Intro

"We don't see things as they are. We see them as we are."


Anais Nin (American Author, 1903-1977)


To most phenomena, there is more than one side, and viewing things through somebody else's eyes is something I always found refreshing and also a good way of getting to know someone a little better, as in - what makes them tick?

With this in mind I have started writing this blog. I hope my musings are interesting and relevant - and on a good day entertaining.

All views expressed are of course entirely mine – the stranger the more so.

As to the title of the blog, quite a few years ago, I had an American boss who had the habit of walking into my office and saying, "Axel, I've been thinkin'" - at which point I knew I should brace myself for some crazy new idea which then more often than not actually turned out to be well worth reflecting on.

Of course, I would love to hear from you. George S. Patton, the equally American WW2 general once said: "If everyone is thinking alike, then somebody is not thinking."

So please feel free to tell me what you think.

Enjoy the read!

Axel

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Farewells and Departures

We fondly bid farewell to an old friend.


For years he reliably accompanied us as we went about our busy lives but then somehow couldn't keep up anymore, losing his groove while others became more important to us, more attractive, and just more fun to hang out with. It wasn't a conscious process, nor was there a specific incident or point in time at which we fell out. There was certainly no acrimonious break-up.


Somehow it just happened, and now that he is gone, we guiltily admit to ourselves we haven't really thought about, let alone missed him for a long time. With nostalgia we maybe spare him a memory or two, and then we move on. It's the way of the world. It's human nature. It's just too bad.

We've all been there, and if we're honest with ourselves, we are not necessarily proud of what happened nor how it finally unfolded. But we find consolation in convincing ourselves the fault lay with him. I mean, somewhere along the way he just fell back and faded into irrelevance.



We are of course bemoaning the passing of the BlackBerry, the father of all smartphones and both status symbol and cult object for managers, politicians, celebrities, and OIPs (Other Important People) in the ten years, say, from 2002 through 2012. 

If you've never come across OIPs before by the way, no wonder - I've just made it up. And I do think the term has potential.

The first time I was allowed to hold one in my hand - not an OIP, a BlackBerry of course - was in 2003 I think. Its proud owner was the Regional President North America for my company, hosting a management meeting on his home turf. We each took turns in admiring this wondrous piece of equipment, and once it had made its way safely back to our U.S. colleague, he put it away with the knock-out punch line: "And guys, the best thing about it is - it vibrates in my pants pocket."

What a classic.

Needless to say, as soon as I returned to the office back in The Old World, I started a campaign with IT to ensure I would get one myself, urgently and ahead of most others. I'm happy to report I succeeded - the techies generally tend to like me, not least because they can run circles around me, blissfully ignorant as I am to this day in their chosen field of expertise while always admiringly expressing my genuine awe at their wizardry.

Now, from his grave and I don't know how many generations of iPhones later (only launched in 2007 would you believe it), the BlackBerry handheld sends one last mail:

"Goodbye to you, my trusted friend
We've known each other since we're nine or ten
Together we climbed hills or trees
Learned of love and ABC's
Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.

"Goodbye my friend, it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that spring is in the air
Pretty girls are everywhere
When you see them I'll be there.

"We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the hills that we climbed
Were just seasons out of time."



"Seasons in the Sun" is not just a beautiful song. It's the English translation of the chanson "Le Moribond" written, recorded, and released all the way back in 1961 by Belgian singer-songwriter, Jacques Brel (1929-1978). It became a worldwide hit in 1974 for the Canadian singer Terry Jacks and a UK Christmas Number One in 1999 for the Irish boys group, Westlife. We owe the English-language lyrics to Rod McKuen (1933-2015).

Fewer than 40 songs in the history of popular music have sold ten million copies worldwide as "Singles", released on their own - Jacks' version of "Le Moribond" is one of them. With a bit of luck, Monsieur Brel's daughters Chantal, France, and Isabelle and their families will get a fresh windfall of royalties once my post has reliably gone viral...

This would now probably be a good point in time to examine disruptive technologies and inventions which changed the world forever, driving those that clung to the old ways and "missed the boat" into oblivion. And the iPhone is surely one of them. But I'd rather leave it to you come up with, say, the Top Three in our lifetimes.

Returning to farewells instead, as much as I would prefer to avoid the topic as it will spoil my otherwise good mood, I do have to say something on the baffling, unedifying, and downright depressing spectacle currently unfolding in the UK after the momentous departure 27 other European nations woke up to in the morning of 24 June 2016 - Brexit. To us Continentals it felt a little like long-term guests who just disappeared overnight without even leaving a good-bye note on the kitchen table.

The brave blogger's burden...

To begin, it must be rightfully acknowledged that, following a long and truly proud tradition (no irony), the British - to whom the world owes such delightful athletic games as football, tennis, rugby, badminton, and of course cricket (the list is incomplete) - have yet again created a new sport: Departing. 

For Brexit, it still took them 43 years, but since that ill-advised referendum, others have enthusiastically embraced their new national discipline, risen to the challenge, and dramatically reduced the time spans. Sam Allardyce, the coach of the English national football team lasted 67 days ("Big" is not "Great"), and the new leader of one of Her Majesty's Opposition Parties held office exactly 18 days (and it's for this new record alone and for no other reason that her name must go down in the annals of Departing - Diane Jones).

So, while, as we all know, a week is a long time in politics, the spectacle of the Conservative Party's Conference held in Birmingham a few days ago was so, as the English would put it, "interesting" that it justifies a brief recapitulation.


In a nutshell, and to borrow a current catch phrase from across the Big Pond, Theresa May, the newly-unelected Prime Minister, said to an astounded but largely delighted audience: "We will make Britain little again." Both literally I would venture, once Scotland and Northern Ireland have seceded to remain in the European Union, and also metaphorically and in spirit.

Does anyone remember the hilarious BBC sketch show of about ten years ago, starring the brilliant comic duo David Williams (left) and Matt Lucas (right)? It was a wonderful example of one of the British people's most endearing and world-beating traits - "self-deprecating" humour.


The sketches were linked by an off-camera narrator presenting them as a guide for foreigners to how different segments of society lived on this island. Check out "The Only Gay in the Village" with a cameo appearance by Sir Elton John in one episode! 

Underlying, however, and implicit in the title was a satirical reflection on the inward-looking, parochial, "insular" nature of the British and their attitude towards the rest of the world.

And this is where Mrs May now picks up the thread, the notable difference being that she seems to believe it's the way forward. In the words of Robert Shrimsley, one of my favourite columnists: "May offers a Dad's army version of Britain." Financial Times (7 October 2016) Back to the future, way back.

When it comes to the legitimate question how Brexit will be executed, however, without ruining this "small island nation" - according to latest estimates from the mandarins in the Treasury, it will cost £ 66 billion a year, foreign direct investment will collapse, and most if not all international companies with any meaningful representation will relocate elsewhere  - realism is sadly missing ("We can have the cake and eat it too."), technical knowhow is totally absent, concrete proposals are non-existent, and even the slightest semblance of a strategy nowhere to be found.

The project is shared - based on what formula or along what lines nobody, including the boss, knows - between the Secretary for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs; the Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union; the Secretary of State for International Trade; and the Secretary of State for International Development.


"But is there a plan, Prime Minister?" "Of course there's no plan. But why don't you ask Boris Johnson."

"But is there a plan, Boris?" "Of course there's no plan, but why don't you ask David Davis."

"But is there a plan, David?" "Of course there's no plan, but why don't you ask Liam Fox."

"But is there a plan, Liam?" "Of course there's no plan, but why don't you ask Priti Patel."

"Who? Oh, never mind."



One more name must now be added to this impressive list of thoughtful, informed, and responsible political heavyweights and charismatic national leaders: Amber Rudd whose job title and portfolio have just been enlarged to Home and Away Secretary. 

How so? Ms Rudd has publicly taken it upon herself first to send and then, importantly, to keep away all those nasty aliens stealing jobs from the vast cohorts making up the equally industrious, motivated, and qualified indigenous workforce - by "flushing out" [sic], as in naming and shaming those companies that employ foreigners. 

So farewell to the Proverbial Polish Plumber (how's that for an alliteration?); to the nurses and doctors keeping the NHS afloat, sort of; and to the waiting staff at the local pub and "that delightful little trattoria just around the corner which has just opened up". Well, that's going to be converted into a Fish and Chips place anyway.

Speaking of which - the Italian daily newspaper, La Repubblica published a wonderful cartoon. One character says to the other: "It's a soft start to Brexit." The other answers: "Yes, they're  beginning with racial laws."

In 1996, England hosted the football European Championships. The tournament was, and I hate to have to mention it in the interest of historical accuracy, won by Germany after eliminating the home team in the semi finals on, you've guessed it, penalties. Gareth Southgate, just now freshly appointed as interim coach of the England team, taking over from Big (not Great) Sam, was the unfortunate England player to miss his kick. I was lucky enough to be at Wembley Stadium on 30 June 1996 for the final in which Germany beat the Czech Republic 2-1 with a Golden Goal scored by Oliver Bierhoff in extra time - the first major competition to be decided by this newly introduced rule (which thankfully was short-lived: like the vast majority of football fans, not just Germans, I actually like penalty shootouts).

Anyhow, as mentioned above, The Beautiful Game was indeed invented in England, and the whole world will always be grateful for it. Accordingly, the official song for the event in 1996, "Three Lions" had the wonderful chorus line: 

"It's coming home
It's coming home
It's coming
Football's coming home"


Two decades on, and judging by latest developments in Little Britain, these friendly, welcoming, inclusive words would take on a totally different meaning - football is ours, we're repatriating it, and we don't want to play with you anymore. Oh, and we're keeping the ball too. 

"We are taking back control."

And if I sound disengaged, disappointed, and disillusioned - well, I am. As an EU member state citizen currently residing in the UK, contributing to GDP and paying taxes, who did not get the chance to vote in that infamous referendum (a belated Happy Birthday to you, David Cameron - life begins at 50, so enjoy it!) I don't appreciate being reduced to a "bargaining chip" (Theresa May).

But here's what for me was the most remarkable quote from the new Prime Minister's Brexit speech at the Party Conference:

"When you're a citizen of the world, you're a citizen of nowhere." 

Again: "When you're a citizen of the world, you're a citizen of nowhere."

Once more: "When you're a citizen of the world, you're citizen of nowhere."

Wow. That's quite a thing to say. That's quite a statement to make. That's quite a mentality to propagate.

And it contradicts everything I believe in. It discredits everything I have experienced in my own biography. And, most importantly, it negates everything my wife and I have based the upbringing and education of our three children on. We are happy and proud to have raised them to be just that - Citizens of the World.

I have a very good friend who has researched the phenomenon that is known as "Third Culture Kids" (TCKs), a term first coined in the 1950s to describe individuals raised for a significant part of their childhood and youth developmental years in a culture other than their parents' or the culture of the country stated as nationality in their passports. Simply put, they integrate elements of their host countries' cultures and their own birth culture into a new, third culture, becoming Citizens of the World, and frequently at least bi-lingual: "The third culture is what's shared by people who live amidst first and second cultures." (Christopher O'Shaughnessy)

Born the son of an American officer and raised as an "army brat", Chris grew up as a TCK himself and works as a public speaker and motivational coach with international schools, colleges and universities, military and other government agencies, Christian church congregations, NGOs, and businesses, tirelessly criss-crossing the globe - or "gallivanting", as he humorously calls it himself. But for all his TCK background and nomadic adult lifestyle he has the enviable talent to "rest in himself". 


Importantly, Chris is one of the funniest, nicest, most brilliant yet most humble people I have ever met. In 2014, he published his findings in a book with the wonderful title, Arrivals, Departures, and the Adventures In-Between. Highly recommended reading for Mrs May, Ms Rudd, Mr Johnson, Mr Davis, Mr Fox, and all other Little Britons - a window onto the world. It's available on Amazon, both as a paperback and in Kindle Edition. And while my generation should not be too proud about the kind of world we leave behind, given a choice, on departing I would definitely feel better knowing it will be in the hands of TCKs like my own children. 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Arrivals-Departures-Adventures-Christopher-OShaughnessy/dp/1909193720

Of course, interesting, relevant, and entertaining books are not the only thing to enjoy and learn from in moments of leisure - films and music are right up there with reading, for me at least. 

Remember Westlife, "Seasons in the Sun", and the 1999 UK Number One Christmas hit?


At the risk of digressing, for a humorous take on this venerable and loveable national British institution, watch (again) the wonderful movie, Love Actually (2003) and look out for Bill Nighy as ageing Rock 'n' Roll legend Billy Mack who manages to land a Christmas Number One single with an adapted seasonal version of the old Troggs classic, "Love Is All Around", first released in 1966. 

Having spoken earlier of royalties for the Brel family, this was already the second time "Love Is All Around" was revived to huge success, actually [sic] generating more love and income not all around, but specifically for Troggs lead singer Reg Presley who wrote it than when the group first recorded it themselves decades earlier. 

The soundtrack of the equally delightful film, Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994) also featured a cover version of "Love Is All Around" by the Scottish band Wet, Wet, Wet that actually [sic] spent 15 weeks at the top of the UK charts. Sadly, it then dropped to second place, narrowly missing the equalisation of the all-time record of 16 consecutive weeks set by - Bryan Adams and "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You" in 1991. Reg Presley actually [sic] used the unexpected income to finance his research into extraterrestrials and paranormal phenomena. I mean, the man actually [sic] had a life after Rock 'n' Roll.

The other Troggs hits, by the way, were the "Wild Thing", "With A Girl Like You", and "I Can't Control Myself". Nor can you kill a good song, as another friend of mine always says. And I promise you will benefit from all this not-quite random information at a pub quiz one day and then be glad you read it here... 

I did warn you I was about to digress.

Meanwhile, back in the harsh reality of the political present, but thematically linked to the above, I have it on good authority from a very deep throat in the heart of Whitehall that a team of song writers has been assembled to create new lyrics for - no, not (at least for the moment) "Love Is All Around", but for "Three Lions". To what purpose, you may ask? 

Well, it appears there is a plan to re-release the song this December in order to secure that elusive Christmas Number One spot - ending The Year of Taking Back Control at least on a musical high to balance the free fall of the once-proud Pound Sterling aka £ and GBP. 

Sensibly, they have started with the chorus line which will now be: 

"It's closing down
It's closing down
It's closing
Britain's closing down".

Now that's what I call topical, catchy, and right on message!

And who will record this hit? Again, according to my sources, it will be a girl group carefully put together from the finest singing talent of those constituencies that had the highest vote for "Leave" back in June. Auditions are on-going in the East Midlands and East of England regions.

Three names are being considered for the combo:

The Away Team (punchy, straight-forward, and no precedent standing in its way)

Small Minds (negotiations are underway with legal representatives of groups Small Faces and Simple Minds to get permission for this hybrid) 

The Islanders (intellectual property issues first need to be resolved with the management of the American ice hockey team, New York Islanders)

I hope they can work things out with the NHL franchise. It's definitely my favourite.

Speaking of Little Britain and BBC series. In 2002, the widely revered Mother of All Broadcasters aired a program entitled,100 Greatest Britons. The show was based on a television poll conducted among UK viewers to find out who the public thought were their greatest compatriots in history. The Top Three were Winston Churchill, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, and Diana, Princess of Wales (yes, indeed); followed by Charles Darwin and, in a disappointing fifth place, William Shakespeare. 

By way of a compensation for this irreverent slight, and to show him the respect he so unreservedly deserves, the Bard from Stratford-upon-Avon shall have the last word in these ramblings on Farewells and Departures. 

In Shakespeare's Roman play, Julius Caesar the co-conspirators and tyrannicides Cassius and Brutus meet on the eve of the decisive Battle of Philippi in Macedonia (October 42 BC). The friends were never to see each other again: their armies defeated separately, they both committed suicide, falling on their swords, as noble Romans would. 

In his parting words, Brutus says:

"Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius!
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;
If not, why then this parting was well done." 

Julius Caesar, 5.1.125






P.S. A Bard for Our Time: Bob Dylan has just won the Nobel Prize for Literature!
       
What took them so long?  


"The answer, my friend
Is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind."



























Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Remember. Remember?

What did you do last Sunday?


Since it is at best a couple of days ago, you will not have any problem remembering.

But what about this question by way of a follow-up: What did you do on the same day fifteen years ago? Under normal circumstances, most of us would, quite literally, draw blank. 

My late mother, a very intelligent but also at times somewhat over-cautious woman, occasionally painted the frightening scenario of the police knocking at your door to ask about your whereabouts at a certain time on a certain day in the more or less distant past. To be able to answer this, my mother would tell me, make sure to keep a diary and to hold onto it for years. You never know when you might need it...

So, without consulting my good old Filofax calendar - yes, this timeless monument to the art of "organising" still exists; and yes, I still use it for personal entries, much to the amusement of my kids of course, OCD and all that - of 2001 (and I just hope it has survived our latest house move and the drastic down-sizing, disposing, and de-cluttering that went with it) I would normally be in trouble.

Except in this case of course I wouldn't. I don't need any props, records, or reminders; nor would my mother have needed them; nor will you. Because, you have long guessed it, last Sunday was 11 September. In short, normally written 11/09 by most of us, and 9/11 by the Americans. But this particular eleventh day of the ninth month in the Gregorian calendar is universally referred to as 9/11 and has been since those fateful events back in 2001. And, just to save you from looking it up, it was a Tuesday.

Gregorian? Yes, that's what it is. It was introduced in 1582 as a refinement to the Julian calendar put in place by none less than Julius Caesar, amounting to a 0.002% correction in the length of the year. By the 19th century it had become widely adopted, first and foremost in the interest of convenience in international trade.


Trivia alert: 

The last country to introduce the Gregorian calendar was Greece in 1923. Those modern Greeks were probably still smarting from the painful embarrassment of their ancient ancestors having missed in their Classic heyday the unique opportunity to implement once and for all a universally accepted way of organising the solar year while far too busy with giving the world Democracy and the Olympic Games and Philosophy and Drama and all that good stuff. Go figure. 


So - we all remember 9/11 and what we were up to when those planes flew into the World Trade Center at the southern tip of Manhattan and the Pentagon in Washington, DC, and a fourth one, on its way to the Capitol, crashed in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania because its passengers bravely tried to overcome the hijackers.

Maybe you saw the film, United 93 released in 2006. It was nominated for two Oscars and won two BAFTA Awards, for Editing and for Directing (Paul Greengrass).


Famous last words of the character Todd Beamer as he hurls himself at the terrorists: "Come on, guys, what are we waiting for? Let's roll!" 44 passengers and crew died, including the four terrorists. No-one survived.

One of the most prized possessions of the Gietz family is a photo, now framed and prominently displayed, alongside others, in our living room, taken of the five of us on a visit to the Observation Deck of one of the Twin Towers on 08/25/99, together with an entrance ticket stamped 12:38 pm. Of course I mostly recall suffering from my customary bout of vertigo as we stepped outside, but it's a good thing we kept them, right? Priceless.



Memorabilia - things that are worth remembering. Souvenirs, mementos, keepsakes.

Two years later, we had just moved to Belgium, and the children were still in the process of settling in at their new International School when the attacks happened. You can imagine the extreme security measures taken immediately by the Belgian authorities to cordon off the school perimeter with armoured vehicles and evacuate the 1,000-odd students hailing from over 60 different countries, many of them of course Americans, and including a genuine Belgian Princess, niece to the King and Queen and classmate of my son's. 

And no, they never got close, he was never invited to the Palace, much to the disappointment of my mother-in-law. But for their High School Graduation dinner, we happened to sit at the next-door table from the Royals, and she had the most wonderful time observing them all night.

For all of those kids, it was of course quite a traumatic experience, and after reopening a few days later, the previously carefree atmosphere on campus and around the school was never really the same again, and understandably so. Fifteen years on, cowardly, inhumane violent terror has reached Belgium too, and the international schools especially have mutated into high-security compounds.

"Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
The end of the Innocence". 
Don Henley, "The End of the Innocence" (1989)

On 9/11, I was at the office and alerted to what was happening by one of my team who had received a phone call. No social media back then, and the only TV set around which we then all congregated to watch CNN was in the Board Room. Ever since, I've made a point of having one installed in my office. Fortunately, momentous disasters of this scope don't happen every day, but since then have done so far too often anyway to justify this modest extravagance. 

And I'm the first to admit the TV comes in handy every two years for the European Championships and the World Cup...

Of course I had no idea at the time that less than a year later, in the night of Monday 1 July 2002 and over the rest of that week, I would personally be handling another fatal airplane crash myself, this one with 71 dead. DHL Flight 611. But that's another story. 

However, for me and everyone else involved at the time, it will always be 7/1. And I swear the identical figures for the date of the accident and the number of victims (our two pilots, Captain Paul Phillips, who left behind a wife and four children, and First Officer Brant Campioni; and 69 crew and passengers, mostly kids, on the other plane) has only just now revealed itself to me.


And yes, there have been a number of film dramatisations produced about this mid-air collision as well. If so inclined, among others check out the episode "Deadly Crossroads" (2004) in the Discovery Channel Canada series Mayday. Air Disasters. And the German-Swiss motion picture, Flug in die Nacht. Das Unglueck von Ueberlingen (2009). 

No spoilers, but the tragic story doesn't end with the crash. Still this year, a Hollywood production starring none less than Arnold Schwarzenegger is to be released - entitled 478 and "based on the airline accident that occurred in July 2002 and on the events that took place 478 days later" (IMDb).

In retrospect, under "Crisis Management" it all looks great on my CV, but it's an experience I could well have done without. 

So this year, for its sad 15th anniversary, 9/11 fell on a Sunday - not just any given Sunday (hold the term), but the Opening Day of the new NFL, professional American Football season. Well, to be precise, the opening game itself was already on Thursday 8 September when defending champions Denver Broncos beat the Carolina Panthers 21-20. 

But the first Game Day proper took place on the Sunday. And unsurprisingly, in a nation where every sports event - and I mean, every sports event - is preceded by a rendering of the national anthem, "The Star-Spangled Banner", the celebrations in "the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave" were of course up to the special occasion. And who can blame them?

To me, Football is the American sport, no matter what proponents of Baseball will tell you about the proverbial Boys of Summer:

"I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone."
Don Henley, "Boys of Summer" (1984)


Football reflects the way the American continent was conquered - the game is all about gaining territory, yard by yard, and "inch by inch". So having retained "Any Given Sunday", here's the context. In the eponymous movie about an ageing professional football coach and his struggling team, actor Al Pacino as Tony d'Amato gives what is often regarded as one of the greatest locker room pep talks at least in film history. Check it out, best by watching the whole picture, released in 1999, directed by Oliver Stone and co-starring Dennis Quaid and Cameron Diaz. Here's the gist of what Coach d'Amato tells his players before the all-deciding play-off clash:


"In either game, life or football, the margin for error is so small. The inches we need are everywhere around us. On this team, we fight for that inch. On this team, we tear ourselves, and everyone around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Cause we know when we add up all those inches that's going to make the fucking difference between winning and losing, between living and dying." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myyWXKeBsNk

Over 3,000 innocent people were killed in the attacks on 9/11, another 6,000 or more were injured, like all victims of random terrorist acts simply in the wrong place at the wrong time as they went about their daily lives. 

Its impact on all of us cannot be exaggerated. If you are looking for a Turning Point in History after which things were never the same again, look no further. 


Fortress America penetrated. Only one other day compares in terms of national trauma - the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on 12/7/41. To quote the memorable words of President Franklin D. Roosevelt in his address to a joint session of Congress the next day, "a date that will live in infamy". The lawmakers passed a formal declaration of war against Japan, and the United States finally entered into World War II. 

Turning Point.

This is of course one of the most famous speeches in American history. Well, at least until Coach d'Amato came along...

To round off the Top Three of Turning Points, yet again, 11/22/63 is right up there, maybe less in terms of its immediate consequences than in its impact on the collective American psyche.

I've just finished reading an intriguing book, given to me by my children, so for a welcome change not on my Kindle: Brady Carlson, Dead Presidents. An American Adventure into the Strange Deaths and Surprising Afterlives of Our Nation's Leaders (2016). The most interesting chapter I found was "Eternal Flame. On John F. Kennedy, the City of Dallas, and What Ties Them Together Every November 22". That assassination still today proves to be very bad PR for Dallas. 

And then the Cowboys just lost their opening game on 9/11 at home 19-20 to the New York Giants. I mean, how bad can it get?

Declaration of interest: I think they do still have world-beating Cheerleaders and are as proud of them as they are of their exploits on the playing field, and rightly so. If you want to know more, and for a number of other good reasons, read Ben Fountain's novel, Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk, published in 2012. What's it all got to do with 9/11, you may now ask. Well, it poignantly explores the trauma inflicted on young American soldiers sent to fight in Iraq. There is now a film adaptation in the making, to be released still this year and directed by two-time Oscar winner Ang Lee.

Coming back to the theme of assassinations (and calendars) - remember Julius Caesar? For the ancient Roman world, and that meant more or less for everybody at the time (except for the Native American nations who were still one-and-a-half millennia away from being discovered and subsequently invaded and all but annihilated - I hope they enjoyed their Splendid Isolation while it lasted, then finding themselves at the receiving end of that "inch-by-inch" mentality) 3/15/44 (BC) wasn't exactly such a great day either. 

Another Turning Point in History that plunged the world into decades of strife and upheaval. 

Q: "But is there a plan, Cassius?' A: "Of course there's no plan."

The Ides of March, anyone?


For an interesting take on developments leading up to the political murder in the Senate of Rome, read the eponymous novel by Thornton Wilder, published in 1948. The author himself called it "a fantasia on certain events and persons of the last days of the Roman Republic", adding that "historical reconstruction is not among the primary aims of this work". Love it. 

And then, there's a very watchable film of the same title, directed by George Clooney and released only in 2011, a modern-day political drama in which "an idealistic staffer for a new presidential candidate gets a crash course on dirty politics during his stint on the campaign trail" (IMDb). It stars Clooney, Ryan Gosling, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Paul Giamatti. 

All very topical wouldn't you say.

And while we are on the theme of plans, or lack thereof, here's another "date that will [quite possibly] live in infamy": 6/23/16. But, boy, did they have fun - and still are. In the words of Philip Stevens who wrote a very insightful piece in the Financial Times: "Hubristic denial about Brexit is the order of the day... This is not a process promising anything resembling a happy ending." 

In case you missed it: David Cameron, who is ultimately responsible for the whole mess, has just announced his retirement from politics. Turning only 50 on 9 October, he is now riding into a very enjoyable long sunset. There's money to be made and money to be spent. And no more need to enact a modest, middle-class lifestyle in order to appeal to the electorate. Enjoy, Dave!

No doubt he and Mrs Cameron, aka Sam Cam, will have the need for state-of-the-art tools to organise themselves and their very busy lives, social and otherwise. I still recommend Filofax. 

There's just one caveat for a retired politician: 

The brand, first launched in the UK in 1921(!) owes its name to an abbreviation of the term "File of Facts". 































Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Citius, Altius, Fortius

It's all over now, Baby Blue. 


What a great Bob Dylan song that is. And of course the line does not refer to him, 75 years old and still rockin' and rollin'. Playing concerts on what he has dubbed his "Never Ending Tour" that kicked off on 7 June 1988. That's right - 1988.

This is all about what has just come to a conclusion in Rio de Janeiro, the Olympic (Summer) Games. So consider this a Rio Special.



But before I start, let me get the following observations off my chest - and I realise I may well be fighting a losing battle with journalists, reporters, and commentators:

First, The Olympic Games or, for short, The Olympics are plural nouns (easily identified by the ending -s). So whatever you may have thought of them, they have now ended. Were they the best Games ever, as some will have you believe? 



I'm not sure - unless of course you hold a British passport and understandably take delight in the admirable adventures, extraordinary exploits, and truly thrilling triumphs of "Team GB".

Second, the word "medal" is a noun, not a verb. You can't "medal" in the Olympic Games - you can only win a medal.

Third, an "Olympiad" is the period of four years between two Olympic Games, not the event itself. Hence, "Rio" were officially The Games of the XXXI Olympiad.

Call me old-fashioned, call me obsessive-compulsive (as my children do), call me plain pedantic; in fact, call me what you will, but I do cringe every time I have to endure any or all of the above abominations. As I have countless times over the past two weeks.

I am happy to report Team GB has safely returned home. On board flight BA 2016 (with its nose painted gold) were the 300-something athletes, their coaches, doctors, and helpers, and all their equipment. And their 67 Gold, Silver, and Bronze medals which, as one more-than average awed reporter worked out, weigh in at a total of 45 kilos.

Nowhere are the medals attributed more momentous meaning of course than in the, you guessed it, Medal Table - that monument to patriotism, nationalism, or jingoism, depending on your view point. And it is indeed a remarkable achievement for "this small island nation" to have secured second place, only behind the United States, but ahead of China. A huge boost for all jubilant Brexiteers who otherwise have gone remarkably quiet since their own unexpected victory back in June. 

Q: "Is there a plan?" A: "No, of course there is no plan."

What's more, another pundit who got a little carried away proudly announced if you took out the swimming competitions where the Americans traditionally do extremely well - never mind that this is one of the core disciplines of the Olympics, along with Track and Field Athletics, as opposed to, say, indoor track cycling at which Team GB are unbeatable - Great Britain would be, so to speak, "on the top of the world lookin' down on creation".


Remember the Carpenters and their 1973 hit "Top of the World"? An American singer and instrumental duo, siblings Karen and Richard were among the most successful music artists of all time, with three Number One and five Number Two singles on the Billboard Top 100, even though their career spanned only 14 years (1969 - 1983) as Karen sadly died from heart failure linked to anorexia at age 32. Their other hits included "Close to You", "We've Only Just Begun", "Rainy Days and Mondays", and "Yesterday Once More". Paul McCartney, who knows a bit about music, called Karen Carpenter "the best female voice in the world: melodic, tuneful, and distinctive". Now that's what I call an accolade, Sir Paul. And for what it's worth, I am so with you on this!

Coming back to the inevitable Medal Table, and since the Americans are still swimming strong and will be allowed to continue doing so, Team GB is indeed the overall runner-up of these Olympic Games - but only based on the number of Gold Medals won (27-26), the Chinese and others may object. Because you see, it's not quite as clear-cut as all that since there is at least one other method of ranking, taking into account the total number of medals won overall. And in this table, China would again leap-frog Great Britain (70-67). 

Just out of curiosity, there is a third school of thought in this ever-so-important matter whereby the categories of medals are weighted by their importance. If you subscribe to this method and apply the rule three points for Gold, two for Silver, and one for Bronze, the result is: United States 250, Great Britain 144, China 140. 

A further variation on this theme is based on the belief that only winning really counts, and therefore Gold medals should be awarded four points to the two for Silver and one for Bronze. In this case, the outcome is: United States 296, Great Britain 171, China 166. Not to mention in too much detail yet another approach mooted by some - weighting the number of medals by population size.


To quote Martin Sandbu (Financial Times)"As always, bigger countries win more often, and when measuring medals per population, Britain drops from second to tenth place (even lower if medal-winning micro-states are included), behind Jamaica, New Zealand, Croatia and Denmark, among others. But the UK can fairly claim to be the best-performing largish country in Rio."

"Medal-winning micro-states" - I love it! Name three.

So much for the arithmetic of medals. You decide for yourself. As far as I'm concerned, on this I side with former British Prime Minister Tony Blair: "Do I look bothered?" And, just for clarity, that was a rhetorical question.

From a German perspective - and I do admit rooting for the "home team" on such occasions - whichever way you cut it, "we" are firmly in fifth place, and that's just fine with me. Oh, yes, we did take in over a million refugees over the past year or so, but that's another story. National, societal, and financial resources better spent maybe? Sour grapes, some will say.

My personal highlights of what I was able to watch on TV? 

In ascending order, here are my Top Three:

Bronze medalUsain Bolt winning his ninth Gold at three consecutive Olympics - the much-acclaimed "Triple Triple" over 100 m, 200 m, and in the  4 x 100 m relay team. There are nasty rumours, however, that one of his co-runners of eight years ago in Beijing may have in the meantime been tested positive, in which case our hero would also be stripped of his medal. 

Honestly, I ask myself where and for how long they keep all those myriads of urine and blood samples, hoping for the scientific methods of detection to catch up with the dopers' ingenuity. And here was I thinking that nuclear waste posed a long-term storage problem.

And let me just say that we all must hope never to have to be disabused of our firm belief that Usain Bolt's prowess indeed only came from a pretty unique genetic predisposition, a training routine that was harder and more effective than anybody else's, and all that delicious white meat he had as a child growing up on his parents' chicken farm cum grocery store.

Silver medal: The men's football final between Brazil and Germany, played in the legendary Maracana Stadium where of course Germany won the World Cup two years ago. It was hyped up as the host nation's opportunity to wipe away the shame, embarrassment, and pain caused by the ignominious 1-7 defeat against Germany in the Semi Finals of that tournament (the game was, however, played in Belo Horizonte). 

To wit: The Olympic men's football competition is entered by "U-23" teams, meaning all players must not yet have celebrated their 23rd birthday, I think when the qualifying rounds begin, with three members of the squad allowed to be older. 

This formula is the result of a compromise between the all-mighty FIFA that is obviously keen on safeguarding the value - athletic, media-wise, and therefore financial - of the World Cup, its own stand-out competition, and the IOC that does want to have the world's biggest sport included in their Olympic Games. And a lot of people think otherwise by the way. On this question - should football be played at the Olympics at all? - please allow me to do what I generally do best and firmly sit on the fence.

Timed to perfection to coincide with the beginning of the new football season in most countries, certainly across Europe, even assembling a squad of juniors proved an almost insurmountable conundrum. No player who had featured in the European Championship was eligible, no player newly signed to his club was released, and many of those that might have been selected preferred to stay at home in order not to lose their chance of making it into the starting Eleven with their employer from Day One.

Team GB did not bother.

The German coach, Horst Hrubesch - one of my all-time favourites, no, heroes; do google him if interested in finding out more about this impressive sports-man - gave the German Olympic federation a list of 65 names, and when they had finished phoning up all the clubs, he was left with 18 guys who literally met for the first time at the airport in Frankfurt where they boarded the plane for Brazil, a few days before their first match.


For the home team, super star Neymar jr, who due to injury missed that game against Germany in 2014, being the self-indulging individual he is (I'm at great pains to avoid narcissist), heroically "volunteered to lead the young Brazilian team through the Olympic tournament". How could his club, mighty Barcelona, deny him this mission of truly historic dimensions?

Anyhow, to cut a longish story short, in front of 75,000 Brazilian fans the game ended 1-1 after 90 minutes, 1-1 after Extra Time, and consequently went to a penalty shoot-out. The first four players of both teams scored, then the fifth German missed, and you will never guess who had selected himself to take the final, all-deciding kick should it come to this. Neymar scored and restored, at least in his and his compatriots' view, the honour of the proud Brazilian nation. The stadium was very loud at that point.

The next morning, Neymar had the Olympic rings tattooed on his arm. Yes, there was still some space left which he had no doubt reserved for this purpose some time ago.

Just for completion's sake: Germany won the women's football tournament, in which the best players are allowed to participate, by beating Sweden 2-1. The Scandinavians had eliminated Brazil in the Semi Final, also on penalties. As a consequence, the stadium was empty for the Final. 

The football double would have been so nice...

But please bear with me - before I come to my own Number One Rio Olympics experience, I do have to tell a wonderful story in the context of visitors to Maracana and their impact on the mood of the home crowd.

In 1950, the afore-mentioned FIFA World Cup was also hosted by Brazil, with 16 countries participating. Primarily to make the long trans-Atlantic trip for the Europeans worth their while, the formula of the tournament, however, did not follow the principle of knock-out stages producing two teams to play the final. Instead, for the only time in the history of the competition, the four group stage winners qualified for a round-robin final round, each playing the other three and thereby guaranteeing them more games.

As the football gods would have it, based on the previous results the last game still turned out to be the Final to all intents and purposes. On 16 July 1950, it matched mighty Brazil with tiny neighbour Uruguay. Brazil only needed a draw to win the World Cup. And the unthinkable happened: The underdogs won 2-1, the decisive goal scored in the 79th minute by a certain Alcides Ghiggia. The whole host nation, not just the crowd of 199,854 (!) in the stadium, was in shock, torpor, denial. To date, everybody in Brazil knows the expression "the Silence of Maracana".

In his book Futebol. The Brazilian Way of Life (2005), author Alex Bellos compared Ghiggia's shot at goal and the bullet that killed John F. Kennedy as having "the same dramatic pattern... the same movement... the same precision of an unstoppable trajectory. They even have the dust in common that was stirred up, here by a rifle and there by Ghiggia's left foot". 

That's what I call Making History. A duo of epochal dates: 7.16.50 meets 11.22.63!


Of course, Alcides Ghiggia became a legend not just in his home country. He delighted in telling the story of his goal over and over again, and since he lived to the ripe old age of 88 (he died on 16 July 2015 - exactly 65 years after scoring that goal), he had ample opportunity to do so.

His classic punch line: "Only three people managed to silence the Maracana: Frank Sinatra, the Pope, and me." 

Simply wonderful as I hope you agree.

Gold medal: The women's Beach Volleyball Final between, you couldn't make this up, Germany and Brazil. Even better, the German team had already beaten the other Brazilian duo (that's a "triple duo" now - Carpenters, remember?) in the Semi Finals. I became a huge fan of this sport four years ago during the London Olympics: the rules are easy to understand, the action is exciting to follow, and the duo of venues in both cases was superb - first the Horse Guards in central London and now Copacabana ("quadruple duo"!). Beach Volleyball literally came home to where it originated.


Anyhow, Laura Ludwig and Kira Walkenhorst never left in doubt who would win - again playing in front of a capacity crowd that was, let's say, temperamental, noisy, and less-than-bi-partisan. And that also, once the game was over, didn't even bother to stay on for the medals' ceremony. Shame really as they missed a wonderful moment that included their own team. 

I'm all the happier I witnessed it.

In the interest of full disclosure: This is the only event I set my alarm clock for to get up at 04:00 am. Usain Bolt I only happened to catch as I fell asleep in front of the TV, as I sometimes will even on important occasions, and miraculously woke up just in time for the relay final. 

Serendipity. 

One of my favourite words in the English language. According to the Merriam Webster dictionary it means: "luck that takes the form of finding valuable or pleasant things that are not looked for". A much better definition I once read somewhere else: "diving into the hay stack looking for a needle and coming out with the farmer's daughter".


The title of a great movie released in 2001, too, starring John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale - "Destiny... with a sense of humor" as the tag line says. To me, it's the intelligent version of Sleepless in Seattle (1993) with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. I think I may have said this before, but you be the judge.

Meanwhile, back in Rio, the question is asked: was it all worth it? As the city's mayor, Eduardo Paes, elected in 2008, put it a few days before the opening ceremony - the Games must serve the city, and not the city the Games. But then, he would have said that, wouldn't he. And maybe it was for a good part wishful thinking.


Not too long ago, the citizens of Montreal were still paying off the debt for the 1976 Olympic Games if I'm not mistaken.

So, from a purely financial perspective in all likelihood it was not worth it. And like their predecessors around the world, the Cariocas as the locals are called - live and learn - are now in addition left with the brick-and-mortar symbols to remind them of the costs of their two-week party for all time - the stadia, arenas, and other buildings that nobody will ever have a need for again. "White Elephants" in the purest sense of the term.

But what about the "feel-good factor", hard to define or quantify as it is anyway, that we were told prevailed for a fortnight, in spite of seeing far too many empty seats at all but a few events? 

Again, experience indicates it's not sustainable. Ask the Londoners four years on. 

So next it will be Tokyo's turn. There are already indications of the Olympic arms race syndrome kicking in. Every hosting city wants to stage "the best Games ever", and some can afford it more than others. Tokyo, I have heard, is out to prove this point over Rio.

Which brings me to a proposal well worth considering - and while I've been thinkin', I wish I could claim it was my idea. It is not. But I do kinda like it.


In a nutshell, why not get all member nations of the IOC to chip in, according to GDP or other mutually agreeable economic metrics; build state-of-the-art, permanent sports and, equally important, broadcasting facilities in Olympia, Greece; construct hotels and an Olympic Village to boost tourism during the Olympiads; maybe throw in an airport that connects at least with Athens; and hold the Olympic [sic] Games there every time in future, following the ancient blueprint. 

After all, the Olympic [sic] flame is still ignited in Olympia every four years - so much for authenticity, credentials, and genius loci

Yes, there would be periodic renovation works to be done. Yes, there would need to be a plan in place to put the buildings during the four years in-between Games to good use; and yes, maybe every now and then, additional venues or arenas may have to be created, or existing ones converted, to stage events introduced to the program.

On this note, and by way of trivia for your next pub quiz, did you know that for 2020 these new sports will be Karate, Skateboarding, Sports Climbing, and Surfing? I'm happy to confirm from my own experience that you can sail and surf to your heart's delight off the coastline of the Peloponnese, and I'm sure the other three can easily be accommodated.

The romantics and die-hard proponents of "spreading the Olympic Spirit across nations and continents while giving developing countries a shot at proudly presenting themselves to the world" will obviously be upset, insulted, outraged. But you know what, I think the world has moved on and this new model is fit for the 21st Century. 

It can be no coincidence that a number of cities in the recent past have decided to say "thanks but no, thanks" to the prospect of hosting the Games and dropped out early on from the race, in some instances after asking their own citizens and tax payers what they thought of the plan.

If implemented, this solution would decrease overall spending dramatically while boosting sustainability; discourage nationalistic sentiment and the unappetising phenomena it feeds like large-scale, state-sponsored doping programs (and I'm maybe not the only one to see a link here - remember the Sochi Winter Olympics of 2014?); and, last but not least, once and for all do away with the appalling corruption linked to the bidding processes for hosting the event in the first place - no more greedy palms of octogenarian IOC members to grease, no more obscene expenses to pay, no more outrageous extravaganzas to stage - and for the local construction projects once the Games have been "awarded" to the successful candidate city. Of the latter, Rio was a prime exhibit.

But now maybe I'm the starry-eyed romantic. "Imagine" (John Lennon)...

Staging the Games for all times in Olympia, allowing them also to "come home" after almost two millennia, would for sure be a decision of historic dimensions. But it would also be a brave one, a far-sighted one, and a rational one. Oh, and would somebody please let Tokyo know.

Because you know what - The Times They Are A-Changin'!

It would of course terminate the IOC's "Never Ending Tour" which started in 1900 when the modern Olympic Games, after their launch in Athens in 1896, were held in Paris. 

If done soon enough for Bob Dylan still to be on his, I would suggest he should be invited to play at the Opening Ceremony.

"Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle mornin' I'll come followin' you"