubles) across the two innings. The Cardinals took a 2-1 lead in an inning in which only Pujols’s lead off single left the infield. A walk, an error, and a swinging bunt single created the rest of the damage.
Clemens left after five because of a hamstring injury. Berkman’s sixth inning homer took him off the hook for the loss, but Cardinal runs in the 7th and 8th gave Carpenter all he would need. He went the distance, retiring the final 11. Hugs all around as Carpenter set himself further apart from the rest of the field. He is now 3-0 against Clemens and Dontrelle Willis.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
The usually hittable Wandy Rodriguez faced the minimum number of batters through five innings, thanks to a couple nifty snags of hard hit balls by Willy Tavares. Meanwhile, the resurgent Jason Marquis gave up a homer to Lance Berkman in the fourth.
In the top of the sixth, Rodriguez walked the Nunez, leading off the inning from the 7 spot, and hit Luna with a pitch. The baserunners were advanced by a Marquis bunt and brought in by an Edmonds single.
After the Berkman homer, Marquis was nearly perfect. He gave up one hit over the last 5 1/3 and retired the last seven. In the perfect fifth and sixth, he retired two by strikeout and had four balls tapped back to him. He threw six pitches in the eighth and, oh yeah, went the distance in a 4-1 win.
Here’s my stat of the series: 26 to 16 1/3. Over the three games, Cardinals starters averaged three more innings than Astros starters. Rodriguez was the workhorse of the Astros staff with six innings pitched; Mulder, who threw eight but easily could have gone nine, was the laggard of the Cards staff.
Saturday, September 3, 2005
What’s in your wallet? Too much money, apparently.
I just saw a noteworthy commercial. It involved Capital One and its Viking characters. As the spot opens, some sort of counselor is talking about how he’s had to get the plunderers new jobs since they can’t attack people with inferior credit cards, because everyone is now using Capital One credit cards. The scenes that follow show how inept these men are at the jobs of today: one serves ice cream to a child using his hand as a scooper, another wrecks a car as a valet, and so on. Well, I’ve got a job for them: end the disturbing proliferation of serial commercials. Use force if necessary.
In past years, we would occasionally see a commercial character that was so memorable that we were actually interested in seeing it again. Characters like the Budweiser frogs, the Energizer bunny, and the Chick-Fil-A cows made us laugh and also bled into everyday conversations in a way that justified their appearing in multiple commercials.
Lately, though, it had taken a lot less for brands to christen themselves as being worthy of serial commercials. A great example from last year was Guinness Draught. The Guinness ads all operated under the same framework: two animated, turn of the century (19th-20th) men with handlebar mustaches discuss their new invention of Guinness Draught in a bottle, and they also stumble upon other useful inventions. These discoveries are generally of something that will allow the men to enjoy their Guinness more, like a six-pack or a can opener. After announcing their discovery, the men say, “Brilliant!” and then they toast another bottle of Guinness. The ads reminded consumers of the old-timey nature of Guinness Draught, and they impressed that Guinness has been a trailblazer in the world of beer. After a while, though, they stranded off message. In one commercial, the two men are discussing the inconvenience of their telegraph machines, when one man mentions that he has invented something new: the telephone. “Brilliant!” they both say, and they drink another bottle of Guinness. The commercials started off being about the product, and they ended up being about two characters I’m not sure anybody cared about.
Same thing with Capital One. These Viking characters may have been part of delivering a product message, but I question whether their popular appeal or their connection to the brand is strong enough to make these stand-alone sequels work.
I wonder whether this is happening because of a disconnect between the creators of these commercials and their audience. I would imagine that the marketing folks and ad agency for Capital One genuinely believe that they have created something original and are proud enough that they want to show us their creation again, and again, and again. But how many conversations have you been in where somebody said, “Did you see what the Vikings did this time?”
I know a lot of ad junkies see these commercials perpetuated to see where the story goes. But to me, and I suspect to many people who watch commercials somewhat passively, if your commercial has no buzz appeal, then you’re wasting your money by drawing out a story and taking your characters further and further away from the brand.
In past years, we would occasionally see a commercial character that was so memorable that we were actually interested in seeing it again. Characters like the Budweiser frogs, the Energizer bunny, and the Chick-Fil-A cows made us laugh and also bled into everyday conversations in a way that justified their appearing in multiple commercials.
Lately, though, it had taken a lot less for brands to christen themselves as being worthy of serial commercials. A great example from last year was Guinness Draught. The Guinness ads all operated under the same framework: two animated, turn of the century (19th-20th) men with handlebar mustaches discuss their new invention of Guinness Draught in a bottle, and they also stumble upon other useful inventions. These discoveries are generally of something that will allow the men to enjoy their Guinness more, like a six-pack or a can opener. After announcing their discovery, the men say, “Brilliant!” and then they toast another bottle of Guinness. The ads reminded consumers of the old-timey nature of Guinness Draught, and they impressed that Guinness has been a trailblazer in the world of beer. After a while, though, they stranded off message. In one commercial, the two men are discussing the inconvenience of their telegraph machines, when one man mentions that he has invented something new: the telephone. “Brilliant!” they both say, and they drink another bottle of Guinness. The commercials started off being about the product, and they ended up being about two characters I’m not sure anybody cared about.
Same thing with Capital One. These Viking characters may have been part of delivering a product message, but I question whether their popular appeal or their connection to the brand is strong enough to make these stand-alone sequels work.
I wonder whether this is happening because of a disconnect between the creators of these commercials and their audience. I would imagine that the marketing folks and ad agency for Capital One genuinely believe that they have created something original and are proud enough that they want to show us their creation again, and again, and again. But how many conversations have you been in where somebody said, “Did you see what the Vikings did this time?”
I know a lot of ad junkies see these commercials perpetuated to see where the story goes. But to me, and I suspect to many people who watch commercials somewhat passively, if your commercial has no buzz appeal, then you’re wasting your money by drawing out a story and taking your characters further and further away from the brand.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
The Top 100 They Might Be Giants Songs of All Time
This list is aimed at the overlap between possibly the two smallest groups in the universe: people who can reocgnize a hundred They Might Be Giants songs and people who read my blog.
1. She’s an Angel
2. Destination Moon
3. Dinner Bell
4. Stalk of Wheat
5. Renew My Subscription
6. Finished With Lies (Mink Car version)
7. Birdhouse in Your Soul
8. Doctor Worm
9. 4 of 2
10. Broke in Two
11. Rhythm Section Want Ad
12. We’ve Got a World That Swings
13. Sensurround
14. Ana Ng
15. The House at the Top of the Tree
16. Mammal
17. Hey, Mr. DJ, I Thought You Said We Had a Deal
18. Bangs
19. My Man
20. Reprehensible
21. Letterbox
22. Experimental Film
23. Asheville (The Orange Peel)
24. Dead
25. She was a Hotel Detective (Back to Skull)
26. Cyclops Rock
27. London (The Astoria)
28. Don’t Let’s Start
29. The Statue Got Me High
30. I Palindrome I
31. Welcome to the Jungle
32. Man, It’s So Loud in Here
33. Hollywood (West Hollywood House of Blues)
34. Flying V
35. Purple Toupee
36. No!
37. Where Your Eyes Don’t Go
38. Spine
39. Thunderbird
40. We Want a Rock
41. Finished With Lies (Live version)
42. Where Do They Make Balloons?
43. Hovering Sombrero
44. Monsters of Mud
45. Sleeping in the Flowers
46. Spiraling Shape
47. Bastard Wants to Hit Me
48. Another First Kiss
49. Sleepwalkers
50. Charleston (The Music Farm)
51. Till My Head Falls Off
52. Fun Assassin
53. Someone Keeps Moving My Chair
54. Memo to Human Resources
55. Fingertips
56. Lullaby to Nightmares
57. Metal Detector
58. Au Contraire
59. Austin (Stubb’s)
60. Feast of Lights
61. No One Knows My Plan
62. Towson (Recher Theatre)
63. My Evil Twin
64. D&W
65. It’s Not My Birthday
66. Damn Good Times
67. I Should Be Allowed to Think
68. They’ll Need a Crane
69. First Kiss
70. Subliminal
71. Drinking
72. Impossible
73. Rest Awhile
74. Why Does the Sun Shine? (The Sun is a Mass of Incandescent Gas) (Live version)
75. No Answer
76. Out of Jail
77. Museum of Idiots
78. We’re the Replacements
79. Meet James Ensor
80. Love is Eternity
81. Ant
82. Can You Find It?
83. Operators are Standing By
84. They Got Lost
85. All Alone
86. Nightgown of the Sullen Moon
87. Stormy Pinkness
88. Save Your Life
89. I am a Human Head
90. Am I Awake
91. Certain People I Could Name
92. New Haven (Toad’s Place)
93. On the Drag
94. Counterfeit Faker
95. Different Town
96. Your Racist Friend
97. The World’s Address
98. Columbia, SC (The Blue Note)
99. Courage the Cowardly Dog
100. Pittsburgh (Mr. Small’s Theatre)
1. She’s an Angel
2. Destination Moon
3. Dinner Bell
4. Stalk of Wheat
5. Renew My Subscription
6. Finished With Lies (Mink Car version)
7. Birdhouse in Your Soul
8. Doctor Worm
9. 4 of 2
10. Broke in Two
11. Rhythm Section Want Ad
12. We’ve Got a World That Swings
13. Sensurround
14. Ana Ng
15. The House at the Top of the Tree
16. Mammal
17. Hey, Mr. DJ, I Thought You Said We Had a Deal
18. Bangs
19. My Man
20. Reprehensible
21. Letterbox
22. Experimental Film
23. Asheville (The Orange Peel)
24. Dead
25. She was a Hotel Detective (Back to Skull)
26. Cyclops Rock
27. London (The Astoria)
28. Don’t Let’s Start
29. The Statue Got Me High
30. I Palindrome I
31. Welcome to the Jungle
32. Man, It’s So Loud in Here
33. Hollywood (West Hollywood House of Blues)
34. Flying V
35. Purple Toupee
36. No!
37. Where Your Eyes Don’t Go
38. Spine
39. Thunderbird
40. We Want a Rock
41. Finished With Lies (Live version)
42. Where Do They Make Balloons?
43. Hovering Sombrero
44. Monsters of Mud
45. Sleeping in the Flowers
46. Spiraling Shape
47. Bastard Wants to Hit Me
48. Another First Kiss
49. Sleepwalkers
50. Charleston (The Music Farm)
51. Till My Head Falls Off
52. Fun Assassin
53. Someone Keeps Moving My Chair
54. Memo to Human Resources
55. Fingertips
56. Lullaby to Nightmares
57. Metal Detector
58. Au Contraire
59. Austin (Stubb’s)
60. Feast of Lights
61. No One Knows My Plan
62. Towson (Recher Theatre)
63. My Evil Twin
64. D&W
65. It’s Not My Birthday
66. Damn Good Times
67. I Should Be Allowed to Think
68. They’ll Need a Crane
69. First Kiss
70. Subliminal
71. Drinking
72. Impossible
73. Rest Awhile
74. Why Does the Sun Shine? (The Sun is a Mass of Incandescent Gas) (Live version)
75. No Answer
76. Out of Jail
77. Museum of Idiots
78. We’re the Replacements
79. Meet James Ensor
80. Love is Eternity
81. Ant
82. Can You Find It?
83. Operators are Standing By
84. They Got Lost
85. All Alone
86. Nightgown of the Sullen Moon
87. Stormy Pinkness
88. Save Your Life
89. I am a Human Head
90. Am I Awake
91. Certain People I Could Name
92. New Haven (Toad’s Place)
93. On the Drag
94. Counterfeit Faker
95. Different Town
96. Your Racist Friend
97. The World’s Address
98. Columbia, SC (The Blue Note)
99. Courage the Cowardly Dog
100. Pittsburgh (Mr. Small’s Theatre)
Saturday, August 20, 2005
The Top 50 Positions in Team Sports
1. Small forward (basketball)
2. Shortstop (baseball)
3. Center fielder (baseball)
4. Middle linebacker (football)
5. Shooting guard (basketball)
6. Quarterback (football)
7. Midfielder (soccer)
8. Point guard (basketball)
9. Left fielder (baseball)
10. Right wing (hockey)
11. Third baseman (baseball)
12. Goalie (soccer)
13. Free safety (football)
14. Starting pitcher (baseball)
15. Second baseman (baseball)
16. Outside linebacker (football)
17. Running back (football)
18. Kick/punt returner (football)
19. Power forward (basketball)
20. Tight end (football)
21. Center (hockey)
22. Center (basketball)
23. Fullback (football)
24. Right fielder (baseball)
25. Left wing (hockey)
26. Strong safety (football)
27. Wide receiver (football)
28. Defenseman (soccer)
29. Wedge breaker (football)
30. First baseman (baseball)
31. Defensive end (football)
32. Pinch hitter (baseball)
33. Defenseman (hockey)
34. Forward (soccer)
35. Pinch runner (baseball)
36. Closer (baseball)
37. Cornerback (football)
38. Defensive tackle (football)
39. Designated hitter (baseball)
40. Place kicker (football)
41. Middle reliever (baseball)
42. Goalie (hockey)
43. Offensive guard (football)
44. Punter (football)
45. Offensive tackle (football)
46. Long snapper (football)
47. Holder (football)
48. Goon (hockey)
49. Catcher (baseball)
50. Center (football)
Note: I've mixed some "behavioral" positions in with the regular ones where appropriate. You won't find "goon" or even "pinch runner" on a depth chart, but there are certain roles that need to be considered don't fit nicely into any one position.
2. Shortstop (baseball)
3. Center fielder (baseball)
4. Middle linebacker (football)
5. Shooting guard (basketball)
6. Quarterback (football)
7. Midfielder (soccer)
8. Point guard (basketball)
9. Left fielder (baseball)
10. Right wing (hockey)
11. Third baseman (baseball)
12. Goalie (soccer)
13. Free safety (football)
14. Starting pitcher (baseball)
15. Second baseman (baseball)
16. Outside linebacker (football)
17. Running back (football)
18. Kick/punt returner (football)
19. Power forward (basketball)
20. Tight end (football)
21. Center (hockey)
22. Center (basketball)
23. Fullback (football)
24. Right fielder (baseball)
25. Left wing (hockey)
26. Strong safety (football)
27. Wide receiver (football)
28. Defenseman (soccer)
29. Wedge breaker (football)
30. First baseman (baseball)
31. Defensive end (football)
32. Pinch hitter (baseball)
33. Defenseman (hockey)
34. Forward (soccer)
35. Pinch runner (baseball)
36. Closer (baseball)
37. Cornerback (football)
38. Defensive tackle (football)
39. Designated hitter (baseball)
40. Place kicker (football)
41. Middle reliever (baseball)
42. Goalie (hockey)
43. Offensive guard (football)
44. Punter (football)
45. Offensive tackle (football)
46. Long snapper (football)
47. Holder (football)
48. Goon (hockey)
49. Catcher (baseball)
50. Center (football)
Note: I've mixed some "behavioral" positions in with the regular ones where appropriate. You won't find "goon" or even "pinch runner" on a depth chart, but there are certain roles that need to be considered don't fit nicely into any one position.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Branding an Abduction Information Service
As I was watching a baseball game on Sunday, something crawled across the bottom of the screen that made me take notice immediately: Amber Alert! Ever since the Amber Alert was just a local Dallas warning system, I've grown accustomed to paying attention to the forthcoming information on an abducted child. Only this time there was no information. The scroll at the bottom of the screen was simply reporting the results of the AMBER Alert Portal Indy 300 at Kentucky Speedway.
This has to be a new step for a public service like the Amber Alert, and I'm not sure what to make of these types of organizations sponsoring things like sporting events. My initial reaction when I saw it was concern for the dilution of a phrase that is used only in very specific emergency situations. Like it or not, if every football game you watched featured the Flash Flood Warning Starting Lineups, the warning might lose some of its immediacy in an actual emergency.
On the other hand, the event was meant to coincide with Kentucky's rolling out an upgraded Amber Alert system, and as a public service it probably deserves more attention than whatever would have otherwise preceded the name of the event. But if they wish to pursue a course like this, those who "market" the Amber Alert should be careful. Services that subsist on the public's trust are quite different from soft drinks and SUVs: where consumer goods are concerned with gaining brand equity, a program like Amber Alert, which has already achieved collaboration between law enforcement, the media, and the public, might be more concerned with losing brand equity.
p.s. The Amber Alert was begun in the Dallas area, inspired by Amber Hagerman. When it was expanded nationally, some other cities protested that the inspirations for their local alert systems would be forgotten. So the government stepped in with an ingenious solution. I didn't realize this until just now, but the AMBER Alert is no longer named after Amber Hagerman. AMBER is an acronym standing for America's Missing: Broadcast Emergency Response.
This has to be a new step for a public service like the Amber Alert, and I'm not sure what to make of these types of organizations sponsoring things like sporting events. My initial reaction when I saw it was concern for the dilution of a phrase that is used only in very specific emergency situations. Like it or not, if every football game you watched featured the Flash Flood Warning Starting Lineups, the warning might lose some of its immediacy in an actual emergency.
On the other hand, the event was meant to coincide with Kentucky's rolling out an upgraded Amber Alert system, and as a public service it probably deserves more attention than whatever would have otherwise preceded the name of the event. But if they wish to pursue a course like this, those who "market" the Amber Alert should be careful. Services that subsist on the public's trust are quite different from soft drinks and SUVs: where consumer goods are concerned with gaining brand equity, a program like Amber Alert, which has already achieved collaboration between law enforcement, the media, and the public, might be more concerned with losing brand equity.
p.s. The Amber Alert was begun in the Dallas area, inspired by Amber Hagerman. When it was expanded nationally, some other cities protested that the inspirations for their local alert systems would be forgotten. So the government stepped in with an ingenious solution. I didn't realize this until just now, but the AMBER Alert is no longer named after Amber Hagerman. AMBER is an acronym standing for America's Missing: Broadcast Emergency Response.
Tuesday, August 9, 2005
The Top 35 BBQ Joints I’ve Eaten At
I realize that I'm missing some of the big spots like Rendezvous, but this still seems like a pretty good list. Where applicable, I've indicated some of what makes the place stand out.
1. John Mueller’s/JMueller (Austin, Texas) (I've been to both incarnations of this one, the building on Manor and the trailer on South First, which miraculously appeared six years after the brick-and-mortar restaurant vanished.)
2. Franklin (Austin, Texas) (It truly is the best brisket you'll ever have, but don't sleep on the pulled pork.)
3. Salt Lick (Driftwood, Texas) (bonus points for being the only place I've had my picture taken with Bevo, and for the family style all-you-can-eat dinner)
4. Rudy’s (Austin, Texas) (bonus points for the creamed corn)
5. (tie) Corky’s (Memphis, Tennessee) (bonus points for best pork shoulder)
Arthur Bryant's (Kansas City, Kansas) (bonus points for the best sandwich and the most succinct ordering)
7. Sonny Bryan’s (Dallas, Texas) (bonus points for the school desks and best onion rings)
8. Meyer’s (Elgin, Texas) (bonus points for being halfway between Aggie football and Longhorn football, and for the best sausage)
9. Opie's (Spicewood, Texas)
10. Stubb’s (Austin, Texas) (bonus points for the music)
11. McClard’s (Hot Springs, Arkansas) (bonus points for the tamales)
12. Luling City Market (Luling, Texas) (bonus points for being the first place I ate off butcher paper)
13. Public Eye (Memphis, Tennessee) (sympathy points for burning down)
14. Goode Company (Houston, Texas) (bonus points for jambalaya)
15. Penguin Ed’s B&B (Fayetteville, Arkansas) (bonus points for the sliced pork sandwiches)
16. Pig-N-Whistle (Memphis, Tennessee)
17. County Line (Austin, Texas) (bonus points for the bread)
18. Spring Creek (Dallas, Texas) (bonus points for the rolls, cobbler, and ice cream)
19. Germantown Commissary (Germantown, Tennessee)
20. Ruby’s (Austin, Texas)
21. Whole Foods Market (Austin, Texas) (bonus points for the habanero sausage)
22. Pok-e-Jo's (Austin, Texas)
23. Iron Works (Austin, Texas)
24. Kruez Market (Lockhart, Texas)
25. Railhead (Fort Worth, Texas)
26. Lambert's (Austin, Texas)
27. Famous Dave's (Wichita, Kansas) (bonus points for the regional sauces)
28. Southside Market (Elgin, Texas)
29. Little Richard's (Winston-Salem, North Carolina) (Tough to evaluate--the chopped pork was, in my opinion, subpar, but the ribs more than made up for it. Good hush puppies, too.)
30. Gridley’s (Memphis, Tennessee)
31. Swinging Door (Richmond, Texas)
32. Colter's (Fort Worth, Texas)
33. Jerry Mikeska's (Columbus, Texas)
34. Tom's (College Station, Texas)
35. Peter's (Ellinger, Texas)
1. John Mueller’s/JMueller (Austin, Texas) (I've been to both incarnations of this one, the building on Manor and the trailer on South First, which miraculously appeared six years after the brick-and-mortar restaurant vanished.)
2. Franklin (Austin, Texas) (It truly is the best brisket you'll ever have, but don't sleep on the pulled pork.)
3. Salt Lick (Driftwood, Texas) (bonus points for being the only place I've had my picture taken with Bevo, and for the family style all-you-can-eat dinner)
4. Rudy’s (Austin, Texas) (bonus points for the creamed corn)
5. (tie) Corky’s (Memphis, Tennessee) (bonus points for best pork shoulder)
Arthur Bryant's (Kansas City, Kansas) (bonus points for the best sandwich and the most succinct ordering)
7. Sonny Bryan’s (Dallas, Texas) (bonus points for the school desks and best onion rings)
8. Meyer’s (Elgin, Texas) (bonus points for being halfway between Aggie football and Longhorn football, and for the best sausage)
9. Opie's (Spicewood, Texas)
10. Stubb’s (Austin, Texas) (bonus points for the music)
11. McClard’s (Hot Springs, Arkansas) (bonus points for the tamales)
12. Luling City Market (Luling, Texas) (bonus points for being the first place I ate off butcher paper)
13. Public Eye (Memphis, Tennessee) (sympathy points for burning down)
14. Goode Company (Houston, Texas) (bonus points for jambalaya)
15. Penguin Ed’s B&B (Fayetteville, Arkansas) (bonus points for the sliced pork sandwiches)
16. Pig-N-Whistle (Memphis, Tennessee)
17. County Line (Austin, Texas) (bonus points for the bread)
18. Spring Creek (Dallas, Texas) (bonus points for the rolls, cobbler, and ice cream)
19. Germantown Commissary (Germantown, Tennessee)
20. Ruby’s (Austin, Texas)
21. Whole Foods Market (Austin, Texas) (bonus points for the habanero sausage)
22. Pok-e-Jo's (Austin, Texas)
23. Iron Works (Austin, Texas)
24. Kruez Market (Lockhart, Texas)
25. Railhead (Fort Worth, Texas)
26. Lambert's (Austin, Texas)
27. Famous Dave's (Wichita, Kansas) (bonus points for the regional sauces)
28. Southside Market (Elgin, Texas)
29. Little Richard's (Winston-Salem, North Carolina) (Tough to evaluate--the chopped pork was, in my opinion, subpar, but the ribs more than made up for it. Good hush puppies, too.)
30. Gridley’s (Memphis, Tennessee)
31. Swinging Door (Richmond, Texas)
32. Colter's (Fort Worth, Texas)
33. Jerry Mikeska's (Columbus, Texas)
34. Tom's (College Station, Texas)
35. Peter's (Ellinger, Texas)
Wednesday, August 3, 2005
The Eternal Sunshine of the Disheveled Shoebox
This is a story about a new kind of sports activism.
Back in 2001, the story of young Greg "Toe" Nash was gaining a lot of attention among gullible sports junkies, which is to say that he was all the rage in Daniel Lauve's Texas apartment. At first, Toe Nash sounded a lot like Sidd Finch, the Mets' barefoot Zen fireballer whom George Plimpton created for Sports Illustrated as an April Fools joke. (If you haven't read the story of Sidd Finch, then stop whatever you're doing and read it.) But Toe Nash, as revealed by Peter Gammons, was for real. He was a 6'6", 215-pound Little League phenom who had quit school and disappeared into the cane fields of Louisiana. When some scouts came to look at him, he hit monster homers from both sides of the plate and showcased his 95 mph fastball and drop-off-the-table curve. Once scouts from other teams had seen him, they spread the word that they had seen the next Babe Ruth. His talents were so good that his seventh-grade education and fear of civilization were seen as minor problems to be worked out.
Also in 2001, a newly-elected George W. Bush lowered the bottom marginal tax rate, giving me an extra $300 to play with. For some reason, I found myself in a place I hadn't been in several years: a baseball card shop, talking with the owner about her encounters with Stan Musial, Ozzie Smith, Willie McGee, and others. I decided to spend some of my rebate money on some baseball cards: $25 on an Albert Pujols rookie card, $1 on a Stan Musial/Mark McGwire card (the woman asked me if I was buying the card because of McGwire, and I said, "No, Musial," which prompted her trip down memory lane), and a few dollars on a Tampa Bay Devil Rays Toe Nash rookie card.
The Toe Nash card found its place at the bottom of some box and stayed there until the next year, when Toe's name came up once again. This time, he was arrested for aggravated rape of a 15-year-old girl. He pleaded guilty to the lesser charge of sex with a minor and spent eight months in prison. When I learned of the seriousness and credibility of the charges, I tore the baseball card in half and threw it in the trash.*
There was something very gratifying about disposing of that card. You've gotta understand that for a certain type of guy from a certain era (which has unfortunately passed), the baseball card is like a player's identity captured on cardboard. As funny as it may sound, when I threw away that card, I felt like I was erasing Toe Nash from baseball history.
As nice as that one act was, it was still just a single, solitary act. I wonder what would happen if a) many people had done what I did and b) the player for whom the "message" was intended actually received the message.
Imagine a prominent player, let's say Rafael Palmeiro, arriving at the clubhouse to find a huge sack of mail right next to his locker. He opens it, and out spill a few thousand cards bearing his image, sent in by thousands of fans who don't like the feeling they get in the pit of their stomach when they see Raffy's cards next to those of players they still respect and admire.
For a certain type of sports fan, I think this is a very powerful image. As an adult, I can accept that we speak logically about what Palmeiro did wrong and how MLB should respond, but that doesn't satisfy the 9-year-old in me. That kid can still tell you exactly what Raffy's 1987 Topps "Future Stars" card looks like (even though I haven't seen it in a few years and can't dig it up right now--it's in storage) and has an emotional reaction to the steroid controversy that's not satisfied by 10-game suspensions.
I'm proposing a very public, impactful, and cathartic form of sports activism. Every time a player is shown to have used steroids, he has his baseball cards returned to him from every fan who can't stand possessing them. And if I'm a young player a few lockers down from Rafael Palmeiro, that sight would send a much stronger message than anything I would see from Major League Baseball, or from the players' union, or in the media.
*Having gone back and looked at the current version of the Toe Nash story, I wonder whether I was justified in tearing up the baseball card. Nash claims that he and the girl had consensual sex, and the girl has established a record of inventing rape charges. Hopefully Nash, who was dropped by the Devil Rays, picked up by the Reds, and dropped by the Reds after an arrest for assault, can turn things around, though his baseball life is almost certainly over.
Back in 2001, the story of young Greg "Toe" Nash was gaining a lot of attention among gullible sports junkies, which is to say that he was all the rage in Daniel Lauve's Texas apartment. At first, Toe Nash sounded a lot like Sidd Finch, the Mets' barefoot Zen fireballer whom George Plimpton created for Sports Illustrated as an April Fools joke. (If you haven't read the story of Sidd Finch, then stop whatever you're doing and read it.) But Toe Nash, as revealed by Peter Gammons, was for real. He was a 6'6", 215-pound Little League phenom who had quit school and disappeared into the cane fields of Louisiana. When some scouts came to look at him, he hit monster homers from both sides of the plate and showcased his 95 mph fastball and drop-off-the-table curve. Once scouts from other teams had seen him, they spread the word that they had seen the next Babe Ruth. His talents were so good that his seventh-grade education and fear of civilization were seen as minor problems to be worked out.
Also in 2001, a newly-elected George W. Bush lowered the bottom marginal tax rate, giving me an extra $300 to play with. For some reason, I found myself in a place I hadn't been in several years: a baseball card shop, talking with the owner about her encounters with Stan Musial, Ozzie Smith, Willie McGee, and others. I decided to spend some of my rebate money on some baseball cards: $25 on an Albert Pujols rookie card, $1 on a Stan Musial/Mark McGwire card (the woman asked me if I was buying the card because of McGwire, and I said, "No, Musial," which prompted her trip down memory lane), and a few dollars on a Tampa Bay Devil Rays Toe Nash rookie card.
The Toe Nash card found its place at the bottom of some box and stayed there until the next year, when Toe's name came up once again. This time, he was arrested for aggravated rape of a 15-year-old girl. He pleaded guilty to the lesser charge of sex with a minor and spent eight months in prison. When I learned of the seriousness and credibility of the charges, I tore the baseball card in half and threw it in the trash.*
There was something very gratifying about disposing of that card. You've gotta understand that for a certain type of guy from a certain era (which has unfortunately passed), the baseball card is like a player's identity captured on cardboard. As funny as it may sound, when I threw away that card, I felt like I was erasing Toe Nash from baseball history.
As nice as that one act was, it was still just a single, solitary act. I wonder what would happen if a) many people had done what I did and b) the player for whom the "message" was intended actually received the message.
Imagine a prominent player, let's say Rafael Palmeiro, arriving at the clubhouse to find a huge sack of mail right next to his locker. He opens it, and out spill a few thousand cards bearing his image, sent in by thousands of fans who don't like the feeling they get in the pit of their stomach when they see Raffy's cards next to those of players they still respect and admire.
For a certain type of sports fan, I think this is a very powerful image. As an adult, I can accept that we speak logically about what Palmeiro did wrong and how MLB should respond, but that doesn't satisfy the 9-year-old in me. That kid can still tell you exactly what Raffy's 1987 Topps "Future Stars" card looks like (even though I haven't seen it in a few years and can't dig it up right now--it's in storage) and has an emotional reaction to the steroid controversy that's not satisfied by 10-game suspensions.
I'm proposing a very public, impactful, and cathartic form of sports activism. Every time a player is shown to have used steroids, he has his baseball cards returned to him from every fan who can't stand possessing them. And if I'm a young player a few lockers down from Rafael Palmeiro, that sight would send a much stronger message than anything I would see from Major League Baseball, or from the players' union, or in the media.
*Having gone back and looked at the current version of the Toe Nash story, I wonder whether I was justified in tearing up the baseball card. Nash claims that he and the girl had consensual sex, and the girl has established a record of inventing rape charges. Hopefully Nash, who was dropped by the Devil Rays, picked up by the Reds, and dropped by the Reds after an arrest for assault, can turn things around, though his baseball life is almost certainly over.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
The Top 75 Beatles Songs of All Time
1. The Long and Winding Road
2. Hey Bulldog
3. Two of Us
4. Here Comes the Sun
5. Paperback Writer
6. We Can Work It Out
7. Happiness is a Warm Gun
8. Blackbird
9. Penny Lane
10. She Loves You
11. Nowhere Man
12. Please Please Me
13. Mean Mr. Mustard/Polythene Pam/She Came in Through the Bathroom Window
14. Rain
15. Lovely Rita
16. For No One
17. Help!
18. Back in the U.S.S.R.
19. From Me To You
20. If I Fell
21. Let It Be
22. A Hard Day’s Night
23. Martha My Dear
24. Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End
25. Hey Jude
26. I’ll Follow the Sun
27. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
28. I’ll Be Back
29. This Boy
30. Don’t Let Me Down
31. Magical Mystery Tour
32. Rocky Raccoon
33. Lady Madonna
34. The Ballad of John and Yoko
35. Strawberry Fields Forever
36. Sexy Sadie
37. I Saw Her Standing There
38. Fixing a Hole
39. Get Back
40. I Feel Fine
41. I’ve Just Seen a Face
42. Don’t Pass Me By
43. I Should Have Known Better
44. Your Mother Should Know
45. Good Morning, Good Morning
46. I am the Walrus
47. In My Life
48. Here, There, and Everywhere
49. Little Child
50. Piggies
51. Yesterday
52. Cry Baby Cry
53. All Together Now
54. Hello Goodbye
55. Got to Get You Into My Life
56. Eight Days a Week
57. Savoy Truffle
58. Good Day Sunshine
59. Devil in Her Heart
60. Tell Me Why
61. Something
62. I’m a Loser
63. The Fool on the Hill
64. You Never Give Me Your Money
65. The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill
66. Birthday
67. And Your Bird Can Sing
68. Octopus’s Garden
69. Day Tripper
70. Glass Onion
71. I Want You (She’s So Heavy)
72. If I Needed Someone
73. Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite
74. Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey
75. Mother Nature’s Son
2. Hey Bulldog
3. Two of Us
4. Here Comes the Sun
5. Paperback Writer
6. We Can Work It Out
7. Happiness is a Warm Gun
8. Blackbird
9. Penny Lane
10. She Loves You
11. Nowhere Man
12. Please Please Me
13. Mean Mr. Mustard/Polythene Pam/She Came in Through the Bathroom Window
14. Rain
15. Lovely Rita
16. For No One
17. Help!
18. Back in the U.S.S.R.
19. From Me To You
20. If I Fell
21. Let It Be
22. A Hard Day’s Night
23. Martha My Dear
24. Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End
25. Hey Jude
26. I’ll Follow the Sun
27. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
28. I’ll Be Back
29. This Boy
30. Don’t Let Me Down
31. Magical Mystery Tour
32. Rocky Raccoon
33. Lady Madonna
34. The Ballad of John and Yoko
35. Strawberry Fields Forever
36. Sexy Sadie
37. I Saw Her Standing There
38. Fixing a Hole
39. Get Back
40. I Feel Fine
41. I’ve Just Seen a Face
42. Don’t Pass Me By
43. I Should Have Known Better
44. Your Mother Should Know
45. Good Morning, Good Morning
46. I am the Walrus
47. In My Life
48. Here, There, and Everywhere
49. Little Child
50. Piggies
51. Yesterday
52. Cry Baby Cry
53. All Together Now
54. Hello Goodbye
55. Got to Get You Into My Life
56. Eight Days a Week
57. Savoy Truffle
58. Good Day Sunshine
59. Devil in Her Heart
60. Tell Me Why
61. Something
62. I’m a Loser
63. The Fool on the Hill
64. You Never Give Me Your Money
65. The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill
66. Birthday
67. And Your Bird Can Sing
68. Octopus’s Garden
69. Day Tripper
70. Glass Onion
71. I Want You (She’s So Heavy)
72. If I Needed Someone
73. Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite
74. Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey
75. Mother Nature’s Son
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Quick Hits
We who are about to be voted off salute you
Having seen the direction of reality television, I'm convinced that I really need to become a celebrity. That way, the next time I need to decide where to eat lunch, or what channel to watch, or what barber to use, I can just make a reality show out of it and profit from my inability to choose these things on my own.
I've thought for a while that reality television has the ability to reverse the democratization that television has brought. Television, like radio before it, brought news and entertainment to rich and poor alike. Reality television reminds me a little more of the gladiators from Roman times, as desperate people get onto these shows and generally make fools of themselves, receiving either a thumbs up or a thumbs down from a judge, producer, or celebrity. It gives hopefuls the illusion of upward mobility but arguably leaves most participants worse off than they started. It's like the lottery, if losing at the lottery came with the possibility of having your worst moments seen by the entire country.
"Did you order the code red?"
I'm not an unintelligent human being, but I've gotta admit that the whole Karl Rove ordeal has got my head spinning. It reminds me a lot of the first five or six times I saw A Few Good Men. I always managed to miss the first half hour or so when it came on TV, so it always gave me tired head, with all its talk of who ordered what when and who knew what and what the chain of command was and what's proper procedure compared with what actually happened. Same thing with Karl Rove: I'm having trouble following a story I picked up sort of late, and on top of the complexity you've got the pundits on both sides offering their 100% contradictory versions of what happened. It looks like the only way out of this is if Patrick Fitzgerald can put Rove on the stand and have an "I want the truth" moment.
p.s. Patrick Fitzgerald was also the name of a kid in Cub Scouts with me back in the third grade. His claim to fame was one day when his mom was talking about George Washington crossing the Delaware and he insisted that she call it the "Dela-under-ware." And she did.
Crimes Against Logic
Crimes Against Logic, the book I'm reading right now, is the Ike Turner of books. It's a book about the logical mistakes people make, and it is in many places brilliant, with many moments that will have you nodding your head. The problem is that author Jamie Whyte is flat-out angry for the entire book. He shows contempt for people who are not as intelligent or careful as he claims to be. Rather than simply describing where we all fall short, he lapses into a tone that drags his book into becoming a chore. Still, it's got enough brilliance to keep you on board. But just barely.
Having seen the direction of reality television, I'm convinced that I really need to become a celebrity. That way, the next time I need to decide where to eat lunch, or what channel to watch, or what barber to use, I can just make a reality show out of it and profit from my inability to choose these things on my own.
I've thought for a while that reality television has the ability to reverse the democratization that television has brought. Television, like radio before it, brought news and entertainment to rich and poor alike. Reality television reminds me a little more of the gladiators from Roman times, as desperate people get onto these shows and generally make fools of themselves, receiving either a thumbs up or a thumbs down from a judge, producer, or celebrity. It gives hopefuls the illusion of upward mobility but arguably leaves most participants worse off than they started. It's like the lottery, if losing at the lottery came with the possibility of having your worst moments seen by the entire country.
"Did you order the code red?"
I'm not an unintelligent human being, but I've gotta admit that the whole Karl Rove ordeal has got my head spinning. It reminds me a lot of the first five or six times I saw A Few Good Men. I always managed to miss the first half hour or so when it came on TV, so it always gave me tired head, with all its talk of who ordered what when and who knew what and what the chain of command was and what's proper procedure compared with what actually happened. Same thing with Karl Rove: I'm having trouble following a story I picked up sort of late, and on top of the complexity you've got the pundits on both sides offering their 100% contradictory versions of what happened. It looks like the only way out of this is if Patrick Fitzgerald can put Rove on the stand and have an "I want the truth" moment.
p.s. Patrick Fitzgerald was also the name of a kid in Cub Scouts with me back in the third grade. His claim to fame was one day when his mom was talking about George Washington crossing the Delaware and he insisted that she call it the "Dela-under-ware." And she did.
Crimes Against Logic
Crimes Against Logic, the book I'm reading right now, is the Ike Turner of books. It's a book about the logical mistakes people make, and it is in many places brilliant, with many moments that will have you nodding your head. The problem is that author Jamie Whyte is flat-out angry for the entire book. He shows contempt for people who are not as intelligent or careful as he claims to be. Rather than simply describing where we all fall short, he lapses into a tone that drags his book into becoming a chore. Still, it's got enough brilliance to keep you on board. But just barely.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Diet Pepsi: The Settled Choice of a Familiar Generation
Diet Pepsi's newest commercial seems clever enough. But given the positions that Coke and Pepsi have spent years staking out, it can also be seen as somewhat of a departure from how Pepsi wants us to view it with respect to Coke.
The commercial takes place on a beach. Outside a small building sit two vending machines, one with Diet Coke and the other with Diet Pepsi. As the Lovin' Spoonful's "Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind" plays, a man approaches the vending machines, thinks for a second, and chooses Diet Pepsi. A forklift then comes along and takes away the Diet Coke machine, replacing it with Diet Coke with Splenda. A woman chooses Diet Pepsi, at which point another forklift removes Diet Coke with Splenda and inserts Coca-Cola Zero. Then Coca-Cola Zero is replaced by the next Diet Coke product, whose name is obscured.
Granted, these are not the flagship brands, but the direction Pepsi is going is certainly interesting. For about as long as there have been cola wars, the positioning of the two has been well known. Coke is the established standard: "Coke is it," "It's the real thing," "Always Coca-Cola." Pepsi is younger, the up-and-comer: "Pepsi now," "The choice of a new generation," "Be young, have fun, drink Pepsi," "Generation next." The latest commercial tells a different story--Diet Pepsi is the constant that people continue to prefer, irrespective of whatever the latest trendy product offering is from Diet Coke.
How meaningful is this change of direction? Another prominent commercial shows Diet Pepsi dancing to the Ramones in a convenience store fridge while stodgy old Diet Coke complains about the noise, so the message of the vending machine commercial appears unique. Which makes it even more peculiar. But maybe it will be successful, so long as people forget about Pepsi One.
The commercial takes place on a beach. Outside a small building sit two vending machines, one with Diet Coke and the other with Diet Pepsi. As the Lovin' Spoonful's "Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind" plays, a man approaches the vending machines, thinks for a second, and chooses Diet Pepsi. A forklift then comes along and takes away the Diet Coke machine, replacing it with Diet Coke with Splenda. A woman chooses Diet Pepsi, at which point another forklift removes Diet Coke with Splenda and inserts Coca-Cola Zero. Then Coca-Cola Zero is replaced by the next Diet Coke product, whose name is obscured.
Granted, these are not the flagship brands, but the direction Pepsi is going is certainly interesting. For about as long as there have been cola wars, the positioning of the two has been well known. Coke is the established standard: "Coke is it," "It's the real thing," "Always Coca-Cola." Pepsi is younger, the up-and-comer: "Pepsi now," "The choice of a new generation," "Be young, have fun, drink Pepsi," "Generation next." The latest commercial tells a different story--Diet Pepsi is the constant that people continue to prefer, irrespective of whatever the latest trendy product offering is from Diet Coke.
How meaningful is this change of direction? Another prominent commercial shows Diet Pepsi dancing to the Ramones in a convenience store fridge while stodgy old Diet Coke complains about the noise, so the message of the vending machine commercial appears unique. Which makes it even more peculiar. But maybe it will be successful, so long as people forget about Pepsi One.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
The Top 60 Cartoon Characters of All Time
1. Homer Simpson (The Simpsons)
2. Mr. Peabody and Sherman (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
3. Wile E. Coyote (Looney Tunes) (includes his most notable incarnation in the Roadrunner series, as well as the Super Genius foil to Bugs Bunny and as Ralph Wolf versus Sam Sheepdog)
4. Bullwinkle J. Moose (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
5. Pepe Le Pew (Looney Tunes)
6. Milhouse Van Houten (The Simpsons)
7. Yosemite Sam (Looney Tunes)
8. Snidely Whiplash (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
9. Daffy Duck (Looney Tunes)
10. Bugs Bunny (Looney Tunes)
11. Rocket J. Squirrel (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
12. SpongeBob SquarePants
13. Augie Doggie and Doggie Daddy (Hanna-Barbera)
14. Tigger
15. Charlie Brown
16. Ralph Wiggum (The Simpsons)
17. Droopy Dog
18. Tom the Cat (Hanna-Barbera)*
19. George of the Jungle
20. Foghorn Leghorn (Looney Tunes)
21. Snagglepuss (Hanna-Barbera)
22. The Tasmanian Devil (Looney Tunes)
23. Hank Hill (King of the Hill)
24. Underdog
25. Captain Caveman (Hanna-Barbera)
26. Speedy Gonzalez (Looney Tunes)
27. J. Wellington Wimpy (Popeye)
28. Elmer Fudd (Looney Tunes)
29. Space Ghost (Hanna-Barbera)
30. Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
31. Ren and Stimpy
32. Sylvester J. Pussycat Senior (Looney Tunes)
33. George Jetson (Hanna-Barbera)
34. Mighty Mouse
35. Patrick the Starfish (SpongeBob Squarepants)
36. Ned Flanders (The Simpsons)
37. Mushmouth (Fat Albert)
38. Beavis and Butthead
39. Sandy Cheeks (SpongeBob SquarePants)
40. Maggie Simpson (The Simpsons)
41. Grape Ape (Hanna-Barbera)
42. Woody Woodpecker
43. Porky Pig (Looney Tunes)
44. Astro (Tralfaz) Jetson (Hanna-Barbera)
45. Marvin the Martian (Looney Tunes)
46. Hong Kong Phooey (Hanna-Barbera)
47. Felix the Cat
48. Nelson Muntz (The Simpsons)
49. Roger Rabbit
50. Inspector Gadget
51. Jabberjaw (Hanna-Barbera)
52. Shaggy (Hanna-Barbera)
53. Huckleberry Hound (Hanna-Barbera)
54. Mr. Smee (Peter Pan)
55. Dumb Donald (Fat Albert)
56. Yogi Bear (Hanna-Barbera)
57. Muttley (Hanna-Barbera)
58. The Pink Panther
59. Disco Stu (The Simpsons)
60. Monkey (Dial M for Monkey)
*I really don't want to rank Tom this highly because Tom and Jerry was really never that funny, but the fraction of a second when Tom gets his tail caught in a mousetrap or sits on a tack and then screams like a human being is always one of the funniest things I'll ever see.
2. Mr. Peabody and Sherman (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
3. Wile E. Coyote (Looney Tunes) (includes his most notable incarnation in the Roadrunner series, as well as the Super Genius foil to Bugs Bunny and as Ralph Wolf versus Sam Sheepdog)
4. Bullwinkle J. Moose (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
5. Pepe Le Pew (Looney Tunes)
6. Milhouse Van Houten (The Simpsons)
7. Yosemite Sam (Looney Tunes)
8. Snidely Whiplash (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
9. Daffy Duck (Looney Tunes)
10. Bugs Bunny (Looney Tunes)
11. Rocket J. Squirrel (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
12. SpongeBob SquarePants
13. Augie Doggie and Doggie Daddy (Hanna-Barbera)
14. Tigger
15. Charlie Brown
16. Ralph Wiggum (The Simpsons)
17. Droopy Dog
18. Tom the Cat (Hanna-Barbera)*
19. George of the Jungle
20. Foghorn Leghorn (Looney Tunes)
21. Snagglepuss (Hanna-Barbera)
22. The Tasmanian Devil (Looney Tunes)
23. Hank Hill (King of the Hill)
24. Underdog
25. Captain Caveman (Hanna-Barbera)
26. Speedy Gonzalez (Looney Tunes)
27. J. Wellington Wimpy (Popeye)
28. Elmer Fudd (Looney Tunes)
29. Space Ghost (Hanna-Barbera)
30. Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale (Rocky and Bullwinkle)
31. Ren and Stimpy
32. Sylvester J. Pussycat Senior (Looney Tunes)
33. George Jetson (Hanna-Barbera)
34. Mighty Mouse
35. Patrick the Starfish (SpongeBob Squarepants)
36. Ned Flanders (The Simpsons)
37. Mushmouth (Fat Albert)
38. Beavis and Butthead
39. Sandy Cheeks (SpongeBob SquarePants)
40. Maggie Simpson (The Simpsons)
41. Grape Ape (Hanna-Barbera)
42. Woody Woodpecker
43. Porky Pig (Looney Tunes)
44. Astro (Tralfaz) Jetson (Hanna-Barbera)
45. Marvin the Martian (Looney Tunes)
46. Hong Kong Phooey (Hanna-Barbera)
47. Felix the Cat
48. Nelson Muntz (The Simpsons)
49. Roger Rabbit
50. Inspector Gadget
51. Jabberjaw (Hanna-Barbera)
52. Shaggy (Hanna-Barbera)
53. Huckleberry Hound (Hanna-Barbera)
54. Mr. Smee (Peter Pan)
55. Dumb Donald (Fat Albert)
56. Yogi Bear (Hanna-Barbera)
57. Muttley (Hanna-Barbera)
58. The Pink Panther
59. Disco Stu (The Simpsons)
60. Monkey (Dial M for Monkey)
*I really don't want to rank Tom this highly because Tom and Jerry was really never that funny, but the fraction of a second when Tom gets his tail caught in a mousetrap or sits on a tack and then screams like a human being is always one of the funniest things I'll ever see.
Monday, July 11, 2005
If ever, oh ever, a Wiz there was…
Osborne Earl Smith was born on December 26, 1954, in Mobile, Alabama. He grew up in the Watts section of Los Angeles, where he practiced fielding outside his home using a paper bag instead of a glove. He attended California Polytechnic University on an academic scholarship, and he also played baseball. He was drafted in the fourth round of the 1977 draft by the San Diego Padres.
In his first season with the Padres, Ozzie played 159 games and finished second in the Rookie of the Year voting. In 1980, he won a Gold Glove at shortstop and set the major league record for most assists by a shortstop in a single season. In 1982, he was traded for Garry Templeton, another shortstop who was considered far superior to Smith offensively. The 1982 Cardinals won the World Series, and in the offseason Ozzie became baseball's first shortstop to earn $1 million per year. In explaining the contract, Cards manager Whitey Herzog said, "He took two hits or a run away from our opponents every game last year. That’s just as important as a guy who drives in runs."
The Cardinals of the 1980s were much like Smith himself: fast, smart, switch-hitting, able to manufacture runs, and exceptional in the field. Ozzie was the unquestioned leader of a team that included such terrors on the base paths as Vince Coleman, Willie McGee, and Andy Van Slyke. Despite not leading the team in steals, Smith was considered the team's most important base stealer by Whitey Herzog. Said Herzog, "The guy who stole the most bases that meant winning baseball games was Ozzie...Ozzie's forty-some thefts a year meant more to us than Vince's 100 did."
Smith's legacy as a shortstop is unmatched. He played in 15 consecutive All-Star games and earned 13 consecutive Gold Gloves, the most by any position player. Despite being labeled a one-dimensional player early in his career, he finished with almost 2500 hits. He holds major league records for assists and double plays.
The legacy Smith was building on the field was paralleled by the legacy he was building off the field. In 1994, he was awarded the Branch Rickey award, given to the player who personifies "service above self."
As a Padre, Ozzie said "thank you" to the fans on Fan Appreciation Day in the form of a backflip. He took the backflip to St. Louis and performed it before every home game. He once even brought his young son out onto the field to perform a somersault, which was the talk of Mrs. Adams's second grade class at Chesterfield Elementary the next morning.
For obvious reasons, Ozzie was nicknamed "The Wizard," a nickname that went a long way in describing what it felt like to go to the ballpark and see him play. Watching Ozzie play was pure magic. When he turned a double play, he didn't just jump to avoid the runner arriving at second; he floated. In 1996, Ozzie was in his final year, and rookie Doug Glanville decided to make his presence known by taking Ozzie out at second.
"So I slid where most mortal shortstops would have positioned themselves," Glanville said. "And he moved the complete opposite way to turn it. I must have missed him by 10 feet."
Of all the games I've attended in any sport, Ozzie had the greatest presence of any competitor I've ever seen. When you watch Alex Rodriguez or Randy Johnson or Barry Bonds you feel awe; when you watch Ozzie Smith you feel joy. At the same time, Ozzie made you feel sorry for all the people who would never get to see him in person.
To many people, the nickname "Wizard" encapsulates a lot about the playing career of a very gifted athlete, yes, but it also brings to mind an exceptional human being playing in a great baseball town. It elicits memories of the city that did what it was told and went crazy when Ozzie's homer bounced off the concrete support in right field to bring the Cardinals within a game of the 1985 World Series.
A primary virtue of nicknames is brevity. "Wizard" certainly accomplishes that--it packs 19 years worth of incredibly evocative sports memories into two tiny syllables.
In his first season with the Padres, Ozzie played 159 games and finished second in the Rookie of the Year voting. In 1980, he won a Gold Glove at shortstop and set the major league record for most assists by a shortstop in a single season. In 1982, he was traded for Garry Templeton, another shortstop who was considered far superior to Smith offensively. The 1982 Cardinals won the World Series, and in the offseason Ozzie became baseball's first shortstop to earn $1 million per year. In explaining the contract, Cards manager Whitey Herzog said, "He took two hits or a run away from our opponents every game last year. That’s just as important as a guy who drives in runs."
The Cardinals of the 1980s were much like Smith himself: fast, smart, switch-hitting, able to manufacture runs, and exceptional in the field. Ozzie was the unquestioned leader of a team that included such terrors on the base paths as Vince Coleman, Willie McGee, and Andy Van Slyke. Despite not leading the team in steals, Smith was considered the team's most important base stealer by Whitey Herzog. Said Herzog, "The guy who stole the most bases that meant winning baseball games was Ozzie...Ozzie's forty-some thefts a year meant more to us than Vince's 100 did."
Smith's legacy as a shortstop is unmatched. He played in 15 consecutive All-Star games and earned 13 consecutive Gold Gloves, the most by any position player. Despite being labeled a one-dimensional player early in his career, he finished with almost 2500 hits. He holds major league records for assists and double plays.
The legacy Smith was building on the field was paralleled by the legacy he was building off the field. In 1994, he was awarded the Branch Rickey award, given to the player who personifies "service above self."
As a Padre, Ozzie said "thank you" to the fans on Fan Appreciation Day in the form of a backflip. He took the backflip to St. Louis and performed it before every home game. He once even brought his young son out onto the field to perform a somersault, which was the talk of Mrs. Adams's second grade class at Chesterfield Elementary the next morning.
For obvious reasons, Ozzie was nicknamed "The Wizard," a nickname that went a long way in describing what it felt like to go to the ballpark and see him play. Watching Ozzie play was pure magic. When he turned a double play, he didn't just jump to avoid the runner arriving at second; he floated. In 1996, Ozzie was in his final year, and rookie Doug Glanville decided to make his presence known by taking Ozzie out at second.
"So I slid where most mortal shortstops would have positioned themselves," Glanville said. "And he moved the complete opposite way to turn it. I must have missed him by 10 feet."
Of all the games I've attended in any sport, Ozzie had the greatest presence of any competitor I've ever seen. When you watch Alex Rodriguez or Randy Johnson or Barry Bonds you feel awe; when you watch Ozzie Smith you feel joy. At the same time, Ozzie made you feel sorry for all the people who would never get to see him in person.
To many people, the nickname "Wizard" encapsulates a lot about the playing career of a very gifted athlete, yes, but it also brings to mind an exceptional human being playing in a great baseball town. It elicits memories of the city that did what it was told and went crazy when Ozzie's homer bounced off the concrete support in right field to bring the Cardinals within a game of the 1985 World Series.
A primary virtue of nicknames is brevity. "Wizard" certainly accomplishes that--it packs 19 years worth of incredibly evocative sports memories into two tiny syllables.
Thursday, July 7, 2005
MTV and VH1*
Last weekend's Live 8 concerts may or may not achieve their stated objective of coaxing more aid for Africa from world leaders, but they have already accomplished two very important things: getting MTV and VH1 to actually play some music (at this point reminding people that both of these networks began as music networks is like reminding people that IBM started out processing punch cards) and giving us some insight into the difference between the "personalities" of MTV and VH1.
For eight hours on Saturday, both networks ran identical Live 8 programming--identical, that is, except for the commercials that ran in between the concert coverage. Which means that Saturday's programming functioned essentially like a branding experiment: since advertisers were not buying space on unique programming, they were essentially buying the demographics drawn in by the networks themselves.
I watched Live 8 for almost two hours and catalogued the commercials on each networks, and the results were largely unsurprising. Companies buying space on VH1 think that your most important possession is your home, while those buying on MTV think that your most important possession is your CD player. VH1 featured ads for Verizon Broadband, State Farm, Furniture Row, and Sherwin Williams, while MTV had very long commercials for Slow Motion (a slow jams collection), Echoes (Pink Floyd's greatest hits), a Motley Crue best of, and an album by the Transplants. The MTV audience is clearly expected to be younger and more urban--that showed through in numerous ways, but oddly enough not in movies. Bewitched and Must Love Dogs, two standard issue romantic comedies, were advertised on MTV, while Hustle and Flow, a film about a pimp transitioning into a rap career, was featured alongside Hanes and Acura ads on VH1.
Both MTV and VH1 viewers like to eat at Dairy Queen, as that was the only commercial I saw that was shown on both networks. Both types of viewers get acne, though MTV viewers treat it with Proactiv while VH1 viewers use Neutrogena Acne Solutions. Both like music--MTV viewers use their iPods and VH1 viewers have XM Satellite Radio. Both like computers--MTVers need computers from Dell, while VH1ers need services to go with their computers like Verizon Broadband and Cox High Speed Internet.
Overall, MTV is attractive to advertisers who have "stuff" to sell. VH1 is both for stuff and the stuff to go with your stuff--the services and add-ons that separate the adults from the kids, plus all the stuff the kids can't afford. As Kent Brockman would say, "This barely qualifies as news."
*I was going to title this entry, "Raj Would Be Proud," but after having written it, I'm convinced that he wouldn't be. At all.
For eight hours on Saturday, both networks ran identical Live 8 programming--identical, that is, except for the commercials that ran in between the concert coverage. Which means that Saturday's programming functioned essentially like a branding experiment: since advertisers were not buying space on unique programming, they were essentially buying the demographics drawn in by the networks themselves.
I watched Live 8 for almost two hours and catalogued the commercials on each networks, and the results were largely unsurprising. Companies buying space on VH1 think that your most important possession is your home, while those buying on MTV think that your most important possession is your CD player. VH1 featured ads for Verizon Broadband, State Farm, Furniture Row, and Sherwin Williams, while MTV had very long commercials for Slow Motion (a slow jams collection), Echoes (Pink Floyd's greatest hits), a Motley Crue best of, and an album by the Transplants. The MTV audience is clearly expected to be younger and more urban--that showed through in numerous ways, but oddly enough not in movies. Bewitched and Must Love Dogs, two standard issue romantic comedies, were advertised on MTV, while Hustle and Flow, a film about a pimp transitioning into a rap career, was featured alongside Hanes and Acura ads on VH1.
Both MTV and VH1 viewers like to eat at Dairy Queen, as that was the only commercial I saw that was shown on both networks. Both types of viewers get acne, though MTV viewers treat it with Proactiv while VH1 viewers use Neutrogena Acne Solutions. Both like music--MTV viewers use their iPods and VH1 viewers have XM Satellite Radio. Both like computers--MTVers need computers from Dell, while VH1ers need services to go with their computers like Verizon Broadband and Cox High Speed Internet.
Overall, MTV is attractive to advertisers who have "stuff" to sell. VH1 is both for stuff and the stuff to go with your stuff--the services and add-ons that separate the adults from the kids, plus all the stuff the kids can't afford. As Kent Brockman would say, "This barely qualifies as news."
*I was going to title this entry, "Raj Would Be Proud," but after having written it, I'm convinced that he wouldn't be. At all.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
You Can Be My Wingman Anytime
With all of the talk about Tom Cruise that's been floating around, I thought it would be helpful to tell a story of how I first became acquainted with Mr. Cruise.
As a child of the 1980s, I, like many people, was fascinated with the film Top Gun. I was in the third grade when Top Gun was released, and it instantly became my absolute favorite movie. It transported me to a new world, a world in which flying machines allowed people to do superhuman things. To me, the fighter pilots in Top Gun were both my role models and my best friends. For my eighth birthday, I received a box turtle that I immediately named Willis (after my favorite character on Diff'rent Strokes). Well, after I saw Top Gun, I changed my turtle's name to Goose, to honor the memory of Tom Cruise's lost flying partner.
As for me, I was always Maverick. I admired everything about Tom Cruise's character, and I was determined to be as much like him as I possibly could. When my family was driving around in our car, I would pretend that I was in an F-16 jet trying to defeat the enemy. When we were pulling into our driveway after going out, I would ask my dad if we could buzz the tower. When my dad would say, "No," I would say, "You have to say, 'Negative, ghost rider, the pattern is full.'"
One day I made my own helmet--I took a bicycle helmet, drew some stripes on it, and wrote "MAVERICK" across the front. I would wear it around the house and even in the car, I mean fighter jet. When it was time for my ninth birthday, I told my parents I wanted a Top Gun jacket just like the one Tom Cruise had. My parents asked if I wanted Legend of Zelda instead; I said no, that all I wanted was the jacket. My parents agreed to get it for me, but they made me promise not to wear it all the time.
On June 13, 1987, I got the jacket that I dreamed of. It fit perfectly, and I never wanted to take it off. Despite my parents' wishes, I wore it whenever I could. Not only that, I insisted on being called either "Maverick" or "Tom Cruise". One time, when my parents called me "Daniel" over and over again, I went to my room and refused to come out until they corrected themselves.
After that, my parents had a long talk with me. They said that they thought my Tom Cruise fascination wouldn't ever have lasted this long and they didn't know what to do. I can even remember the word they used: "unnatural". A couple days later they sat me down and told me of a decision they had made. They were sending me to get "help". At first I refused, and I even threatened to run away. My parents stood firm, and so every Monday and Thursday I went to my appointments. I didn't like it at first--I found it just painful, but after a while I got used to it.
Things have been different for me ever since. I hung up my Top Gun jacket for good, but my respect and admiration for Tom Cruise remain. In fact, the courage he showed in dealing with Goose's death provided me with a very important example whenever I had to go to my appointments.
Now, I consider myself a well-adjusted adult, and it's all thanks to the help that my parents got me as well as the solid example provided by Maverick. So thank you, electroshock therapy...and thank YOU, Tom Cruise!
As a child of the 1980s, I, like many people, was fascinated with the film Top Gun. I was in the third grade when Top Gun was released, and it instantly became my absolute favorite movie. It transported me to a new world, a world in which flying machines allowed people to do superhuman things. To me, the fighter pilots in Top Gun were both my role models and my best friends. For my eighth birthday, I received a box turtle that I immediately named Willis (after my favorite character on Diff'rent Strokes). Well, after I saw Top Gun, I changed my turtle's name to Goose, to honor the memory of Tom Cruise's lost flying partner.
As for me, I was always Maverick. I admired everything about Tom Cruise's character, and I was determined to be as much like him as I possibly could. When my family was driving around in our car, I would pretend that I was in an F-16 jet trying to defeat the enemy. When we were pulling into our driveway after going out, I would ask my dad if we could buzz the tower. When my dad would say, "No," I would say, "You have to say, 'Negative, ghost rider, the pattern is full.'"
One day I made my own helmet--I took a bicycle helmet, drew some stripes on it, and wrote "MAVERICK" across the front. I would wear it around the house and even in the car, I mean fighter jet. When it was time for my ninth birthday, I told my parents I wanted a Top Gun jacket just like the one Tom Cruise had. My parents asked if I wanted Legend of Zelda instead; I said no, that all I wanted was the jacket. My parents agreed to get it for me, but they made me promise not to wear it all the time.
On June 13, 1987, I got the jacket that I dreamed of. It fit perfectly, and I never wanted to take it off. Despite my parents' wishes, I wore it whenever I could. Not only that, I insisted on being called either "Maverick" or "Tom Cruise". One time, when my parents called me "Daniel" over and over again, I went to my room and refused to come out until they corrected themselves.
After that, my parents had a long talk with me. They said that they thought my Tom Cruise fascination wouldn't ever have lasted this long and they didn't know what to do. I can even remember the word they used: "unnatural". A couple days later they sat me down and told me of a decision they had made. They were sending me to get "help". At first I refused, and I even threatened to run away. My parents stood firm, and so every Monday and Thursday I went to my appointments. I didn't like it at first--I found it just painful, but after a while I got used to it.
Things have been different for me ever since. I hung up my Top Gun jacket for good, but my respect and admiration for Tom Cruise remain. In fact, the courage he showed in dealing with Goose's death provided me with a very important example whenever I had to go to my appointments.
Now, I consider myself a well-adjusted adult, and it's all thanks to the help that my parents got me as well as the solid example provided by Maverick. So thank you, electroshock therapy...and thank YOU, Tom Cruise!
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Humming by the Flowered Vine
I have no idea why I like Laura Cantrell. Her music is at odds with everything else in my collection, but I can't get enough of her. Her third album shows once again why this New York country artist draws praise from music lovers of all types.
Cantrell introduced herself to the music community as the host of WFMU's "Radio Thrift Shop," in which she plays obscure songs of all genres from the last 7 or 8 decades. Her love of classic country is obvious on her show, and her albums showcase a timeless style that contrasts with today's Nashville sound, which she constantly criticizes though she was born and raised in Nashville.
On Humming by the Flowered Vine, Laura is joined by numerous guest musicians, which gives its songs a much more varied quality than her previous albums. This album has been much more meticulously produced, which, on balance, is a good thing. The added complexity is appreciated, but this album lacks the same "stepping into a time machine" quality that her first two albums had.
Like her two previous albums, this one has four songs written by Laura. A song she wrote for her first album, "Churches Off the Interstate," is the best song that's ever been written by anybody, and though none of her originals on this album is quite that good, they are better overall than her songs on any other album. I particularly like "California Rose," a tribute to Depression-era musician Rose Maddox.
Overall, this album makes me very excited. It follows the previous two albums nicely, but more importantly the progress it shows makes you anxious for what's to come in the future. Pay particular attention to "14th Street," written by Emily Spray, which I'm going to go ahead and unofficially declare a top three Cantrell song.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
The Terminal
I finally saw The Terminal--what a great film. It's one of those rare movies that weaves an interesting story from the simplest of circumstances. It had only a few characters and took place in a single building and didn't have much of a plot, but I didn't want it to end. It was great to see the workings of this mini-society that we are all familiar with just in passing through, and the film shows that surviving the day-to-day drudgery has a lot to do with your temperament. And, best of all, I finally began to understand what all the fuss over Catherine Zeta-Jones was all about.
I'm tempted to say that Frank Dixon, the customs official portrayed by Stanley Tucci, suffers from Snidely Whiplash Syndrome, but I think his story is really a lesson in organizational behavior. I've been in organizations in which the management loses its people, and The Terminal reminded me a lot of those times. Dixon begins by trying to quickly get rid of Viktor Navorski, the Eastern European who doesn't have a home. His dismissiveness turns to curiosity, which turns to contempt. How people deal with the rules of a bureaucracy is a major theme of the film. In Viktor, Dixon sees his opposite, a man who finds joy in the hand he has been dealt rather than being hamstrung by the rules. Viktor's approach to life earns the appreciation of the terminal's hourly workers, giving him a power that sometimes conflicts with Dixon's positional power. By the end of the film, Dixon is trying to undercut Viktor to preserve the hierarchy and, presumably, the rule of law.
Many times, people who have risen to a position of power tend to take a fixed sum view of the amount of power, or love, or whatever, within an organization. They think that their position affords them x units, while the level of the organization below them is entitled to x-1, the level below that to x-2, and so on. When an underling gets some attention or does things in a new way, one reaction is to restore the "natural" order by leveling that person off. After all, more for them means less for you. But a good manager sees things differently. Think back to another Tom Hanks film, Big, in which an employee who is with the company for a week unexpectedly rises to a VP position. His unsympathetic rivals are jealous, while the CEO is portrayed as intelligent in a very practical and unpretentious way.
I've worked in the terminal before. Not an actual terminal, but a place where the smartest people were all at the bottom. I had a summer job at a book warehouse in which college students (and some graduate students) worked hourly jobs and had fun, supervised by high school grads and career book warehouse employees who were convinced they had a monopoly on the right way to do things. This is an extreme example, because the management had both less education and a worse attitude, but you can probably guess the result. We formed our own little society that had its own dynamics that were separate from those of the larger organization. Any time upper management came down to squash us, it just made the subculture that much stronger.
The only critique I have of The Terminal is that I didn't really buy Tom Hanks as a Krakozian refugee. To me, Mr. Hanks will always be a castaway, an astronaut, a computer-generated cowboy doll, a guy with AIDS, a kid in an adult's body, a retarded Alabama ping pong virtuoso, or a guy who cross dresses to get a good deal on an apartment. Or a mermaid.
I'm tempted to say that Frank Dixon, the customs official portrayed by Stanley Tucci, suffers from Snidely Whiplash Syndrome, but I think his story is really a lesson in organizational behavior. I've been in organizations in which the management loses its people, and The Terminal reminded me a lot of those times. Dixon begins by trying to quickly get rid of Viktor Navorski, the Eastern European who doesn't have a home. His dismissiveness turns to curiosity, which turns to contempt. How people deal with the rules of a bureaucracy is a major theme of the film. In Viktor, Dixon sees his opposite, a man who finds joy in the hand he has been dealt rather than being hamstrung by the rules. Viktor's approach to life earns the appreciation of the terminal's hourly workers, giving him a power that sometimes conflicts with Dixon's positional power. By the end of the film, Dixon is trying to undercut Viktor to preserve the hierarchy and, presumably, the rule of law.
Many times, people who have risen to a position of power tend to take a fixed sum view of the amount of power, or love, or whatever, within an organization. They think that their position affords them x units, while the level of the organization below them is entitled to x-1, the level below that to x-2, and so on. When an underling gets some attention or does things in a new way, one reaction is to restore the "natural" order by leveling that person off. After all, more for them means less for you. But a good manager sees things differently. Think back to another Tom Hanks film, Big, in which an employee who is with the company for a week unexpectedly rises to a VP position. His unsympathetic rivals are jealous, while the CEO is portrayed as intelligent in a very practical and unpretentious way.
I've worked in the terminal before. Not an actual terminal, but a place where the smartest people were all at the bottom. I had a summer job at a book warehouse in which college students (and some graduate students) worked hourly jobs and had fun, supervised by high school grads and career book warehouse employees who were convinced they had a monopoly on the right way to do things. This is an extreme example, because the management had both less education and a worse attitude, but you can probably guess the result. We formed our own little society that had its own dynamics that were separate from those of the larger organization. Any time upper management came down to squash us, it just made the subculture that much stronger.
The only critique I have of The Terminal is that I didn't really buy Tom Hanks as a Krakozian refugee. To me, Mr. Hanks will always be a castaway, an astronaut, a computer-generated cowboy doll, a guy with AIDS, a kid in an adult's body, a retarded Alabama ping pong virtuoso, or a guy who cross dresses to get a good deal on an apartment. Or a mermaid.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
The Top 25 Stand-Up Comics of All Time
1. Steve Martin
2. Bill Cosby
3. Andy Kaufman
4. Rodney Dangerfield
5. Bob Newhart
6. Chris Rock
7. Jerry Seinfeld
8. Ray Romano
9. Johnny Carson
10. Jack Benny
11. Bud Abbott & Lou Costello
12. Jay Leno
13. Jim Carrey
14. Flip Wilson
15. Dennis Miller
16. Sid Caesar
17. Dave Chappelle
18. George Carlin
19. David Letterman
20. Jerry Stiller & Anne Meara
21. Richard Pryor
22. Milton Berle
23. Sam Kinison
24. Eddie Murphy
25. Alan King
Notes: It's tough to rate people like Letterman in a list like this. If I were ranking funny people, he'd probably be #1, but he suffers from not having done much stand up.
2. Bill Cosby
3. Andy Kaufman
4. Rodney Dangerfield
5. Bob Newhart
6. Chris Rock
7. Jerry Seinfeld
8. Ray Romano
9. Johnny Carson
10. Jack Benny
11. Bud Abbott & Lou Costello
12. Jay Leno
13. Jim Carrey
14. Flip Wilson
15. Dennis Miller
16. Sid Caesar
17. Dave Chappelle
18. George Carlin
19. David Letterman
20. Jerry Stiller & Anne Meara
21. Richard Pryor
22. Milton Berle
23. Sam Kinison
24. Eddie Murphy
25. Alan King
Notes: It's tough to rate people like Letterman in a list like this. If I were ranking funny people, he'd probably be #1, but he suffers from not having done much stand up.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
A Mathematician at the Ballpark
Ken Ross's book A Mathematician at the Ballpark could just as easily be called A Mathematician at the Race Track, or at the Mall, or at the Grocery Store. It doesn't matter that a mathematician is at the ballpark if he refuses to talk about baseball.
The book contains eight chapters. The first, called "Who's the best hitter?", explains what goes into calculating batting average, OPS, and other statistics. Is it a useful chapter? Yes, if you don't already know how to calculate these averages. Of the next seven chapters, one doesn't even mention baseball, and a couple more simply use baseball examples to teach universal lessons, like explaining that if the Braves are 3:2 favorites to win a ballgame, that means that they will win 3 out of 5 times.
One area in which the book succeeds is in proving that "streakiness," whose existence has long been debated by sports fans and statisticians, does in fact exist. Sports fans have long looked for evidence that streakiness is exists in sports despite the number of mathematicians stacked against them. Ross does give evidence of streakiness in the final chapter; unfortunately it comes from another mathematician's research, comes from the sport of bowling, and is used simply to assume streakiness in other sports.
How sad it must be to be an academic looking for a real-world application for his research. We've seen great books like the Popular Culture and Philosophy series and Freakonomics show how seemingly impractical topics can be applied to life. The groundbreaking work of statistician Bill James has shown that baseball is rich with applications for hard math. But in order to create value for true baseball fans with even the slightest understanding of mathematics, you need to do a little more than explain what an average is or show how betting works. This book should serve as a lesson: if you have a field of study you want to connect with a market interested in a different topic, make sure you can connect the two meaningfully.
The book contains eight chapters. The first, called "Who's the best hitter?", explains what goes into calculating batting average, OPS, and other statistics. Is it a useful chapter? Yes, if you don't already know how to calculate these averages. Of the next seven chapters, one doesn't even mention baseball, and a couple more simply use baseball examples to teach universal lessons, like explaining that if the Braves are 3:2 favorites to win a ballgame, that means that they will win 3 out of 5 times.
One area in which the book succeeds is in proving that "streakiness," whose existence has long been debated by sports fans and statisticians, does in fact exist. Sports fans have long looked for evidence that streakiness is exists in sports despite the number of mathematicians stacked against them. Ross does give evidence of streakiness in the final chapter; unfortunately it comes from another mathematician's research, comes from the sport of bowling, and is used simply to assume streakiness in other sports.
How sad it must be to be an academic looking for a real-world application for his research. We've seen great books like the Popular Culture and Philosophy series and Freakonomics show how seemingly impractical topics can be applied to life. The groundbreaking work of statistician Bill James has shown that baseball is rich with applications for hard math. But in order to create value for true baseball fans with even the slightest understanding of mathematics, you need to do a little more than explain what an average is or show how betting works. This book should serve as a lesson: if you have a field of study you want to connect with a market interested in a different topic, make sure you can connect the two meaningfully.
Tuesday, June 7, 2005
Three Days in June
Last weekend, I decided to attend an entire series for the first time in my life. I was partially inspired by the book Three Nights in August, which chronicles a series between the Cardinals and the Cubs. The series I went to was between the Cardinals and the Astros.
Game 1:
This is the one I was looking forward to the most. It was Chris Carpenter vs. Andy Pettitte, but more importantly it was an opportunity for my boys to get a little redemption and for me to be there to watch it. Last year in the NLCS, the Cardinals went 0-3 in Houston. Though the Cardinals have already won at the Enron Dome, er, Minute Maid Park this year, there’s a big difference between being there in person and watching on TV. I hadn’t seen any of the Cardinals’ previous victories this year, but I was there for a particularly gut-wrenching loss in game 4 of the NLCS last year.
It was my first playoff game ever--I went with my sister Cristina, and we wore matching Willie McGee jerseys, only to watch the Astros take control late with a Beltran home run. I felt horribly for a team that I had been with since spring training, but more than a little of my frustration was directed inward as my sister and I were treated less than hospitably on the way out of the ballpark. I’ve often said that only good can come from having a real investment in a sports team--whether the team wins or loses, you’ve gone through something with them that deepens your involvement and your appreciation. If I’m going to take that approach, I guess I have to accept that the games that get you down are part of that process. A lot of people, it seems, try for sports to be something else. These people live vicariously through sports in a very selective way. If their team does well, it gives meaning to their life and gives them a reason to feel superior to all the people whose favorite teams weren’t as fortunate. If their team does poorly they write the team off and call in to sports talk radio complaining about how the team’s a bunch of schmucks.
Tonight’s game I attended with my sister Cristina and my friend Elliot, who is an Astros fan but always tolerates my love of the Cardinals. We arrived in time for batting practice, and I got to see Albert Pujols play his own brand of “around the world”--starting with the right field foul pole, he would take turns hitting home runs into virtually every section of seats until he got to the no man’s land in straightaway center, and when he started hitting to left field he was content to keep hitting the railroad tracks.
The game itself may have been the best pitched game I’ve ever seen. Pettitte gave up one run through seven innings, and Carpenter was unscored upon through eight. The Astros had chances to get to Carpenter, the best being in the fifth inning. With a runner on third and one out, Willy Taveras failed to make contact on a suicide squeeze, and Adam Everett was quickly caught in a rundown. Then, Taveras singled to right, and Andy Pettitte was waved home from second. The throw from So Taguchi was a couple steps up the third base line, but remarkably Pettitte was just getting around third. The phrase “out by a mile” is so overused that it has lost all meaning, so I’ll just say that he was out by 30 feet. So, twice in the same inning, the catcher had the ball in his glove and saw a man making a beeline toward the plate while he was still only about halfway there. Which means that twice in the same inning, Yadier Molina saw two people running toward him who magically turned into giant gift-wrapped boxes with big, pretty bows on top, not unlike when the Tasmanian Devil would envision Bugs Bunny turning into a feast on a giant platter, complete with all the trimmings.
It remained a one-run game until the ninth inning, when Pujols homered to the train tracks in left, just like in BP. All in all, the game was one of the best I’d ever seen. It was tight the whole way through, with a plenty of exciting moments. And best of all, it allowed me to forget about last year’s playoffs.
Game 2:
Today was Astros Umbrella Day. It’s a good thing the umbrellas weren’t handed out for yesterday’s game, or most of them would have found their way into the third base coach’s back.
Before the game began I told my sister, “This game has the potential to get lopsided.” I should have said, “This game has the potential to get silly.” That’s the kind of win that’s especially demoralizing--the win where the other team has given up on trying to keep its game face and is all about having fun. The game has gotten so out of hand that you can no longer pretend you’re in an actual competition. It’s like when a basketball game is a blowout by halftime and the game ends with all the starters who are sitting on the bench giggling at the guy who hasn’t played all year and jacks up threes every time the ball touches his hands.
The Astros threw Wandy Rodriguez against Jason Marquis, and it looked instantly like a mismatch. Rodriguez had pitched only 11 innings through two starts, and had an ERA of about six and a half. Marquis, on the other hand, has been pitching very well and has such a good bat that he’s been used as a pinch hitter a few times this season. Heck, his batting average is about 25 points better than anybody in the Astros’ lineup.
The strike zone in today’s game was as big as I’ve ever seen, which surprisingly led to a glut of runs. After both teams traded runs in the first and failed to score in the second, things really got interesting in the third. Marquis led off with a single, Eckstein followed with a single (he took second on a throw to third), and Pujols was intentionally walked after an Edmonds strikeout. Reggie Sanders then homered, which brought out a smattering of boos from the crowd. The Cardinals plated two more runs before Jason Marquis came up again, this time with a man on and two outs. His second hit of the inning was a home run that cleared the right field foul pole by ten feet and had the ‘Stros fans booing like crazy. The Cards fans, on the other hand, were trying to hold back the giggles in a hostile environment. After that, Brandon Backe, scheduled to start in just four days, settled things down in two innings of work.
The Astros made a game of it, closing to within two runs only to lose 11-9, but the only really interesting part of the last six innings was the seventh inning stretch. Before we started singing, the public address announcer encouraged everyone to open their umbrellas and twirl them. And they did, which was bizarre.
Game 3:
Going into this day, I had only two questions: Would the Cardinals get the sweep? and Would the roof be open?
I’ve grown used to the roof at Minute Maid Park being closed, but I’ve never understood it. I always thought it was universal that people liked to see the sun shining during a ballgame, but apparently a lot of Houston prefers to have the roof closed.
I guess I should have had Roger Clemens on my mind as well. This was my first time to see him pitch in person, but for whatever reason he’s not high up on my “must see” list. Here are some of the guys I’ve made a point to see in person: Willie McGee, Tony Gwynn, Ozzie Smith, Dwight Gooden, Alex Rodriguez, and Joey Gathright (okay, so you think the last name doesn’t fit in. Just wait.) Here are some players who are next on the list: Greg Maddux, Ichiro Suzuki, and Vladimir Guerrero. But Roger has never been one of those guys I’ve ached to see. Still, the matchup was attractive. Clemens was pitching against Mark Mulder, and the last time they got together the Cardinals won 1-0 in ten innings.
The Cards looked good early, getting three runs off Clemens in the top of the first, which you would figure might hold up considering the Astros scored a total of 11 runs in Clemens’s first 7 starts. But the Astros scored five runs in the bottom of the inning, giving him more run support than in any game this year.
After two innings, with the score still 5-3, I noticed that Clemens had thrown 53 pitches and Mulder 40, and I decided to track pitch counts, figuring that the team that could get into the bullpen first could have a leg up. It didn’t work out that way. Clemens settled down with innings of 15 and 11 pitches before throwing 20 in the 5th inning and departing after giving up a hit to lead off the sixth. But Mulder was chased out after failing to retire the first two batters in the bottom of the fourth. The score didn’t change much--the final was 6-4, and the Cardinals never really looked like they were going to make a run.
As for the roof, it stayed closed. With the roof closed, Minute Maid feels more like a shopping mall than a ballpark, especially since last year’s playoff atmosphere has given way to a quieter, less lively crowd that has already seen its share of bad baseball this year. Leaving the stadium, I had kind of a mixed reaction to not being talked to by any overzealous Astros fans. It was nice not to get the drunken yelling that had greeted me almost a year ago, but today’s silence was more about apathy than politeness, which is no good. But the weekend was great overall--I’m going to have to do this again.
Game 1:
This is the one I was looking forward to the most. It was Chris Carpenter vs. Andy Pettitte, but more importantly it was an opportunity for my boys to get a little redemption and for me to be there to watch it. Last year in the NLCS, the Cardinals went 0-3 in Houston. Though the Cardinals have already won at the Enron Dome, er, Minute Maid Park this year, there’s a big difference between being there in person and watching on TV. I hadn’t seen any of the Cardinals’ previous victories this year, but I was there for a particularly gut-wrenching loss in game 4 of the NLCS last year.
It was my first playoff game ever--I went with my sister Cristina, and we wore matching Willie McGee jerseys, only to watch the Astros take control late with a Beltran home run. I felt horribly for a team that I had been with since spring training, but more than a little of my frustration was directed inward as my sister and I were treated less than hospitably on the way out of the ballpark. I’ve often said that only good can come from having a real investment in a sports team--whether the team wins or loses, you’ve gone through something with them that deepens your involvement and your appreciation. If I’m going to take that approach, I guess I have to accept that the games that get you down are part of that process. A lot of people, it seems, try for sports to be something else. These people live vicariously through sports in a very selective way. If their team does well, it gives meaning to their life and gives them a reason to feel superior to all the people whose favorite teams weren’t as fortunate. If their team does poorly they write the team off and call in to sports talk radio complaining about how the team’s a bunch of schmucks.
Tonight’s game I attended with my sister Cristina and my friend Elliot, who is an Astros fan but always tolerates my love of the Cardinals. We arrived in time for batting practice, and I got to see Albert Pujols play his own brand of “around the world”--starting with the right field foul pole, he would take turns hitting home runs into virtually every section of seats until he got to the no man’s land in straightaway center, and when he started hitting to left field he was content to keep hitting the railroad tracks.
The game itself may have been the best pitched game I’ve ever seen. Pettitte gave up one run through seven innings, and Carpenter was unscored upon through eight. The Astros had chances to get to Carpenter, the best being in the fifth inning. With a runner on third and one out, Willy Taveras failed to make contact on a suicide squeeze, and Adam Everett was quickly caught in a rundown. Then, Taveras singled to right, and Andy Pettitte was waved home from second. The throw from So Taguchi was a couple steps up the third base line, but remarkably Pettitte was just getting around third. The phrase “out by a mile” is so overused that it has lost all meaning, so I’ll just say that he was out by 30 feet. So, twice in the same inning, the catcher had the ball in his glove and saw a man making a beeline toward the plate while he was still only about halfway there. Which means that twice in the same inning, Yadier Molina saw two people running toward him who magically turned into giant gift-wrapped boxes with big, pretty bows on top, not unlike when the Tasmanian Devil would envision Bugs Bunny turning into a feast on a giant platter, complete with all the trimmings.
It remained a one-run game until the ninth inning, when Pujols homered to the train tracks in left, just like in BP. All in all, the game was one of the best I’d ever seen. It was tight the whole way through, with a plenty of exciting moments. And best of all, it allowed me to forget about last year’s playoffs.
Game 2:
Today was Astros Umbrella Day. It’s a good thing the umbrellas weren’t handed out for yesterday’s game, or most of them would have found their way into the third base coach’s back.
Before the game began I told my sister, “This game has the potential to get lopsided.” I should have said, “This game has the potential to get silly.” That’s the kind of win that’s especially demoralizing--the win where the other team has given up on trying to keep its game face and is all about having fun. The game has gotten so out of hand that you can no longer pretend you’re in an actual competition. It’s like when a basketball game is a blowout by halftime and the game ends with all the starters who are sitting on the bench giggling at the guy who hasn’t played all year and jacks up threes every time the ball touches his hands.
The Astros threw Wandy Rodriguez against Jason Marquis, and it looked instantly like a mismatch. Rodriguez had pitched only 11 innings through two starts, and had an ERA of about six and a half. Marquis, on the other hand, has been pitching very well and has such a good bat that he’s been used as a pinch hitter a few times this season. Heck, his batting average is about 25 points better than anybody in the Astros’ lineup.
The strike zone in today’s game was as big as I’ve ever seen, which surprisingly led to a glut of runs. After both teams traded runs in the first and failed to score in the second, things really got interesting in the third. Marquis led off with a single, Eckstein followed with a single (he took second on a throw to third), and Pujols was intentionally walked after an Edmonds strikeout. Reggie Sanders then homered, which brought out a smattering of boos from the crowd. The Cardinals plated two more runs before Jason Marquis came up again, this time with a man on and two outs. His second hit of the inning was a home run that cleared the right field foul pole by ten feet and had the ‘Stros fans booing like crazy. The Cards fans, on the other hand, were trying to hold back the giggles in a hostile environment. After that, Brandon Backe, scheduled to start in just four days, settled things down in two innings of work.
The Astros made a game of it, closing to within two runs only to lose 11-9, but the only really interesting part of the last six innings was the seventh inning stretch. Before we started singing, the public address announcer encouraged everyone to open their umbrellas and twirl them. And they did, which was bizarre.
Game 3:
Going into this day, I had only two questions: Would the Cardinals get the sweep? and Would the roof be open?
I’ve grown used to the roof at Minute Maid Park being closed, but I’ve never understood it. I always thought it was universal that people liked to see the sun shining during a ballgame, but apparently a lot of Houston prefers to have the roof closed.
I guess I should have had Roger Clemens on my mind as well. This was my first time to see him pitch in person, but for whatever reason he’s not high up on my “must see” list. Here are some of the guys I’ve made a point to see in person: Willie McGee, Tony Gwynn, Ozzie Smith, Dwight Gooden, Alex Rodriguez, and Joey Gathright (okay, so you think the last name doesn’t fit in. Just wait.) Here are some players who are next on the list: Greg Maddux, Ichiro Suzuki, and Vladimir Guerrero. But Roger has never been one of those guys I’ve ached to see. Still, the matchup was attractive. Clemens was pitching against Mark Mulder, and the last time they got together the Cardinals won 1-0 in ten innings.
The Cards looked good early, getting three runs off Clemens in the top of the first, which you would figure might hold up considering the Astros scored a total of 11 runs in Clemens’s first 7 starts. But the Astros scored five runs in the bottom of the inning, giving him more run support than in any game this year.
After two innings, with the score still 5-3, I noticed that Clemens had thrown 53 pitches and Mulder 40, and I decided to track pitch counts, figuring that the team that could get into the bullpen first could have a leg up. It didn’t work out that way. Clemens settled down with innings of 15 and 11 pitches before throwing 20 in the 5th inning and departing after giving up a hit to lead off the sixth. But Mulder was chased out after failing to retire the first two batters in the bottom of the fourth. The score didn’t change much--the final was 6-4, and the Cardinals never really looked like they were going to make a run.
As for the roof, it stayed closed. With the roof closed, Minute Maid feels more like a shopping mall than a ballpark, especially since last year’s playoff atmosphere has given way to a quieter, less lively crowd that has already seen its share of bad baseball this year. Leaving the stadium, I had kind of a mixed reaction to not being talked to by any overzealous Astros fans. It was nice not to get the drunken yelling that had greeted me almost a year ago, but today’s silence was more about apathy than politeness, which is no good. But the weekend was great overall--I’m going to have to do this again.
Friday, June 3, 2005
Hey Little Twelvetoes…
Every once in a while, an idea comes along that is so perfect that it can only be held onto by the biggest ivory tower eggheads in the world. Occasionally, an economist, game theorist, or mathematician will reveal to his other cloistered colleagues an idea that actually holds some practical benefit for the world at large, but mostly these ideas are meant to entertain people who want to think that it matters to speculate on the implications of time travel or cold fusion or the like. One such idea is base 12, which is simultaneously one of the most sensible and most ridiculous ideas in the world.
Last summer I was interviewed for a book on people's quirks, And I Thought I Was Crazy!. The author, Judy Reiser, was trying to get at why one of mine had to do with the number 12. (To find out what the quirk is, you'll have to buy the book.) I told her that 12 has always been my favorite number and that a lot of it had to do with the special place that 12 has in our world. Twelve describes an awful lot of things considering that we live in a base 10 world, which I've never understood but always thought was noteworthy. I thought this was pretty idiosyncratic, but I recently discovered that I have a few kindred spirits.
When I say we live in a base 10 world, I simply mean that we use 10 digits to count and perform arithmetic. The Romans based their number system on 5s and 10s, and Arabic numerals (which we use today) have standardized base 10. Thanks to this system, we can multiply by 10 just by adding a zero, which is much easier than resorting to Roman numerals.
Though we live in a base 10 world, it seems as though we really want to be in a base 12 world. Whenever possible, we express important measurements in terms of 12 rather than 10. We use 12 inches in a foot, 12 months in a year, 12 hours on a clock, and we group items for sale in dozens more often than we do tens. We do this because thinking in terms of twelve is natural, while thinking in terms of ten results from our awkward attempt to make something from the fact that we have five fingers on each hand.
In 1934, F. Emerson Andrews proposed simplifying our numbers by moving to base 12. Base 12 conforms to more of our units of measure, plus it is easier to multiply and divide in. Because 2, 3, 4, and 6 divide evenly into 12 (as opposed to only 2 and 5 for base 10), multiplication tables are much simpler, and fractions like 1/3 and 1/4 could be expressed simply as 0.4 and 0.3, respectively. Andrews suggested that we take what we now know as the numeral 12 and begin writing it as “10,” while inventing two new numerals (he called them dek and el) to replace the old 10 and 11. (For more information on Andrews and his ideas, please visit the Dozenal Society of America.) This little change has innumerable effects on the way we view the world, which Andrews detailed in his book New Numbers: How Acceptance of a Duo-Decimal System Would Simplify Mathematics.
Americans have often been ridiculed for our stubborn refusal to accept the metric system, but it’s possible that we are holding on to a superior form of measurement that is waiting only for a superior form of counting to come along. Most nations have no trouble reconciling their counting and their measuring because they have adopted the metric system, which means that they have no problem saying that a football player is 185 centimeters (1.85 meters) tall. In the United States, 72 inches does not come close to meaning 7.2 feet because it is based on twelves. If, however, we went to base 12, it would instantly become much easier to make these kinds of comparisons.
Basic arithmetic would become amazingly simple, too. I won't reproduce a multiplication table here, but suffice it to say that if you saw it you would wish we were using it. Because 2, 3, 4, and 6 all divide evenly into 12, they would all essentially be as easy as multiplying by 2 or 5 in base 10.
This is an excellent exercise in new math, but what does it all matter? Could we ever actually make the change from 10 to 12? I enjoy reading about how much better base 12 is, but it bothers me that I have yet to find anyone who has set out to determine whether we could get there.
Transitioning to base 12 may in fact be the most challenging net present value problem ever devised. The costs are unknown, the benefits are difficult (if not impossible) to quantify, the time frame is unknown, and the discount rate--well, good luck.
The costs would occur mostly in the first few years. With two new digits, you would have to remake everything that displays arabic numerals (clocks, calendars, phones, calculators, computer keyboards, etc.). Computers would need to be reprogrammed. Everyone would have to be retaught, either through a sink-or-swim instantaneous transition or by learning to use base 10 and base 12 side-by-side for a few years, as some have advocated. Either way, the training costs would be phenomenal. Money would have to change, too. Given all the changes we would need to make (and their ripple effects) it wouldn't be difficult to imagine the costs being close to a year's worth of global GDP.
What of books that contain base 10? Would they be reprinted? What of history? Did Columbus sail the ocean blue in X44 (pronounced dek four four, or ten gross four dozen and four)? Was the Declaration of Independence signed in 1040? Do we change FDR's proclamation to read, "Yesterday, December 7, 1159, a date which will live in infamy..."? Will we all remember the tragic events of 9E (nine el), 11X9? These are ridiculous questions, but they would have to be dealt with if we were to attempt a transition.
How about the benefits of duodecimal? Forget that it would be easier to count in a duodecimal system--what does that mean? Well, if you and two of your friends went in together on something costing $100, you could pay for it with $40 each, rather than having to scrounge for 33 dollars and 33.333333333 cents. Area codes could contain 20% more phone numbers, which is important in this age of cell phones. And as far as all those little calculations that would become so much easier in base 12, for the sake of argument we can represent the value of that as $0.0001 (the incremental value of each measurement or calculation compared to base 10) times 50 (the number of calculations per day) times 365 (the number of days in a year) times 6.5 billion (the population of the earth), carried out every year until the end of time.
There are other benefits. We would probably be a much more musical society. Scales and chords can be tough to learn, and there are many people who have started to learn piano, or some other instrument, only to give up. But since an octave has twelve semitones, learning music in a base-12 world would be much more intuitive, and more people would be likely to stick with it. The fact that there are untold Lennons and McCartneys out there waiting for a number base that accomodates their lack of patience with music instruction has some elusive dollar value associated with it as well.
If you did a back-of-the-envelope calculation using these costs and benefits (even asssuming the most rosy scenarios), I can't see any way you would end up saying that base 12 makes economic sense. Which is why all the mathemeticians out there, when describing their base 12 utopia, should probably keep saying, "If man had been born with 6 fingers and 6 toes..." rather than "If we were to make the switch to base 12..."
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