Crappy Pucks

So Monday was another holiday spent traveling for work. Even with the usual Power Point deadline hanging above my head, I had plenty of time to kill waiting for the red-eye from LAX to Philadelphia.  So after a few drinks watching a lackluster Celtics effort against the Miami Heat, I passed on the pub grub and went looking for a better bite to eat.

While I don't recall ever actually eating at a Wolfgang Puck restaurant, airport or otherwise, my impression of the brand was mildly favorable. In fact, I have never thought much at all about Wolfgang Puck except to note that (1) they seem to be most popular in airport terminals, and (2) I never really understood gourmet pizza.

That being said, the Puck restaurant in LAX Terminal 7 is the closest thing to a college cafeteria that I've seen, well, since my beer-swilling days at Northeastern University's Rathskellar bar. Besides garish colors and overly bright lighting, the room seems cavernous and the center is oddly devoid of tables.  Are they expecting us to dance for our dinner? (Unfortunately, no, it's just a big, half-empty room.)

Every airport bar automatically qualifies as a traveler's oasis, so I'll mute any criticism of this one.  The food is actually pretty good, and the place is clean.  But I can't resist mentioning Puck's sherbet walls and the ugliest pendant lights west of the Cayahoga River.  Both features prove my point that the room is a flashback to the golden age of teased hair and pastel aerobics leotards. Think Hot Tub Time Machine, without the hot tub. It's no surprise that Puck's Spago and its offspring eateries had their heyday in the 80's and 90's, because the namesake chef has kept a foot in that bygone era.  

I almost wish Wolfgang would embrace his period vibe, rock some Psychedelic Furs and make the waitstaff dress like Molly Ringwald. It would make Wolfgang Puck seem retro-hip, instead of looking like an odd non sequitur waiting for a long-overdue facelift. 

Good Points:
- gourmet pizza doesn't suck
- nobody stays at the bar long enough to get drunk, so the floors aren't sticky like they were in college
- the bartender made a good pour of Walker Black, once he figured out my order and dusted off the bottle
- Like opening a time capsule, you get to revisit the Reagan years without having to dress that way again

Bad Points:
- the bartender requires extra patience and only understands slow, hyper-articulated speech

- the room is oddly sad, like discovering that something you once liked wasn't all that great after all

Sent from my favorite appliance, to remind you I'm cool

A few years ago I got a tour of the international product showroom at Whirlpool's headquarters in Benton  Harbor, Michigan. Many of the washers, dryers and other devices were very different than what we're used to seeing here in the United States. I asked why some appliances were so decorative, and my host explained that in some countries washing machines are installed prominently where guests can see them, like in the center of the living room, to demonstrate the high status of the owner.

I always remembered that story as a quaint reminder of how advanced we Americans are, until I began seeing a little tagline like "Sent from my iPhone" on more and more emails, blog posts and Facebook updates. There are many versions of this "Sent from my " message, including ones for various Apple, Android and others (though Blackberry owners seem less inclined to boast these days.) The really cool messages are "Sent from my iPad2", and a few even include "4G" or "32 gig" so you won't confuse the sender's device with a less expensive model.

Reality is harder for some. As with platform shoes and cosmetic surgery, there's always the self-conscious Palm Pre user whose message says "Samsung Galaxy", sending email from darkened rooms to hide their shame.

No me. I will let my technology age gracefully, with dignity.

Sent from my dinged-up DROIDX.

Remembering the dark ages of Red Sox Nation, circa 2003

This morning I was clearing space on my hard drive and found this classic piece in a stack of old bills and letters. I saved it because it could easily be a verbatim diary entry from October '03, like a time capsule into the psyche of pre-Championship Red Sox Nation.  After seven years, two World Series, a megadeal off-season and a few odd million pink ballcaps, the days of postseason letdowns seem distant.  However, I appreciate an occasional reminder of what defined us as sports fans prior to 2004, and there is none better than this:


ESPN.com: Page 2

Friday, October 17, 2003
Updated: October 20, 10:33 AM ET

Paradise lost, again
________________________________________

By Bill Simmons
Page 2 columnist

Twenty minutes after the Yankees eliminated the Sox, I called my father to make sure he was still alive.

And that's not even a joke. I wanted to make sure Dad wasn't dead. That's what it feels like to be a Red Sox fan. You make phone calls thinking to yourself, "Hopefully, my Dad picks up, because there's at least a 5-percent chance that the Red Sox just killed him."

Well, he picked up. And we talked it through. We always do. Dad's voice was barely audible. He sounded like he just got out of surgery. Like every other Sox fan on the planet, he couldn't understand one simple question: Why didn't Grady take out Pedro? In the eighth inning, Pedro was running on fumes. Everyone knew it. Everyone but Grady Little.

Little did we know, our overmatched manager was saving his worst for last.

"He screwed up the season," Dad grumbled. "He screwed up the whole season."

So it happened again. Nothing was worse than Game Six against the Mets, but this was damned close. I don't need to tell you why. If the Red Sox were a girl, you would probably just break up with them. You would call them on the phone, explain to them calmly that you can't take it anymore, let them down as gently as possible, then move on with your life. But sports aren't like that. You're stuck with your teams from childhood. It's like being trapped in a bad marriage. You can't get out.

Hey, this is my team. I came to grips with that a long time ago. They're part of my life. Sometimes they lift me to a higher place. Sometimes they punch me in the stomach and leave me for dead. There's no rhyme or reason. And there are thousands and thousands of diehards just like me, all trapped in that same bad marriage, united by our experiences and memories. We wear Sox caps, we pack Fenway Park, we travel insane distances to support our team on the road. We always have each other. And some days are better than others.

This was one of the bad days. Given that the f**king Yankees were involved, and the way things unfolded, it may have tied for the worst.

I can't say this strongly enough: I will spend the rest of my life wondering why Grady let Pedro wilt to death in the eighth inning. This isn't Pantheon Pedro anymore; honestly, it's been over two years since he was doing his Mozart routine on the mound. Even if his best start is still better than just about anyone else's best start, asking him to throw 125-plus pitches over three-plus hours in Yankee Stadium -- in the most improbable, nerve-wracking setting imaginable -- was indefensible at best and catastrophically moronic at worst.

Unlike the other devastating losses over the years, you couldn't blame any of the Sox players for losing the series this time around (no, not even Nomar). This was a great group of guys -- a resilient, likable team that almost always came through, just like they proved in Game Six. Every time you counted them out, they came roaring back. I loved that about them. Unfortunately, they couldn't manage themselves. Switch Grady Little and Joe Torre and the Red Sox win the series. The two teams were that close.

I would rehash the eighth for you, but frankly, I'm not in the mood. Nobody in his right mind would have allowed Pedro -- 115 pitches on the odometer, struggling heroically with a three-run lead, running on the fumes of his fumes -- to pitch to Hideki Matsui. Not with flame-throwing Alan Embree waiting in the bullpen. This isn't even a debate. And the ensuing disaster -- Matsui's ground-rule double, followed by Posada's bloop single to tie the game -- wasn't just predictable, it was downright sickening. It was '86 all over again. Aaron Boone's homer in the 11th wasn't just inevitable, it was practically preordained.

Of course, the TV networks and newspapers got what they wanted: They spent the entire month gleefully rehashing those same "Curse" stories for both the Cubs and Sox, flashing graphics like "RED SOX WORLD SERIES WINS AFTER 1918: 0" and showing so many Babe Ruth pictures, you would have thought John Henry Williams had brought the Babe back to life. It was borderline pathological. Fox even made Boone's brother a guest announcer for the Sox-Yanks series -- apparently, Plan B was one of George Steinbrenner's kids. Well, here's your reward, guys: A Yankees-Marlins series that absolutely nobody will watch. Well done.

That two star-crossed franchises both blew three-run leads with five outs to go . . . sure, that's a little kooky. But the 2003 Cubs didn't lose because of a goat, and they didn't lose because of poor Steve Bartman. They lost because Dusty stupidly left Mark Prior in the game too long. They lost because their bullpen, shaky all season, imploded at the worst possible time. They lost because Gonzalez botched an easy ground ball, and because Kerry Wood didn't rise to the occasion in Game 7. That's why they lost.

It was a little more simple for the 2003 Red Sox. They fell short because of their crappy manager, to the surprise of absolutely no one who followed the team on a regular basis. I'm sure he's a nice man, and I'm sure everyone likes him . . . but when it comes right down to it, you don't want Grady Little managing your team in the "Biggest Non-World Series Game Of All-Time." I could give you about 150 Grady examples from the last two weeks -- including him breaking the major-league record for "Consecutive games with a failed hit-and-run that resulted in a double play" -- but that would be a waste of everyone's time. This man would hit on 19 at a blackjack table because "he had a feeling." That's all you need to know.

As for me, I feel like Andrew Golota just spent the last two weeks punching me in the gonads. The A's series sucked up 90 percent of the residual emotion in my body -- it was like enduring a four-hour breakup with somebody, then deciding to get back together in the end. The Debacle That Was Game Three -- Pedro acting like a baby and throwing at Garcia, Manny overreacting because Clemens threw a fastball within four feet of his head, Zimmer and Pedro re-enacting the Clubber-Mickey fight in "Rocky 3" -- took care of the rest of my emotions. For the past few days, I was walking around with one of those weird, Daryl Hannah-like half-smiles on my face, like the lights were on and nobody was home. I was tapped.

Like I wrote last week, the baseball playoffs can do that to you. My friend JackO (a Yankee fan) called me on Thursday to say, "No matter what happens, I'm a carcass right now." That's the perfect word. Carcass. Of course, he doesn't feel that way anymore, the bastard. His team came through. Mine failed. Again. You know it's a bad loss when one of your friends is saying, "I just spent the last 15 minutes reflecting on everything that's good about my life, and I guess I just have to keep doing that for the next couple of days to get through this" (actual quote from my buddy Hench).

And I'm sure this game will be a staple on ESPN Classic, and that it will definitely cost Grady Little his job -- thank God -- but honestly, the last two weeks took something out of me. You spend six months following a team, you devote something like 1,000 hours of your year to watching-reading-discussing them, and then everything vanishes in thin air. And you feel like a moron for devoting so much of your time to something so, so, so . . . (I can't even think of the right word).

Only one thing still bothers me. As a Sox fan, I take great pride in ignoring the past, thinking positively and blindly believing that "This is the year" under any and all circumstances. I don't believe in the Curse. At least, I think I don't. With that said, I watched the first 10 innings at my office last night, surrounded by a support system of friends from work. When the clock turned midnight on the East Coast, I noticed the "NY 5, Boston 5" score . . .

And I started thinking about it . . .

(Haven't I been down this road before?) . . .

And I finally made the connection.

(Oh God!)

And it weakened my knees like Kerry Wood's curveball.

It was like seeing the Ghost of Eighty-Six. Suddenly, I knew they were going to lose. I grabbed my stuff and quickly bolted out of there, looking like a guy grabbing his clothes after a bad one-night stand. My friends were in disbelief -- it was like Montecore the Tiger was dragging me off the stage. I couldn't possibly explain it to them. Ten minutes later, I walked through my front door, sat down next to the Sports Gal -- who was dutifully watching the entire game on the sofa -- then watched Aaron Boone crush that Wakefield knuckler into the stands.

I had been home for about 45 seconds. No lie.

Looking back, I can't say I was surprised . . . just like Cubs fans can't say they were surprised when the wheels came off after Gonzalez's error. As a sports fan, sometimes you know when bad things are about to happen. You recognize the depressing signs because you've been there before. So maybe that's the real "curse," those moments when you turn into Haley Joel Osment in the Sixth Sense . . . only you aren't seeing dead people, you're seeing a dead ballgame. And when it's happening to thousands of fans all at once, the resulting collective karma kills your team.

(Does any of this make sense? Of course not. I'm completely insane. The Red Sox have driven me insane. It's official.)

Anyway, my wife understands now. She only jumped on the bandwagon a few years ago, thanks to me. Now her Sox virginity has been taken; she was near tears last night. "I finally understand why you're so crazy about this team," she kept saying. "I can't imagine going through this for my entire life. This is horrible." Add another one to the list.

As for my Dad, he's still alive. When we were hanging up last night -- right after we finished rehashing Grady Little's mistakes -- I mentioned how I had to stay up late to write a column.

"You have to write something tonight?" my father said, incredulous. "Damn. I'm going to bed."

"You can go to sleep right now?" I asked.

"Of course not. I'm just too depressed to do anything else."

That's my Dad. He's 55 years old. I hope he gets to see the Red Sox win a World Series some day.

I hope.

________________________________________

Bill Simmons is a columnist for Page 2 and ESPN The Magazine, as well as one of the writers for "Jimmy Kimmel Live" on ABC



Copyright ©2003 ESPN Internet Ventures.

Outdoor inspiration from an unusual source

My family and I went back to Chicago for a wedding over the Labor Day weekend, so many messages were waiting for us when we arrived back in Lafayette last night.  One in particular was special: it was from one of my older son's new friends, and he had just returned from hiking Half Dome at Yosemite with his family.

If you're not impressed with that accomplishment, then have a look at this photo to get an idea of what the twelve hour, 15 mile Half Dome day hike actually involves.  There's also a good video about the hike on the National Parks website. Pay close attention to the final cable climb to the summit, and then then imagine an eleven year-old kid making his way up to the top. 

We expected to see boating and beach sports throughout California.  But we are happily surprised that running, cycling, hiking and camping are also very popular.  Perhaps it's the mild weather, or maybe it's the plentiful parks and open spaces, but the prevailing lifestyle is quite outdoors-oriented. We're lucky to have at least twenty parks, beaches and forests within driving distance of Lafayette.

Inspiration comes in many forms.  Thanks to my son's middle-school buddy, Carolyn and I have found a new goal for ourselves and another thing to like about California.

The "Me Party" 10-point plan, Part 2: Buy Cradles, Not Graves

Last week I began posting The "Me Party" 10-point plan for American Renewal.  In Part 1, I talked about why it's important to shift from "consumer" to "producer" thinking.  In this installment, I'll share more thoughts on what a producer economy should look like.

Part 2. Buy cradles, not graves.

Despite Joe Biden's rampant enthusiasm, I read that about one of every six dollars spent on the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act - the stimulus bill - actually went to industries where we hold a technical lead, or into nascent industries where funding might generate immediate jobs and huge long-term rewards. The rest, a vast sum, went toward redundancy, bureaucracy and bailouts. I'm impressed by GM's revival and impending IPO, but the money we spent bailing out inefficient smokestack industries and investment banks might just plug a few holes in sinking ship.  Will slowing the decline of lagging industries create the long-term jobs we need, or could that money have made a bigger difference elsewhere?

I contend that the American economy needs vision and leadership to sustain innovation, and a national industrial policy to prioritize investments. Among the many countries with successful industrial policies are China, India, Brazil, Germany and Italy. In fact, the United States employed its own form of industrial policy through NASA, DARPA, and a host of federal agencies for over half a century until the Cold War ended. The result was global leadership in computers, aerospace, communications, materials sciences, e-commerce, electronics, data management, and a host of other industries. Our industrial policies created millions of high-paying jobs and defined the modern world.

So why didn't these successful programs continue? Because without an external enemy, such forward-looking government investment soon becomes unpopular with politicians. Laissez faire conservatives oppose any kind of intervention into free markets, and would rather see Boeing, HP and other companies go it alone against heavily subsidized Airbus than risk increased taxes and regulation. Meanwhile, left wingers range from merely skeptical to openly hostile toward for-profit ventures, and would use tax dollars to subsidize labor but not businesses that create jobs. Lacking some greater purpose -- the Cold War or the Great Recession -- neither side would spend tax money on business.

Lost in that reasoning is the realization that our nation's defense, diplomacy and prosperity all rely on a healthy domestic economy. In a capitalist society, business is the greater purpose.

So does a workable policy look like?

First, the policy must eliminate international barriers to trade and level the playing field. To prevent countries from dumping products into the United States, we must establish fair and reciprocal trade relationships whereby we mirror the market access policies of our trading partners. If a foreign market is open to American products, then ours should be open to theirs. If a trading partner imposes tariffs and duties on our products, then we should do the same. Likewise, we must create a mechanism to penalize currency manipulations.

Secondly, our industrial policy must focus on long-term national goals like energy independence, a secure and efficient power grid, commercialization of space, sustainable food and water, improving public health and expanded communications infrastructure. We should funnel grants, loans and contracts into these industries and their supporting technologies, and encourage commercial applications of basic technologies. Investment in these and similar segments can create entire new industries while playing to our scientific and technological strengths.

For the most important and promising programs, we must create actual programs -- like Apollo and the Interstate Highway System -- using federal dollars to spur development. These programs will create jobs in key industries, accelerate commercial viability of emerging technologies and lead to private investment.

We must follow an up-or-out policy for mature industries. There is no such thing as "too big to fail" in a robust economy. Rather than subsidizing old, inefficient or broken business models, government should provide large tax incentives for private investment in productivity and adoption of key technologies. Likewise, we must allow the market to penalize failures to prevent artificial "bubble" economies.

Finally, we must create a healthy environment for businesses to grow and flourish throughout the United States. We must simplify and standardize business taxes and regulations. We must create consistent and enforceable zoning and licensing. Most importantly, we must improve the efficiency of the domestic labor market.

Industry has been the backbone of our society for almost one hundred and fifty years, but individual businesses can't go it alone.  We must protect our golden goose, even if it farts sometimes.

Coming next: Part 3: Quit Subsidizing Big Labor.

The "Me Party" 10-point plan for American Renewal, Pt. 1

Summer is coming to an end, and all over America the midterm election races are heating up.  Like most recent years, there are clear choices between the incumbent democrat majority and the republican minority candidates, and neither choice is very appealing.

If I haven't already told you, all the Democrat-sponsored handouts, bailouts and deficit-funded largesse are appalling and wrong-headed. Instead of helping people, this misguided spending only contributes to a death-spiral of joblessness, consumerism and crushing debt. For all the hand-wringing and rhetoric over job creation, there's been little concern as to why a trillion dollars in deficit spending hasn't stemmed unemployment.

The Republican party faces what might be the largest internal schism in a generation as old-guard conservatives are challenged by the upstart Tea Party. Personally, I consider this a sign that the GOP is reinvigorating its platform after conservatives lost their roadmap and much of their leadership through the Bush years.  However, beyond railing against taxes and big government, Tea Party leaders offer little in the way of practical solutions. And to add insult to injury, conservatives insist on defining America as a white, Christian nation despite millions of good Americans who are neither. Thus, the Republicans continue to be more of an opposition force than a truly viable alternative to the democrats.

Lost in headlines about Obama's religious beliefs and Tea Party campaign gaffs are mountains of public debt, endless corruption and a growing sense that our stature in the world is quickly eroding. While most of us regular folks realize that a new operating system is needed, our elected leaders blythely ignore the problem while fixating on the same old partisan issues.

So with that in mind, I offer a "Me Party" 10-point plan for an American Renewal, beginning with Part 1 below.

1. Stimulate production, not consumption. Check the label on nearly any WalMart product and you will see one of the two primary benefactors of our economic stimulus. China has become the workshop of the world, so it shouldn't surprise anyone that nearly every dollar we spend goes straight into creating jobs -- in China.

So why do our leaders on both sides focus on boosting consumption? Because many adhere to John Maynard Keynes' "prime the pump" economics, where spending drives production and production creates jobs. Unfortunately, Keynes lived in an era when nearly everything we bought was made here in America, so stimulating consumption naturally created American jobs. In fact, the effect of this stimulus was "multiplied" as demand flowed from producers through their suppliers. Henry Ford used the same logic in reverse when he increased hourly wages for his workers; he knew many of those extra dollars would be spent on his Model T.

Times have changed. America is no longer a "closed system" economy; most of our jobs are in service industries and today we import most consumer products. Stimulating consumer spending creates jobs in countries that produce, but few of those jobs are here in the Unites States.

Our leaders need to understand that spending won't create many American jobs, but innovation and domestic production will. Those of us who remember when a single factory supported an entire town won't be surprised by the sheer number of jobs a single production facility can generate.  It's not merely the number of bodies employed by the factory, but instead a far wider ecosystem of supplier plants, transporters, professional services to support the businesses and personal services to support the workers. I heard one estimate that every dollar spent on a finished product generates 7 dollars in spending. In a producer econony, those dollars generate jobs.

But America is no longer a low-cost producer, and every industry eventually becomes so well-understood as to be a commodity.  Therefore, we must also rely on innovation -- creativity and productivity -- to compete with low-wage nations.  Only by continually creating and recreating industries, products and services can we remain at the forefront of production.

Fortunately, in this we have tremendous advantages.  In America, expertise and money can easily flow into new opportunities.  Nascent businesses can thrive in our economic system without the regulations or restrictions that are pervasive in other parts of the world.  Our colleges provide fertile fields for research and incubation of ideas, and we have many rich sources of capital to realize concepts.

More than anything, America needs enough private sector jobs at all levels to support our standard of living, or we risk leaving fewer opportunities for our children.  The important thing to note here is that only innovation and production can create jobs in America.  We must finally put aside the notion that spending will heal our economy, and focus our attention on building the future rather than buying it.

In the next installment, I will talk about how can we stimulate innovation and production.
Coming next: Part 2: Buy Cradles, Not Graves.

Life has a soundtrack

This list was circulating on Facebook a while back.  I liked it so here it is again.  Feel free to add your own in the comments.

Think of 15 albums, CDs, LPs that had such a profound effect on you they changed your life. Dug into your soul. Music that brought you to life when you heard it. Royally affected you, kicked you in the wasu, literally socked you in the gut, is what I mean. Then when you finish, tag 15 others, including moi. Make sure you copy and paste this part so they know the drill. Get the idea now? Good. Tag, you're it!


I may have been too gassed at the time to remember the right fifteen, but here goes:

Blow By Blow  - Jeff Beck

Captain Marvel  - Stan Getz

Sticky Fingers - The Rolling Stones

Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd

Eat a Peach - The Allman Brothers

Kind of Blue - Miles Davis

Jar of Flies - Alice in Chains

Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen

Queen II - Queen

Magical Mystery Tour - The Beatles

Fear - Toad the Wet Sprocket

Moanin' - Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers

Boston - Boston

My Favorite Things - John Coltrane

Physical Graffiti - Led Zeppelin.


Trouble is, if you're over 40 years old the list should be 25 instead of 15. I had to leave too many great discs off. Aja, The Captain and Me, In the Court of the Crimson King and Armed Forces were near misses.