We are developing the social individualist meta-context for the future. From the very serious to the extremely frivolous... lets see what is on the mind of the Samizdata people.
Samizdata, derived from Samizdat /n. - a system of clandestine publication of banned literature in the USSR [Russ.,= self-publishing house]
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Formula One motor racing doesn’t usually excite me that much, because far too often F1 races are just tedious processions, in an order determined not by drivers but by mechanics, with far too much seeming to depend on pit stops and refuelling strategies. But the Brazilian Grand Prix today was something else again. On the very last lap of the race, Lewis Hamilton moved from 6th place to the 5th place that he had to get to be the champion, given that his rival Massa had just won the race. Minutes earlier it had started to rain, and Hamilton had switched to wet weather tires but the guy he had to overtake stuck with dry weather tires. It had to rain properly for Hamilton to win. It did, just enough for Hamlton to overtake on the second last bend of the race, in other words right at the end of the final lap of the entire season. Amazing. Youngest ever F1 champion, apparently. So, no credit crunch for him.
As for the big money that the England cricket team were chasing in the West Indies on Saturday, well … better luck next year. They will have to play very badly indeed to do worse than they did this time around. Plus, I thought that this headline was about the cricket, but it seems there was another English sporting fiasco this weekend, in rugby league. Oh well, win some lose some. It’s only games.
There’s a rather comical culture clash now being played out in the West Indies, between new money and cricket:
Senior ECB officials, who almost bent over backwards to welcome Stanford and his millions at Lord’s last summer, were also under fire with calls for them to stand down after failing to undertake adequate checks on Stanford. Rod Bransgrove, Hampshire’s chairman, told the Daily Telegraph that the position of Giles Clarke, the ECB chairman, was in doubt. “I asked the ECB to do a lot more checking on Stanford and this competition. We made it very clear we that we should not enter into this agreement without proper checks but he [Clarke] had already done the deal. The board should resign collectively”.
The ECB and Stanford agreed on an unprecedented US$100 million deal in the summer, spread over five years, but the inaugural competition this week in Antigua has attracted mounting criticism in England.
The flack really started to fly on Monday when Stanford was pictured with Matt Prior’s wife on his knee and with his arms around two other girlfriends of members of the England team during a match the night before. It provoked a strong reaction from parts of the media, and in addition, one England player reportedly said: “If that was my wife he’d put on his lap I would have wanted to punch him”.
Last night’s planned cocktail party with the teams was cancelled at short notice, with officials rather unconvincingly claiming there were “logistical problems over a venue”. One journalist was unconvinced. “As if Stanford would ever have trouble in securing a venue for anything in Antigua,” he noted. “He owns most of them.”
I recall boasting here a while ago that my grandfather was the captain of his local cricket team by virtue of the fact that he owned the pitch. This was in Dingestow, which is a small village in Monmouthshire. My cousin still lives there, in the biggest house there, which is called Dingestow Court. But that’s old money. Old money pitch owners would make irrational bowling and field placing decisions, but they wouldn’t mess with other cricketer’s wives or ‘girl friends’, i.e. ladies whom other cricketers were courting.
All of this trouble in the West Indies now has arisen because of the rather sudden eruption of Twenty20 cricket. It turns out that, unlike so much of old school test cricket, people will pay large amounts of money to go and watch Twenty20, even between relatively moderate players. Suddenly cricket has become a very, very big, very twenty-first century business. And the cricket world is finding it tricky to adjust. It hit me the other day what a huge impact Twenty20 cricket is having when I half noticed (as you do when watching the telly) a TV advert for some kind of computerised or perhaps gambling-related version of soccer, which they were also calling “Twenty20”. Cricket is now featured in the sports pages of the popular press in Britain in a way that it hasn’t been for years, except during an Ashes series.
Here is some more Stanford grumbling. English cricket, says former England captain Mike Atherton, has become Stanford’s WAG.
There is a new computer game out there, called Spore, which takes up on the theory of evolution. Looks like fun and educational, as many such games are, a fact that critics of computer games rarely seem to take on board.
Here is another item about this game.
Jeff Randall, writing about the excellent performance by Britons so far in the Olympics, reckons some people are getting all het up about the sort of folk who have been winning the gongs:
Unfortunately, no sooner had our rowers, cyclists and sailors collected their medals than the carping started – largely on account of their successes being clocked up in “posh” sports. That a disproportionately high number of these British champions went to fee-paying schools is regarded by some as a symptom of a divided society, evidence of a deep-rooted malaise.
In place of celebration, there is consternation: dark mumblings about the benefits of privilege. In the warped view of the Grumblies, middle-class successes are to be resented, as if, like those of drugs cheats, their places on the awards podium were the result of improper behaviour.
Britain’s middle classes are already in the dock for heinous crimes, such as seeking the best schools for their children, paying extra for private healthcare and determining the output of Radio Four. Now, it seems, they must endure being rubbished for having the audacity to produce results in a sporting arena that the nation expected to be dominated by foreigners.
He has a point, but I have not sensed much of this sort of snide carping. What I tend to notice from the coverage has been how pleasant and modest most of the sportsmen and women, of all backgrounds, appear to be. I watched as one guy with a thick Scouse accent was interviewed after he fought in a hard boxing bout against a chap from China, I think, and I remember thinking of how decent and philosophical the man was about his chances of success. The meritocracy of the whole event, and the way it has reached people of all classes, is what has shone through.
For all that I dislike the politicking and corruption that goes along with the Games – I dread the likely bill of the London Olympics, which I oppose – there can be no denying that the folk who have done well in th Games, from all nations, are, with the odd exception maybe, pretty admirable sportsmen and women and that bleatings about their class have not been much in evidence.
Randall continues:
But, for me, the finest moment was when the British men’s coxless fours rowed down the formidable Australians to snatch gold. Some will denigrate them as “posh boys”, largely because they can tell the difference between an adjective and an adverb, but that doesn’t make them substandard Olympians.
Quite. It is a pity, though, that something like accent or polish in a TV studio now is considered a measure of a sportsman or woman. After all, our Jeff speaks with the twang of London, so I am not sure what is going on there.
Science writer John Tierney – one of my “must-read” columnists – has a good post which gets us to consider why it is considered so terrible for sportsmen and women to take performance-enhancing drugs, or have special surgery done to make themselves stronger, faster, more flexible, and so on. In years to come, suppose that say, a footballer has a knee operation and as a result, he is able to ride over a tackle, pass the ball more swiftly. Or a fast bowler at cricket has the same operation done to make it easier to send down a delivery to a batsman (bowlers often get injured because if they are big guys, the strain on their knees and back can be large). It seems to me that the key issue is disclosure. If you had an “anything-goes” games, with sports folk free to do what they wanted, there could be no complaints about cheating. And the boundaries between what is and what is not considered okay are not clear cut anyway, but they are more readily solvable than just adopting a puritanical zero-tolerance approach on enhancements. I cannot also help wonder whether some of the constant sniping at sports folk for taking drugs is not so much about cheating per se, as about taking the drugs in the first place. There is a sort of desire for “purity” in sport which is a part of the more general puritanism in our culture.
Like I said, the key is disclosure. If any cyclist, swimmer, footballer or for that matter, F1 motor racing driver takes drugs as part of their sport, then it should be okay so long as they disclose it. One could always use a handicapping rule anyway. For instance, if a motor racer is taking a drug to enhance his concentration during a race, maybe the race organisers can impose a 5 second penalty.
As medical technologies progress, this issue is going to become more pressing. Rather than continuing to hold out against any of this, the sports world should focus on disclosure and be adult about it.
It is all so easy when you are an armchair pundit, and we bloggers are no different. With politics or economics, so with sport. Mike Atherton, the former captain of England’s cricket team and a man notable for his dogged, never-say-die style of batting, is unimpressed by the England’s cricket selectors’ choice of skipper, who was born in South Africa, could not get a regular place in that country’s team, and by some means, is now the captain of England. One might say that as the final Test in the series at the Oval in London unfolds, that “Our South Africans are better than theirs”.
It may all, as Atherton says in Eyeorish fashion, end in tears. But by God, what a start. I went to the match’s opening day yesterday with an old South African friend of mine, by the name of Martin. We watched in amazement as the England bowling attack exploited a benign surface and moist air to trick the South African batting with a wonderful spell of bowling that removed six batsmen in short order after the top-order batsmen, notably the captain, looked ominously comfortable. Their comfort proved short-lived. As a result of this marvellous bowling, involving an attacking fielding lineup with so many slip fielders that it looked like the West Indies in the old days, South Africa failed to make it past 200 runs in their first innings. Now England have to beat that target by a good margin if they are to win this match and salvage some honour from this series.
Ironically, the man whom Atherton prefers for the captaincy – Andrew Strauss – had another poor day at the crease yesterday, bowled out after a few deliveries. Ah, the joys of punditry, eh Michael?
Depending on whether or not they get lucky with the weather, the Beijing Olympics might not, or might, turn into a PR disaster both for the International Olympic Committee, who chose Beijing, and for the Chinese Government, who assured the IOC that pollution in Beijing would not be a problem. But, pollution in Beijing is already a problem:
Thomas Rohregger’s first breath of Olympic air was not what he expected. “I hadn’t thought that it would be so bad,” the Austrian said after his first training ride. “Really awful, my lungs and even my eyes are burning.”
Rohregger rode only the flat stretch of the road race course and didn’t get into the climbs. “That’s why I tried to ride a bit faster. But the pressure on my lungs was nearly unbearable. Three hours of training felt like six hours,” said Rohregger to Austrian television sender ORF.
I’ve been linking to news about Beijing pollution for a while now from my personal blog, and the man from Blognor Regis, to whom thanks, added that quote-and-link to my latest posting on the subject.
I also added a bit at the end of that same posting about how the architectural planning of the Beijing Olympics has been done by the son of Albert Speer, who is called Albert Speer. Albert Speer senior being the man who did a similar job for Hitler’s Olympics in 1936. My thanks to Mick Hartley for blogging recently about that. As another of my esteemed commenters said, you could not make it up. But as soon as I had stuck up that bit about Albert Speer Jnr., I worried that maybe someone had made it up, and that I had fallen for one of those internet hoaxes. I checked every date involved to see that it wasn’t April 1st. It seems, amazingly, to be true. Apparently Michael Jennings of this blog emailed me in April about this Speer connection, but I paid no attention then and can find no trace of this email now. My computer must have swallowed it. Or maybe I thought he’d made it up and deleted the email on purpose.
Undeterred, Michael J today emailed me another Olympic link worth following, to a Slate piece which asks of the Beijing Olympics: What could possibly go wrong? Pollution is number two on the list. Four is that the TV coverage might get screwed up, and five is that these Olympics may inflict food poisoning on lots of the athletes.
Blogging personally, and in my capacity as a London council tax payer, my biggest worry is that it will all go very smoothly, that many British people in particular will be very impressed and excited, and that Britain’s politicians will then be encouraged to spend even more billions in tax money on the London version of this idiocy in four years time than is set to be spent anyway.
I came across this statistic here, stating that there will be 22,000 journalists at the Beijing Olympics next week.
The local bars will be doing a roaring trade, one hopes.
Jesus.
There is sometimes quite a lot in common between the world of professional sports and the investment and wealth management industries. When a talented individual leaves a bank or a football team, it can cause a lot of news and chatter in the industry, prompting fans or clients to change their bank or fret over whether their club has a shot at winning games. I have worked in the financial sector long enough to know that there is also a similar sort of pecking order with banking and sports: there are “league tables” of fund managers, for example. Getting a top ranking as a fund manager with an investment record for beating the S&P 500 can be like the equivalent of winning the Player of the Year award, scoring the most goals in a season, etc.
Which nicely brings me to the subject of a certain Mr Cristiano Ronaldo, the Manchester United forward who has made a very public, and much criticised, effort to leave for the warmer climes of Real Madrid, the famous Spanish team that has won the European Cup (now the European Champions League trophy), more times than any other club: 9 times. He is blessed with wondrous dribbling skills, is brave, fast, good with both feet, can head the ball, can float around the front of the pitch and has the ability to turn a game in a flash. He scored a hatfull of goals last season, and is undoubtedly one of the best players in the world.
He is also very well paid for his efforts. No argument from me on that: he is in a free market for talent and I do not begrude him a penny of his wages. But – and this is a rather big but – he has four years left to run on his contract at Old Trafford. Naturally, his manager, Sir Alex Ferguson, is very unhappy at the prospect of losing him, although a monstrous transfer fee would ease the pain and enable the club to buy in some new players. United has not been exactly a saint either in nabbing players from rivals before their contracts fall due.
But the recent comments that Ronaldo’s contract amounts to a form of slavery is stretching the use of language to breaking point, contrary to what Mick Hume, a self-described “red” both in political and sporting terms, says. If a person signs a contract to work for a bank or football team for a minimum of say, four years, he must serve that contract out, unless there was any clear proof that he signed under conditions of duress. A footballer who signs terms with a club binding him into a four-year contract is not selling himself into slavery. It is not as if Mr Ronaldo was kidnapped, frogmarched into the club and forced to play. It is not even as though he was starving, and so desperate for a job that he was prepared to do anything to get a job. Marxists of old like Mr Hume used to argue that workers, who had no reserves of cash to live off, were “coerced” into signing work contracts and hence exploited, an argument that might have just about held water in the early 19th century when thousands of people were living on the edge of starvation, but hardly applies now.
With bankers, it is quite common for executives to sign contracts stipulating that if they give notice to leave, they have to serve out at least six months “gardening leave” and a further period of not soliciting new clients before they can start at a new job. This sounds harsh, but banks have to protect their interests, since if there is an exodus of talent from Bank A to Bank B, the latter bank can grab some of the clients of the former bank who wish to stick with their old managers. For all I know, the same sort of things can apply in other industries.
It seems to me that the only way such terms can be likened to slavery is if there is some clear form of coercion involved in signing the contract, and some clear sign of violence or threats being employed to sustain such contracts. I see not examples in the case of the Portugese footballer.
Flicking through the television sports channels yesterday morning, I came across the Red Bull air race series, with the latest heat run out of Detroit. Fantastic. In terms of sheer skill and eye-popping adrenalin entertainment, this race takes a lot of beating. It makes Formula 1 motor racing, for example, look positively tame, even though I have no doubt that the actual skills involved have a fair amount in common. For a start, the pilots will sometimes pull a G-force of up to 8 or 9 times, which is the sort of thing you associate with astronauts or jet fighter pilots, for which there is a need to wear a pressue suit to stop blacking out.
The race series is continuing in London soon. I am going to find out if I can get my hands on any tickets. It could be difficult.
Apologies if there is no link here – I am having a problem with this function today. A quick Google will bring it up: check out the great photos.
One of the more annoying features of tennis today – certainly in the Wimbledon Men’s Finals – is how the victor often feels the urge to climb up the side of the stand after he has been declared the winner to embrace his family, girlfriend, mistress, personal trainer, etc. Last night, after winning the thrilling match against Federer, Nadal did all this, and then tried to climb all over the stand. I thought, “Christ, the idiot is going to fall off”. It would have been a bit tragic had this marvellous player suddenly injured himself in this way.
In future, Rafa, keep off the bloody stands.
That is not a sensational boxing headline being concocted; it is the name of an American athlete, being yanked around by some rather pompously programmed software. This morning one of David Thompson’s bits of Friday ephemera is a link to this, which is a link to this, which says this:
The American Family Association has a policy at its new outlet, OneNewsNow, never to use the word “gay” but to replace it with “homosexual.” And that works absolutely perfectly until they write an article about an athlete whose last name is Gay, as in Tyson Gay, the fastest man on the US Olympic track team.
This was of course hastily corrected, but the magic of copy-and-paste had already done the damage. Most quoters have quoted the searched-and-replaced version, but I’ll let you do it. Change “Gay” to “Homosexual” in this, from the revised-and-then-revised-back-again version:
Tyson Gay was a blur in blue, sprinting 100 meters faster than anyone ever has.
Or this:
“It means a lot to me,” the 25-year-old Gay said. “I’m glad my body could do it, because now I know I have it in me.”
Or, my favourite, this:
After the race, Gay and Dix looked at each other and slapped palms, then hugged.
But amidst all the joking, it should not be forgotten that this guy sounds like he might be a real athletics superstar.
No one ever has covered 100 meters more quickly.
I say “might”, because when you hear that an athlete is really, really fast your first thought may be wow, but a close second in a photo-finish is: I wonder if it’s just that the dopesters have now found a new and cleverer way to do it. Gay might, that is to say, be a very quick runner but a fake superstar. If you don’t want to be at the centre of universal suspicion, do not be a superstar sprinter, and in particular, do not come to the boil just for the Olympics. Lawyers may forbid constant reference to this suspicion in official big-media sports reports, but this is what all of us casual onlookers now think, and all the lawyers on earth cannot stop us. For Gay’s sake, I hope that this proves to be a real, drug-free record.
I also hope that, come the Olympics, Gay doesn’t choke. Ditto all the other athletes. But then again, if such a PR catastrophe in some way makes the government of China a little less nasty, maybe a bit of athletic choking would be a good thing. Sadly, however, if the story so far is anything to go by, such an eventuality would probably cause that government behave even more nastily, perhaps by inprisoning all the TV cameramen who concentrated too much on the choking.
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Who Are We? The Samizdata people are a bunch of sinister and heavily armed globalist illuminati who seek to infect the entire world with the values of personal liberty and several property. Amongst our many crimes is a sense of humour and the intermittent use of British spelling.
We are also a varied group made up of social individualists, classical liberals, whigs, libertarians, extropians, futurists, ‘Porcupines’, Karl Popper fetishists, recovering neo-conservatives, crazed Ayn Rand worshipers, over-caffeinated Virginia Postrel devotees, witty Frédéric Bastiat wannabes, cypherpunks, minarchists, kritarchists and wild-eyed anarcho-capitalists from Britain, North America, Australia and Europe.
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