The Bug in the Bedroom

Last night I noticed a bug walking across the floor of the bedroom as I readied for bed. I ran to the bathroom for Kleenex to catch this misplaced creature and flush him away; but when I returned the bug was gone. Where did he go? Not under the bed, not on the bed, not under the table, where is that buggar?

As I climbed into bed I could not help wonder if the ugly critter had somehow gotten into the bed. Perhaps even under the covers. Lights on, out of bed, covers peeled back, but no sign of the creepy denizen.

Lights out, back in bed, time for sleep. It is late and I have an early meeting tomorrow. So what happened to the buggar? Could it be in the pillow case? Probably not. Why do I care; it was just a harmless bug. Maybe I should check the pillows.

If it was a cockroach, I would be more concerned. Roaches travel in groups. See one roach and there are relatives nearby. I hate roaches. Once I went to brush my teeth, and there was a roach on the bristles of my toothbrush. Yuck!

Once I stayed in a cheap motel and the wall seemed to move when the lights were out but a little light creped in from outside through the thin curtains sufficient to show movement and shadows. When I turned on the lights, I was astonished to see roaches on the wall. The lights remained on all night and I slept not.

But the creature in my bedroom last night was not from the hated roach family; he was just a brown buggar intruding on my private space. Maybe he is nocturnal and when I turn on the lights, he will be out of hiding. Lights on; no bug.

Once my ex-wife and I had a cat who used to catch big bugs and bring them home to show us. One night the cat let a katydid go under the covers of our bed and danced around the bed as the bug moved under the covers. My wife awoke and screamed; I thought Hells Angels motorcycle gang had broken in and we were under attack.

This was not a katydid. Nor was it one of Australia’s many venomous spiders or scorpions; it was just a bug. So where did it go? At least I know it was not in the pillow case.

An Economic Primer by a Non-Economist

The news today is dominated by economic data, which seems to always be bad. When the colored graphs in the newspapers and websites always point down, that usually is not a good sign. The only up pointing graphs seem to be an increasing amount of bad stuff (unemployment, foreclosures, etc.).

With economics on the front pages, I thought it could be helpful to understand economic terms that are now so casually used without definition or explanation. If you were a political science major like I was, some definition and guidance could be essential. So here is what I have come to understand about common economic terms.

Toxic assets. This is a difficult one. How can something that is an asset be toxic? It appears to me that this is a case where an investment banker declares an obtuse financial instrument that normal people (including high paid executives evidently) cannot understand an ‘asset,’ sells it to someone else, who then implodes, and the guy who sold it gets a bonus.

Negative growth. How can growth be negative? This is another oxymoron. It is as though politicians and economists fear using the word 'down,' so they call it 'anti-up.' This is a phrase created to avoid saying more pejorative terms like we’re all going down the drain.

Infrastructure. Governments spending money on infrastructure is very popular across the world. Governments everywhere are going into debt to fund infrastructure projects. Since you will have to pay for it, you should know just what is ‘infrastructure?’ It is anything the Government wants to spend money on (house insulation, college scholarships, tanks, etc.).

Global Recession. When a politician blames the ‘Global Recession’ for everything that goes wrong and for an inability to balance the budget, he/she is saying “Don’t blame me; it’s the other guy’s fault.” In that sense, a global recession is how my soon to be ex-wife viewed our marriage.

Economic Stimulus. This goes hand in hand with Global Recession. The phrase means politicians can spend money that they do not have because there is a Global Recession. The worse the Global Recession appears, the more money politicos are allowed to spend. When you hear one of them conjuring up memories of the Great Depression, be prepared for truly massive spending.

Liquidity Crisis. When banks don’t make loans necessary to sustain business, it leads lots of people to drink; hence a liquidity crisis.

Mark to Market. This is a strange accounting technique used to force companies (like banks) to write down assets that are otherwise performing just fine. By writing down assets, banks no longer have appropriate reserves or balance sheet capacity to make new loans, which causes borrowers to default and requires even more mark downs in an unending downward spiral. I think the concept was invented based on a guy named Mark, who went to market but lost his money gambling while he was supposed to be buying groceries.

Retention Bonus. This phrase was made famous by AIG recently, who paid traders in London retention bonuses after they lost a trillion dollars. Unlike a performance bonus, a retention bonus is earned by going to work every day and doing your job. I suspect the unions were caught by surprise when they read about AIG. They must all be asking themselves, “Why didn’t I think of that?” I can see the new bargaining position – no major salary increases just big retention bonuses for everyone.

Softening Conditions. I never realized conditions could be ‘soft’ like toilet paper. This is a polite way of saying things are going from bad to worse or we are about to be flushed.

Promising. This adjective can apply to investments, economic conditions, or even your social life. Generally it means past performance is pathetic but things are unlikely to get worse.

Productivity. This is an economic term that measures how much stuff is produced per worker. When productivity is rising, it means each worker is producing more stuff; and it generally leads to rising employment levels. When productivity is declining, it usually means people aren’t buying as much and you still have lots of workers who aren’t producing so much. Declining productivity is a precursor to rising unemployment as companies fire unneeded workers. Similarly, when a politician produces a lot of words that do not accomplish anything, it is political productivity. As long as their productivity remains high, politicians are unlikely to lose their jobs.

Default. This word has two different meanings. It can mean the norm or the condition achieved when no other direction is given as in the default position. However, if you read this word in the business section in the newspaper in Australia, it means ‘stuffed’ as in the company is stuffed because of too much debt and too few banks.

Economic Cycle. Things that go up eventually go down and vice versa. Think of a bicycle tire that rotates as you peddle. Any point on the tire rotates to the top and then to the bottom. The economy is similar; in recessions economic activity declines and in periods of growth or expansion, activity increases. So where are we in the economic cycle today? Think of a flat tire.

Waiting for Hamish

The palm fronds were horizontal in the wind; the rain was so thick and descending so fast the harbor and surrounding islands were no longer visible, hidden behind the curtain of cloud and water. The wind was loud, making its own angry noise as it blew with a ferocity I had not before encountered.

We looked out our glass encased rental home, built to showcase the stunning views in every direction during normal times. Perched on the top of the steep hill, the house did not offer the magnificent views today; instead standing alone and unprotected against the unimpeded wind.

A category 5 cyclone (aka hurricane), the most powerful of storms, marched steadily toward our island retreat. We recalled other Category 5 storms like Andrew in Florida, and the damage that resulted. Katrina was only a Cat 3; and New Orleans has yet to recover.

It was not supposed to be this way: a reunion of friends from the U.S. on an island off Australia’s northeastern coast; an idyllic setting for snorkeling, unspoiled beaches, and visits to The Great Barrier Reef. It was to be a respite from the pressures of work and home.

Three guys who have experienced great success yet are struggling late in life with terrible economic and business conditions and difficulties at home. Three genuinely nice guys who have known each other for 25 years during long careers in the U.S. and are well respected and liked planned this sojourn, our first together despite knowing each other for so long.

Gene organized the trip. A senior partner at one of New York’s most prestigious law firms, Gene is overseeing a staff of transaction hardened attorneys in a market were there are few transactions. He struggles with a long term marriage which offers increasing volatility and uncertainty. Two of his adult children accompanied him for a trip of bonding and mutual support.

Glenn flew up with his wife, Mary, from Melbourne. Glenn and I worked together in New York at a public company (Glenn as CEO and me as President); after I left Glenn sold the company to a big Australian company, that later became insolvent when the credit markets collapsed. Glenn became CEO of the combined company and has worked day and night to salvage the company from liquidation. This was his time to relax for a few days and reconnect with his wife.

I am CEO of an Australian company in Sydney after a long career in the U.S. Now, however, I too am struggling with too much corporate debt in a debt-starved marketplace and too little income in a deteriorating property market. To add to my difficulties, my wife of 30 years has filed for divorce in the U.S. and seems determined to pursue aggressive and expensive legal remedies to insure a comfortable lifestyle for her and not much for me. The three of us needed this break from the daily pressures of life; we looked forward to it with much anticipation; it was to be our R&R and an opportunity to recharge our physical and mental batteries.

Yet, now we stood in the path of one of the most powerful storms ever to cruise the Australian coastline. There was no place to hide; no bridge to cross to safety; no planes or boats leading away from the storm’s path. As we looked out from our glass enclosure, we waited for Hamish to come.

We did all the preparatory things you are supposed to do when a storm approaches. We filled the bathtubs and various containers with water in anticipation of losing power and water. We secured flashlights, matches, and candles. We bought extra food and drink (including several six-packs of beer) at the grocery store; placed outdoor furniture in the pool so pieces would not become airborne missiles, and moved away movable objects from inside windows. We located safer spaces to hide and discussed how to communicate and where to go if the behemoth hit at night.

Our only transportation on the mountaintop was a buggy (aka golf cart). Amidst the driving rain, the buggy stopped working. This was surely an omen; even the buggy feared to venture out. We borrowed a buggy from the neighbor for trips to town.

The Aussies in town seemed eerily calm and unconcerned. “No worries, mate,” was a common response to questions of pending destruction. “When is the storm projected to hit here, I asked the woman at the news stand?” “Tomorrow” she replied, with an air of indifference. “No worries, if the police want you to evacuate, they will stop by and tell you.” “But where do we evacuate to?” “The police will know; maybe the conference center.”

I realized all of the local residents who exuded such self confidence were 25 years old or younger. I guess the older residents left town when they could. The last cyclone to hit the islands was 10 years ago, and most of the people we met were not here then.

We drove the buggy to town and stopped first at the tour office where we had made snorkeling reservations the previous day. The girl in the office at the time lacked concern that the storm would affect the next day’s outing; that was yesterday. Today the office was locked up, windows taped, and a hurried sign posted “No tours until further notice.”

We drove to the Italian Restaurant we planned to have dinner that night. “Only accepting dinner reservations before 6:30 pm” the manager said; the restaurant was closing early so employees could look for safety before Hamish came calling.

Hamish appeared to be slowing down according to reports we picked up in town. That was both good and bad news. At least it would not hit until the following day when we could react in daylight, but it also met the potential for more damage and a longer encounter with the unwanted visitor. The projected path continued to point at our island.

The news was sporadic; even the Australian television news did not give much coverage; no news people on islands holding on and trying to avoid being blown over in the gale force winds; no camera coverage of damage on islands already hit; no scary stories of past natural calamities. Either the Aussie public didn’t care or the media was not as reckless as their American cousins.

That night the wind blew in waves from hard to ferociously hard. The gusts drowned out the sounds of crashing waves on the beaches below and rain from above. But the house held without noticeable breaks.

In the morning, we received some good news. According to my Blackberry internet browser, the storm seemed to be moving slightly east toward open ocean. We all took turns squinting at the miniature picture of the cyclone’s path on the small Blackberry screen. Yes, we all agreed, even those of us with questionable eyesight, there was movement off course. We seemed no longer destined for the 280 k/hour winds at the eye of the storm.

Finally some news on the limited selection of television stations on this island. Hamish was indeed moving away from the coast; high winds and rain would continue for most of the day but Hamilton Island was no longer directly in the path. We drove around the island later as the rain abated; there were few others about but we did meet a woman who told us the island was under curfew and many of the residents had been evacuated to the conference center and were not yet allowed to leave. Later, they opened the doors and everyone was outside looking at the limited storm damage and wondering what the big deal was. By the next morning, the stores were open and we were packing to leave the island paradise to be experienced some future trip.

Once again, the Aussie attitude of “No worries Mate,” came out like the winner, although I fear the day when people do not take threats seriously. And for Gene, Glenn, and myself, we finished our long island weekend without once worrying about banks, or debts, or even issues at home. And Gene and his children bonded; and Glenn and Mary shared an unforgettable experience together.

What's the Rush?

Today I walked to the pharmacy during lunch. I was not in a hurry; my next meeting was not for an hour and the drugstore was close to my office. As I approached the traffic signal, the pedestrian light turned to flashing red. This is the universal symbol to run quickly to beat the dreaded steady red hand. So I was in no rush but I ran; it would be unthinkable to waste a minute waiting for my turn to cross the street. Others ran too; and I bet they were not in a hurry either. What is it that causes us to rush when we are not hurried?

For some reason, it just seems intolerable to have to wait at a red traffic signal. I could be doing more productive things like going somewhere. But to be stalled seems wasteful. Everyone needs something to do, especially Type A personalities like myself. Doing nothing drives me nuts.

Maybe that is why traffic signals have push buttons for pedestrians. We can push the button repeatedly and take satisfaction when the light changes. I don’t know about Sydney, but the City of New York disconnected the push buttons years ago but did not tell anyone. It seems computerized traffic management programs and push buttons are not compatible. But New York officials were smart enough to know people waiting at traffic signals need something to do, especially something that they think causes change to occur. So they left the buttons, and New Yorkers push and push and claim satisfaction when the light changes.

I think the only people who do not rush are older tourists. I know they are old, because the walk slowly; I know they are tourists because they are not in a rush. Old people on holiday cannot rush because they have too much time to go places they don’t know how to get to. Everyone else is in a hurry whether they are in a hurry or not.

People driving cars are in a rush too, but they are fined for rushing. In the U.S., drivers used to accelerate when the traffic light turned yellow to avoid waiting at a red light. Then some entrepreneur had an epiphany and convinced cities to install cameras at traffic signals. Now if you speed up, you receive a fine in the mail. This has become a big moneymaker for cities. What cities need to do and have completely failed so far is to equip drivers with push buttons like pedestrians. The time would pass more quickly if drivers had buttons to push to seemingly make the lights change. Maybe we could start a rumor that it takes three drivers to push at once; that would keep everyone stopped at a traffic light occupied.

The Road to Somewhere

I am driving on the road to somewhere; I do not know where the road leads; I have no map and no modern navigation. I wonder what I will do when the road forks or intersects but for now the road is straight with no choices to make.

This is unusual for me. I am normally disciplined; my plans are usually clear and well considered; the path forward is generally known. New encounters and experiences in route are welcome but the path is otherwise set.

In contrast, I am now adrift, driving forward with no sense of destination or what lies ahead. I know how to drive and so I drive.

I look about and amidst the uncertainty and unfamiliarity, I yearn for the familiar where roles were known, friendships certain, and relationships defined. I remember when I worked during the day, returned home at night to dinner with my family, did things as a couple with my wife, and vacationed with my family. Now I drive alone.

I want to turn back but I realize the road past traveled no longer exists. My wife is divorcing me after 30 years of marriage. I want to go back to better times, but there is no way back.

In hindsight, our relationship was never that close. In recent years my wife turned hostile, blaming me for all that troubled her, criticizing me every day for perceived faults and foibles. She made my life miserable but I do not think of that now; I yearn for the familiar road.

I realize that road was not as good as I choose to remember; if it was we would not be divorcing. But I choose to remember the prior roads that led to happy places.

Oh how I want to go back and correct her misunderstandings, wrong beliefs, and misconstrued memories. I want to explain her misperceptions and remind her that I am a good person not deserving of such hostility. I know she will not listen but cannot yet accept this. Everyone who has driven this road tells me I cannot go back; I must give up the hope and proceed forward; this is hard for me to do.

I want to change the past, but it is not possible. I apologize for my faults, but she takes that as confirmation that her criticisms are justified. She seems irrational and maybe even mentally unbalanced; I am unable to connect with her or even have normal conversation. The familiar road exists only in my memory; I cannot go back.

So I drive on; less confident often looking in the rearview mirror trying to glimpse where I have been. The road continues straight, however, distancing me from whatever went before.

I observe the changing landscape, always curious about new things and new experiences; but curiosity does not compensate for my loss of what was familiar. Formerly I sought new experiences and craved learning new things, but I always knew I could go home when I tired of what was new. I cannot go home now because home no longer exists.

She wants our home; she wants our savings; she wants our friends; she demands my past. I live in the present passing unfamiliar towns and wondering where this road goes.

I have always been successful in business. I know how to make money but I always left our social life to her. We were a team; I made the money and she made our friends. She took the lead, but we both were very involved with raising our children, who are now grown.

Now I continue to make money but am cast into the unfamiliar role of developing a social network. I know how to drive but I lack the skills to maintain the car.

I know I must let go of the past and establish a new destination and route to go there. But I am not able to let go so easily and have no destination. I know what I must do but actually moving ahead is too difficult for me. So I drive not knowing where I go.

I look in the mirror; I am older than I remember and older than those around me. How did I age so? How much longer will I be able to drive?

Should I pick up a passenger? There are many candidates but none seem right. I compare them to my first meeting with my wife many years ago, and they compare unfavorably.

Why did she become so mean and treat me so badly? Is it my fault? Did I neglect her so? What should I have done differently?

I know this is mostly her fault but doubts emerge. Did my behavior elicit her behavior? I am confused; I want to go back and change history; but I cannot go back because there is no back.

I call my children; they are wonderful young men. We love each other, but they have their own lives, and I do not want to burden them with my problems. It is important they realize their mother and I love them so much; we just do not like each other that much right now.

The road occasionally turns but continues without end in sight. Oddly there are no sign posts to tell me where I am going. Others who have traveled this road warn me it is a long and difficult journey where the destination remains unclear and unknown until it is reached. They also warn me the road is one way with no turn-a-rounds.

So I continue to drive on the road to somewhere.

Cricket: An American Perspective

The first international game of cricket was played between the United States and Canada in 1844 in New York. I don’t think much cricket has been played in either country since that time. In all my years living in the United States, I never knew of a cricket game being played locally. That indicates the American appetite for cricket.

Cricket does have drawbacks from a North American perspective. One of the biggest issues today in American baseball, arguably America’s ‘national pastime,’ is slowness of play. Major league baseball is trying to ensure 9 inning games are played in less than 3 hours. The same is true in the Japanese leagues.

In cricket, they try to complete 2 innings in 5 days for Test matches. If they fail to conclude 2 innings in 5 days, a draw (tie) is proclaimed. That’s right; play for 5 days and no one wins. This is hard to accept for Americans who are often so focused on winning.

I am pretty sure cricket in Australia was invented by one of the local beer distributors for a couple reasons. First, beer is very popular in Australia. In our corporate office, we have three refrigerators for the employees; and the biggest one is for beer only. Woe to anyone who tries to sneak a lunch in the beer frige.

Secondly, consider how much more beer can be consumed in a five day test match compared to a nine inning baseball game, especially when played on hot summer days. I suspect cricket started out as a three hour contest until the beer distributors re-invented it.

The owners of the early cricket teams were almost certainly cheapskates. The facts are compelling:
The ball is not even round or smooth sided. Clearly the cricket teams were saving money by using factory seconds for balls and then subsequently created some law requiring uneven balls.
They also created a law requiring the use of one ball for the entire match; imagine using one baseball for five baseball games! And the consequences for losing a ball in a match are particularly onerous.
Only the keeper is allowed to wear gloves even though the ball is very hard.
There are no groundskeepers to smooth out the pitch between at bats; they just let it go unattended

Can there be any doubt the guys who owned cricket teams implemented rules to keep costs low and then called them ‘laws’ to prevent future and more expensive innovations? And then they sold beer at the games so the fans would not realize the balls were warped or the grounds uneven. Over time fans came to believe oddly shaped balls and cracked, uneven dirt were essential and strategic parts of the game. This is really brilliant marketing.

In baseball a single run often determines the winner of a game: in soccer a single goal often makes the difference between victory and defeat. In cricket, if you don’t realize 350 runs in the first at bat, your team is probably in trouble of losing. Miss a few runs going to the bathroom, its okay; you can watch a few hundred more when you return.

Americans like to keep score, and at a baseball game many of the spectators will have score cards duly recording what happens with each batter. I do not advise trying to keep a score card in cricket. Meticulously recording 600 or 700 runs on a scorecard seems like a futile exercise.

As an American visitor in Australia, let me share some insights and instructions to those visitors less familiar with cricket, using more familiar baseball terminology.

A ‘bowler’ throws a ball somewhat like a baseball pitcher but with a few differences. First, the bowler does not bowl; he bounces the ball toward the batter. For ease of description, we could call him more appropriately the ‘bouncer.’ We can’t call him a pitcher because the ground is also called the ‘pitch’ when it is not being called a ‘wicket’ (more on wickets later). He starts from somewhere in the outfield, runs like a wild man toward the batsman (i.e. the batter), stops suddenly and bounces the ball using an unusual arm motion.

There are actually two bowlers in the game at the same time. One bowler faces batters at one end (say to the west) while the other bowler faces batters to the east (there are actually two home plates but only one is used at a time). The bowlers (i.e. bouncers) take turns, switching after 6 pitches which represent an over even if the bounces were not over the proper batting area, in which case the referee could declare the over is not over. .

In cricket, everything is called a wicket. If you don’t know what to say, just complain about the wicket or talk about a challenging wicket, or whatever. Aussies have a habit of truncating words; in cricket they just use the same word for almost everything; it must save effort.

A wicket is an out. It is also the thing (a piece of flat wood on top of a three pronged stand) behind the batter. It is also the ground that the bouncer bounces his ball. It may be a few other things too. It would be like baseball calling everything a ‘base’ including outs, the infield, the bases, and the pitching mound.

So the bowler runs in from another postal code, bounces the ball on the wicket, the batter swings and hits the ball, which is caught on the fly for a wicket unless the batter misses the ball and it hits the wicket behind the batter, which is then declared a wicket. Okay so far?

To obtain a wicket, the fielder must catch the ball on the fly. So the bowler bounces the ball and the batter tries to bounce it back so it cannot be caught on the fly or it would become a wicket. If you’re a batter, wickets are really bad.

If the bowler bounces the ball and the batter bounces the ball, the batter and his partner (another batter who is not a batter because only one batter can bat even though two play at the same time) can run back and forth passing each other from base to base. Instead of four bases there are only 2 in cricket, so there is a lot of back and forth but it does seem rather efficient.

A grand slam home run in baseball is equal to 4 runs and is achieved when the ball goes over the outfield fence on the fly with the bases full. In cricket, you get 4 runs also, but you just need for the ball to reach the fence line while bouncing or rolling. Cricket has another advantage; you can hit a foul ball that rolls to the fence line and is still worth 4 runs. You can even miss the ball and get a home run if it rolls far enough. Baseball has one catcher; cricket often has several for this reason.

In cricket, if you hit the ball over the fence on the fly, you receive 6 runs; but bouncing the ball is usually safer.

There are also some very weird rules in cricket. They probably all had some obscure origin -- such as Lord So-And-So did something in 1624 that had an unacceptable result. For example, if the catcher (alias the keeper) takes off his hat and puts in on the ground and the batter hits the ball which hits the hat, the batter is awarded 5 runs. It is unclear if the 5 runs is a penalty for the sloppy keeper or a reward to the batter for making a trick shot. If you enjoy reading the Rules of Golf, I suspect you will find nirvana reading the Laws of Cricket. The Law on not running far enough to reach the base line after hitting a ball should be fairly simple (as in no run scored). The Laws of Cricket devote several paragraphs to definitions, and multiple consequences under various conditions depending on whether the failure to score was viewed as deliberate or unintentional. Cricket fans definitely like rules (which they call laws, suggesting criminal penalties for transgressors).

So for baseball fans, calling a cricket match using baseball lingo would go something like this.

The bowler bouncer (as opposed to the non-bouncer who is between overs) runs a 440 dash, bounces the ball off the wicket which careens toward the batter batter (as opposed to the batter non batter). The batter batter swings his bat as the ball bounces off the wicket, assuming the potential over is over, trying to avoid having the ball hit the wicket behind the wicket or hitting it on the fly to a fielder who would earn a wicket. The batter batter only nicks the ball, which goes between catcher 1 and catcher 2 (which could be the bowler non bouncer) and into the field behind the wicket behind the wicket but fails to hit the keeper’s hat. The batter batter and the batter non-batter run back and forth slowly and earn a run each time they cross the line by the wicket that is behind the wicket unless the fielder hits the wicket behind the wicket with the ball while the batter batter or batter non batter are not yet over the line with their bat.

If a batter makes a wicket, he is retired and the next batter comes up. A side is retired when everyone but the last batter non batter has made a wicket. Then the other team bats, unless it is tea time or too late.

There is an element of dodge ball in cricket which adds another aspect of interest. Unlike baseball, if a bowler hits a batter with a ball, it is the batter’s fault. If a batter dives to avoid being circumcised, the ball may hit the wicket, causing a wicket. And if the batter stands steady and bravely takes the hit, he will still get a wicket if the referee determines the ball would have caused a wicket had it proceeded through the batter’s body and come out the other side. I think this rule must have been sponsored by the National Rifle Association (Aus branch) a few years ago.

The condition of the pitch or wicket plays a big role in cricket. In baseball, the infield is carefully manicured to ensure consistency in the bounce or roll of hit balls. In cricket the pitch is hard dirt (I was told it is grass but I did not see much green so unless Aussie grass grows brown, the pitch is compacted dirt). The surface develops cracks and ridges contributing to dramatic uncertainties and inconsistencies on the path of the bouncing ball. This works to the advantage of the bowler, because the batter must remain a bit tentative or risk being decapitated.
There are lots of subtleties to the game of cricket, none of which I fully understand. It does seem like the perfect sport to share conversation and a beer, unafraid of missing too much of the action but enjoying the skills of the players and late game suspense. Like so much in Australia, it is a game to be savored and not rushed to conclusion. And the relatively few breaks mean fewer TV commercials and TV timeouts, which would otherwise slow the game down and probably add a few more days to the Test. And when in doubt, you can always remark about the wickets and order another beer.

Obama in the Morning

This Tuesday (Wednesday in Sydney), Barack Obama will be sworn in as the 44 th President of the United States of America. People in Australia and around the world will celebrate his inauguration because of what he represents to the world: a man with global vision, leadership, intelligence, and moral values. They will welcome his spirit of cooperation and mutual respect, his first reliance on consultation and diplomacy, and his moral suasion. He is a welcome replacement for the dark, insular years brought about by his predecessor.

Many Americans welcome his ascendancy for other reasons. Those of us who have lived long can remember the dark times of segregation and racial hatred that consumed and divided our country. We have our own stories.

As a young man at University in the 1970’s, I became friends with a black woman, who was a classmate. She told me of her efforts with friends to work for the election of a black candidate for mayor of Bloomington, Indiana, where we lived. Soon I joined the campaign and became very involved. Bloomington was a southern city at the time. While home to Indiana University, the non-University community was conservative and rural. Blacks and whites lived in separate neighborhoods and did not mix. Whites socialized in country and western bars; blacks had their own destinations. A black man running for mayor was easily dismissed in the white community.

As we begin to build some momentum drawing on the Black and the University community support, the threats begin to arrive. The hate mail, the death threats, especially to our black campaign workers, the midnight phone calls threatening to kill children and families brought a terror I had never before encountered. I saw it in their faces every day; fear, real fear for themselves and their families. The Klu Klux Klan threatened to mobilize. The feeling of terror was real and omnipresent.

At campaign meetings we counted attendees, worried that some would be missing and not found. Campaign workers in Mississippi had been killed recently working on a similar mayoral election. We were scared, but we persevered. We were on a righteous mission in a democracy we all believed in.

In the end, our candidate won in a historic election for southern Indiana. It was a point of light on an otherwise dark canvas.

Having witnessed the intense racial hatred in my lifetime, it is overwhelming for me to see a black man become President. Having grown up with racial violence dominating the news, listening to the racial slurs and intolerance in my own family, and believing personally and fervently in human dignity and equality, I could not imagine a President Barack Obama. I am sure millions of others could never envision such a thing either.

Tuesday is my day, and it is the day of millions of Americans who thought they would never experience the nation coming together to elect a black President, not in their lifetime.

******

Barak O’Bama never had much of a chance. Hilliary Clinton had the Democratic nomination all but locked up. But Obama went to Iowa, a rural farm state in the middle of the country to campaign in the first primary contest. He was the longest of long shots.

On a cold winter night last February, my older brother who was then 70 years old and his 69 year old wife braved the cold and ice and snow to drive to the meeting hall in Algona, Iowa, a small town in the northeastern part of the state. . In a primary caucus, you have to show up in person and announce your vote for your candidate. My brother, Bing, formerly the head of the opposition Republican Party in the County, stood with his wife Molly, shivering from the cold but waiting patiently to announce for Barack Obama. With Bing’s determined support and thousands like him, Obama won Iowa and went on to win the nomination.

So when Barack Obama puts his hand on the same Bible that Abraham Lincoln used in 1860 and is sworn in as the 44th President, my brother Bing in Algona Iowa and I, in Sydney Australia will be watching. For me, it will be around 3:30 AM on Wednesday, but that’s okay. This is my day. This is the day I never thought I would see.

If I appear a little tired Wednesday at work, please excuse me. I will be up early watching my new President and wondering how so much can change in one lifetime.