Fear is a valuable but debilitating emotion. It is one thing to fear God and the tornado tearing across the prairie toward your ramshackle farmhouse, rightfully causing you and Auntie Em to run for the root cellar. It’s another to fear failure and thus invite it. How many putts has Kev left woefully short for fear of sending the Titleist down a sloped green to the rough on the other side?
After a camera carom and a flair for the flare handed New York the game the day before, the fireman- turned-arsonist Brad Lidge helped the pinstripers to the brink of a 27th World Series triumph. Eschewing his best pitch, the slider, scared that a wild pitch could plate the go-ahead run, the Phillies’ Lidge served up a two-out fastball to Alex Rodriguez, who stroked the winning hit in the ninth inning yesterday. Might as well have hit him in the ribs again and fired up your team with -- what? A bench-clearing brawl, of course.
It’s bracing how this sporting life teaches us, even as we age ungracefully, that knee-knocking moments, like fatigue, make cowards of us all. Except for Johnny Damon, who used to look more like the Nazarene than Derek Jeter. After a nine-pitch battle, He singled and then promptly walked on water, stealing second and going on to third, taking advantage of an unguarded third base caused by the shifted infield.
Now the Philadelphia team rests its hopes on James Bond, alias Cliff Lee, who was a work of art in the first game. Fellow Arkansan A.J. Burnett goes for the empire on three days’ rest. Expect no parade on lower Broadway yet. Another game will be played in the Bronx.
Meanwhile, Kev loves to putt. Think I’ll roll a few on the carpet right now.
Showing posts with label New York Yankees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York Yankees. Show all posts
Monday, November 2, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
World Series Diary: The Name Is Bond
Ladies, there’s a new fashion trend in leather accessories this fall for fending off unwanted advances. Wear a baseball glove and leave the thick laces normally tied at the wrist and the outside of the hand hanging loose. This seems to hypnotize pinstripers (powerful bankers or Yankee hitters) unable to believe they can’t get to first base with you.
Just ask the Phillies’ Cliff Lee, the artful Arkansan who addled the most powerful line-up in baseball in their own home-run derby park in the first game of the 2009 World Series. The untied straps of leather dangled at the wind-up, then they slapped like Indiana Jones’ whip when the ball came out in the bare hand, striking out 10, walking none and giving up not one earned run in a complete game 6-1 Phillies victory.
More impressive, Mr. Lee’s sangfroid makes him the leading candidate to become the next James Bond. “What’s the point of being nervous?” he said after the game.
The Smersh operatives known as the Bronx Bombers were dispatched with an array of pitches (one of which is called a spiked curveball) that rivaled all the gadgets with which Q equips 007. His nonchalant, hip-high catch of a pop fly and his behind-the back, matador-like snaring of a hot ground ball up the middle brought insouciant Bond-like smirks to Mr. Lee’s face. It was as if he were saying, “This game is too easy.”
Meanwhile, the pajama-clad CC Sabathia labored manfully for the empire, despite giving up two homers to fellow left-hander Chase Utley. We won’t even go into manager Joe Girardi’s pitching changes here. It was like Dr. Evil dispatching underlings with the touch of a button.
But the fun has only begun. Tonight, Pedro takes the mound for the visitors in the new Yankee Stadium, a house meant to revive the glories of Pharaohs past with new monarchs. Can the aging tomb raider steal a win?
In any event, James Bond has managed to keep the free world alive for another day.
Just ask the Phillies’ Cliff Lee, the artful Arkansan who addled the most powerful line-up in baseball in their own home-run derby park in the first game of the 2009 World Series. The untied straps of leather dangled at the wind-up, then they slapped like Indiana Jones’ whip when the ball came out in the bare hand, striking out 10, walking none and giving up not one earned run in a complete game 6-1 Phillies victory.
More impressive, Mr. Lee’s sangfroid makes him the leading candidate to become the next James Bond. “What’s the point of being nervous?” he said after the game.
The Smersh operatives known as the Bronx Bombers were dispatched with an array of pitches (one of which is called a spiked curveball) that rivaled all the gadgets with which Q equips 007. His nonchalant, hip-high catch of a pop fly and his behind-the back, matador-like snaring of a hot ground ball up the middle brought insouciant Bond-like smirks to Mr. Lee’s face. It was as if he were saying, “This game is too easy.”
Meanwhile, the pajama-clad CC Sabathia labored manfully for the empire, despite giving up two homers to fellow left-hander Chase Utley. We won’t even go into manager Joe Girardi’s pitching changes here. It was like Dr. Evil dispatching underlings with the touch of a button.
But the fun has only begun. Tonight, Pedro takes the mound for the visitors in the new Yankee Stadium, a house meant to revive the glories of Pharaohs past with new monarchs. Can the aging tomb raider steal a win?
In any event, James Bond has managed to keep the free world alive for another day.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Into Each Life
I believe the definition of par is the number of strokes an expert golfer requires to complete a hole. The par for a 72-hole tournament’s completion is four days, which may have to succumb to Mother Nature’s par for the skies of New York lo these many days.
Instead of delivering buttery bucketsful of sunshine, she has deemed it necessary to strap kegs of Poland Spring to the gray clouds. Our promising tan is fading, and the makers of sunblock lotion must be laying off thousands.
In the meantime, Mother Nature’s niece, Miss Market, must be obeyed as well. We cannot bend them to our will. Even Tiger Woods, 11 strokes off the lead after 36 holes as we write, must bow every now and then to the vagaries of nature.
Miss Market will increasingly inflict pain or rain riches according to the broad-brush data released every week. That’s because stock prices will more and more respond to news about the general health of the economy than the efforts at political jockeying on legislation. Change in financial sector regulation is a given, as is health care reform, deficit spending and money supply growth. Barking about reforms being too much or too little is quibbling. Too often, we seek the perfect at the expense of the possible. Recovery is baked in the cake.
Last week, the Conference Board reported that its index of leading economic indicators rose 1.2% in May, the second straight monthly increase. And the Philly Fed index rose to negative 2.2 in June from negative 22.6 in May, the best business condition in the Philadelphia region since September. New orders and shipments improved, as employment remained very weak. Those who still have jobs are running faster on the treadmill.
We will have to run a little faster this week to make up for the baseball picks last week. We picked the wrong day to take the Floridian fish over the pinstripers, the same day we foolishly believed the Coors Field tall boys would turn chilly against the plucky Bucs. Earlier, we put our faith again in young Vin Mazzaro of the Elephant patches against the old Brooklynites in southern California.
Mother Nature and Miss Market can be obstinate, but patience will bring them around. Stay long equities and oil, short bonds. The U.S. Open will crown a champion sooner or later. Here’s hoping it’s later, as Kev has a Thursday ticket good for Monday if they can’t finish today. Long shot investment tip of the week: Go long Duval, short Barnes.
Instead of delivering buttery bucketsful of sunshine, she has deemed it necessary to strap kegs of Poland Spring to the gray clouds. Our promising tan is fading, and the makers of sunblock lotion must be laying off thousands.
In the meantime, Mother Nature’s niece, Miss Market, must be obeyed as well. We cannot bend them to our will. Even Tiger Woods, 11 strokes off the lead after 36 holes as we write, must bow every now and then to the vagaries of nature.
Miss Market will increasingly inflict pain or rain riches according to the broad-brush data released every week. That’s because stock prices will more and more respond to news about the general health of the economy than the efforts at political jockeying on legislation. Change in financial sector regulation is a given, as is health care reform, deficit spending and money supply growth. Barking about reforms being too much or too little is quibbling. Too often, we seek the perfect at the expense of the possible. Recovery is baked in the cake.
Last week, the Conference Board reported that its index of leading economic indicators rose 1.2% in May, the second straight monthly increase. And the Philly Fed index rose to negative 2.2 in June from negative 22.6 in May, the best business condition in the Philadelphia region since September. New orders and shipments improved, as employment remained very weak. Those who still have jobs are running faster on the treadmill.
We will have to run a little faster this week to make up for the baseball picks last week. We picked the wrong day to take the Floridian fish over the pinstripers, the same day we foolishly believed the Coors Field tall boys would turn chilly against the plucky Bucs. Earlier, we put our faith again in young Vin Mazzaro of the Elephant patches against the old Brooklynites in southern California.
Mother Nature and Miss Market can be obstinate, but patience will bring them around. Stay long equities and oil, short bonds. The U.S. Open will crown a champion sooner or later. Here’s hoping it’s later, as Kev has a Thursday ticket good for Monday if they can’t finish today. Long shot investment tip of the week: Go long Duval, short Barnes.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Young Girls They Do Get Weary
One lesson Kev thinks he has finally learned as he approaches the turn to the home stretch is that you can’t tell people how to feel. Least of all Miss Market. Our pouting paramour will not succumb to sunny encouragement, snapping her feral fangs at the hand on her shoulder, laughing maniacally at such bromides as: “Hey, it’s not so bad,” or “Remember all the good times,” or “There’ll be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover.”
You tell her that Pudge Rodriguez has now crouched behind the plate more times than Carlton Fisk and exhort her to do the same. You tell her that even the graceful, intricate – nay, beautiful – pitching motion of Tim Lincecum must lose a game now and then. To no avail. We must let her edge back to us in her own good time. Not helping her in this direction are the latest economic data.
Wholesale inflation was 0.2% in May. Higher energy prices offset a drop in food prices, according to the government. The core producer price index, which excludes food and energy prices, fell 0.1%. At the retail level, inflation also rose just 0.1% last month.
Industrial production fell 1.1% in May to the lowest level in 11 years and is down 13.4% in the past year, the largest year-over-year decline since 1946. And capacity utilization fell to a record-low 68.3% last month, down from 69%. The Krugmanites have a point. This indicates much slack to be taken up before inflation becomes a problem, a condition much to be wished for.
Inflation and interest rates must rise to convince her she has pricing power again, but the mills of the gods grind slowly. We can’t tell her or anyone else how to feel.
Meanwhile (our fallback transition), stay with PALM. Much chatter about a takeover by industry giants looking for an avenue into the smart phone market. F still has value. Wait for GMGMQ to slip. Hoping NVAX catches fire again.
Wish I had taken the underdog Nationals against the pinstripers last night. Long Islander John Lannan outpitched the suspect Chien-Ming Wang, who nevertheless showed some gumption against the new “first in war, first in peace, last in the American (now National) league” team.
You tell her that Pudge Rodriguez has now crouched behind the plate more times than Carlton Fisk and exhort her to do the same. You tell her that even the graceful, intricate – nay, beautiful – pitching motion of Tim Lincecum must lose a game now and then. To no avail. We must let her edge back to us in her own good time. Not helping her in this direction are the latest economic data.
Wholesale inflation was 0.2% in May. Higher energy prices offset a drop in food prices, according to the government. The core producer price index, which excludes food and energy prices, fell 0.1%. At the retail level, inflation also rose just 0.1% last month.
Industrial production fell 1.1% in May to the lowest level in 11 years and is down 13.4% in the past year, the largest year-over-year decline since 1946. And capacity utilization fell to a record-low 68.3% last month, down from 69%. The Krugmanites have a point. This indicates much slack to be taken up before inflation becomes a problem, a condition much to be wished for.
Inflation and interest rates must rise to convince her she has pricing power again, but the mills of the gods grind slowly. We can’t tell her or anyone else how to feel.
Meanwhile (our fallback transition), stay with PALM. Much chatter about a takeover by industry giants looking for an avenue into the smart phone market. F still has value. Wait for GMGMQ to slip. Hoping NVAX catches fire again.
Wish I had taken the underdog Nationals against the pinstripers last night. Long Islander John Lannan outpitched the suspect Chien-Ming Wang, who nevertheless showed some gumption against the new “first in war, first in peace, last in the American (now National) league” team.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
I'm a Loser
It was every Little Leaguer’s nightmare – failure most conspicuous. How many men in suits scurrying through the canyons of old New York carry the burden of losing the game as little boys because leather failed to secure the old spheroid? The ignominy must have led them to foist all those toxic assets on the unsuspecting masses.
Is Luis Castillo the new Marv Throneberry? Legend has it that Marv’s New York Metropolitan teammates threw him a birthday party in the clubhouse but didn’t give him a piece of cake because they were afraid he’d drop it. Renouncing his resolution not to go against the pinstripers at home, Kev had victory in his grasp as Mr. Castillo sidled under Mr. Clutch Alex Rodriguez’s pop fly with two outs in the bottom of the ninth. ‘Twas not to be. Two runs scored. Kev’s billfold asked “Can’t anybody here play this game?”
And how about Dwight Howard? He has become the bizzaro world Superman. Mr. Howard only had to make one of two free throws to put the game out of reach for the central Floridians. But no! as Howard Cosell used to interject during the half-time highlights on Monday Night football. One Lala land three-pointer and an overtime later, he of the glistening other-worldly shoulders was shrunk to a mere mortal.
Kev won’t speak for you, but he’s of the mind that we are all little boys. If Kev were Mr. Castillo or Mr. Howard, he would be crying like a 10-year-old who just struck out with the bases loaded or clanged the go-ahead free throw off the rim. But then again we are all odd fish. Failure makes some of us stronger, others of us despondent.
We want to castigate Mr. Castillo for his miscue that cost us greens fees this week, but can’t summon the nerve. He must feel bad enough.
Our cure for the “Mets”? Quit calling themselves the Mets. It smacks of the Cro-Magnon lumbering to extinction. They are the Metropolitans, lords of the universe, boulevardiers, bon vivants et raconteurs. Swagger, ye losers. After all, the pinstripers were pounding Mr. Rodriguez as if he had swatted it out of the park. Talk about a clutch “hit.” Some guys have all the luck.
Is Luis Castillo the new Marv Throneberry? Legend has it that Marv’s New York Metropolitan teammates threw him a birthday party in the clubhouse but didn’t give him a piece of cake because they were afraid he’d drop it. Renouncing his resolution not to go against the pinstripers at home, Kev had victory in his grasp as Mr. Castillo sidled under Mr. Clutch Alex Rodriguez’s pop fly with two outs in the bottom of the ninth. ‘Twas not to be. Two runs scored. Kev’s billfold asked “Can’t anybody here play this game?”
And how about Dwight Howard? He has become the bizzaro world Superman. Mr. Howard only had to make one of two free throws to put the game out of reach for the central Floridians. But no! as Howard Cosell used to interject during the half-time highlights on Monday Night football. One Lala land three-pointer and an overtime later, he of the glistening other-worldly shoulders was shrunk to a mere mortal.
Kev won’t speak for you, but he’s of the mind that we are all little boys. If Kev were Mr. Castillo or Mr. Howard, he would be crying like a 10-year-old who just struck out with the bases loaded or clanged the go-ahead free throw off the rim. But then again we are all odd fish. Failure makes some of us stronger, others of us despondent.
We want to castigate Mr. Castillo for his miscue that cost us greens fees this week, but can’t summon the nerve. He must feel bad enough.
Our cure for the “Mets”? Quit calling themselves the Mets. It smacks of the Cro-Magnon lumbering to extinction. They are the Metropolitans, lords of the universe, boulevardiers, bon vivants et raconteurs. Swagger, ye losers. After all, the pinstripers were pounding Mr. Rodriguez as if he had swatted it out of the park. Talk about a clutch “hit.” Some guys have all the luck.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Sentimental Journey
Our radio crackled nostalgically the other morning with the interference of electrical stuff in the ether on a showery morning in old New York. It reminded Kev that we inhabit an imperfect world. As much as we labor to bend the elements to our will, Zeus will hurl his lightning bolts while we wait out the storm in a west Texas college professor’s office, listening to KLBK dj’s spin “Sukiyaki” and “Hello Stranger” in between reports of tornado sightings.
Wait! Wake up, Kev, it’s not the spring of 1963. No need to cower in the civil defense-approved shelter. The storm is passing, but an eye toward the horizon is only prudent. All decisions, though based on the best information our senses and cerebellums decipher, can fall prey to the reptilian brain that sometimes overwhelms and incites us to do foolish things. This is the reason God made lawyers, bookies, bail bondsmen and fore caddies.
The latest dispatches from the data gatherers tell us that initial jobless claims declined in the latest week and retail sales and consumer sentiment rose last month. These latest green shoots are heartening if not concrete proof that things are on the mend. Who knows if some beetle or blight will devour the hopeful young?
This sporting life is a messy affair, but as long as the supply of chewing gum and duct tape holds out, we’ll muddle through. In other words, the recovery effort is a pastiche led by “experts” (Bernanke, Geithner, et al.) who purport to know something we don’t. Yet they and we serfs, as St. Paul said, are looking “through a glass darkly.”
But look we must, however clouded our view. Kev finally triumphed by going with the bloody ankles against the pinstripers, whose manager continues to refuse to think outside the box. Why not put Rivera on the mound in the 8th inning? The Bucs also put bucks in the pocket with a win over the well-fed Cox-led tomahawks.
How can you go against Halladay tonight in Toronto? Because interleague play is a different proposition. The Marlins get to use a DH and the 10-1 pitcher has to lose at some point. And how about taking the Athletics vs. the Giants, even though Lincecum is on the hill for the McCoveyites? Because young Vin Mazzaro (a green shoot?) has yet to give up a run in his two career starts. Jump on this kid.
However, long shots must be cashed in when they prevail. Got out of General Motors (GMGMQ) at $1.15 after buying at $0.88. We’ll look to get back in at a lower price.
Sticking with PALM (the Pre phone is a beauty, according to a friend who’s seen one), F and NVAX (The World Health Organization says there’s nowhere to hide from the swine flu).
Also considering a new business – opening a Zen putting school. See the ball, be the ball. No blindfolds, though.
Wait! Wake up, Kev, it’s not the spring of 1963. No need to cower in the civil defense-approved shelter. The storm is passing, but an eye toward the horizon is only prudent. All decisions, though based on the best information our senses and cerebellums decipher, can fall prey to the reptilian brain that sometimes overwhelms and incites us to do foolish things. This is the reason God made lawyers, bookies, bail bondsmen and fore caddies.
The latest dispatches from the data gatherers tell us that initial jobless claims declined in the latest week and retail sales and consumer sentiment rose last month. These latest green shoots are heartening if not concrete proof that things are on the mend. Who knows if some beetle or blight will devour the hopeful young?
This sporting life is a messy affair, but as long as the supply of chewing gum and duct tape holds out, we’ll muddle through. In other words, the recovery effort is a pastiche led by “experts” (Bernanke, Geithner, et al.) who purport to know something we don’t. Yet they and we serfs, as St. Paul said, are looking “through a glass darkly.”
But look we must, however clouded our view. Kev finally triumphed by going with the bloody ankles against the pinstripers, whose manager continues to refuse to think outside the box. Why not put Rivera on the mound in the 8th inning? The Bucs also put bucks in the pocket with a win over the well-fed Cox-led tomahawks.
How can you go against Halladay tonight in Toronto? Because interleague play is a different proposition. The Marlins get to use a DH and the 10-1 pitcher has to lose at some point. And how about taking the Athletics vs. the Giants, even though Lincecum is on the hill for the McCoveyites? Because young Vin Mazzaro (a green shoot?) has yet to give up a run in his two career starts. Jump on this kid.
However, long shots must be cashed in when they prevail. Got out of General Motors (GMGMQ) at $1.15 after buying at $0.88. We’ll look to get back in at a lower price.
Sticking with PALM (the Pre phone is a beauty, according to a friend who’s seen one), F and NVAX (The World Health Organization says there’s nowhere to hide from the swine flu).
Also considering a new business – opening a Zen putting school. See the ball, be the ball. No blindfolds, though.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Our Little Black Book
Every dog has its day. Hooted at as a malingerer by vengeful packs of yapping pinstriper fans, Carl Pavano pitched nine innings of shut-out ball to lead the Tribe over the Pale Hose last week and enrich Kev. And long spurned by her bitter once-burned suitors, Miss Market continues to tame the bears. Methinks they doth protest too much and will soon be checking their cell phone contacts for her number.
Yet we remain wary, knowing that the coquette has the capacity to lead us on and then pout when she doesn’t get her way. What could cause her to spurn us? Three things: geopolitical/terrorist catastrophe, economic indicators that refuse to validate what Bernanke and others perceive as the incipient recovery and the related discovery that stock prices are ahead of what the economy is promising. Well, I guess that’s two things really.
In any event, what matters in the short run for those with dough at stake is the news flow. Job growth should take a while, but stock prices expect that. Key this week will be Thursday’s release of retail sales data and Friday’s University of Michigan report on consumer sentiment for May. Expectations are that both will point to tentative revival. Also to be monitored is the blitz of U.S. Treasury auctions of notes. The yields necessary to sell them will affect the equity markets as much as the bond markets.
The great deflation-inflation debate is for another day. We’ll get to it eventually, but for now we’re concerned about profits to pay greens fees and Mr. Landlord.
Our darling, PALM, has taken a beating recently, though we’re still significantly in the black. Those wishing to take money off the table would be entirely justified. The Pre phone has been released and the battle with Apple and Research in Motion is joined. News is that Apple is cutting the price of the original iPhone to $99. Let’s get physical.
Brave souls who ventured with Kev into Novavax (NVAX) and GM (ticker is now GMGMQ), have been rewarded. If you bet the ranch on these two you would be considerably better off than if you left Summer Bird out of your trifecta box at Belmont. Both are up more than 30% since purchase May 1 and June 1, respectively. Ford is still a keeper.
But Kev picks losers as well. Sonnanstine pitches a superb game for the Rays tonight at the Yankee Stadium launching pad (NASA should consider blasting space probes to Pluto from home plate), but the homers, like the DJs used to say about the hits on AM radio, just keep on comin.’ I’m swearing off going against the pinstripers at home unless Harmon Killebrew, Hank Aaron, Ralph Kiner and Jimmie Foxx are in the opposing line-up.
Yet we remain wary, knowing that the coquette has the capacity to lead us on and then pout when she doesn’t get her way. What could cause her to spurn us? Three things: geopolitical/terrorist catastrophe, economic indicators that refuse to validate what Bernanke and others perceive as the incipient recovery and the related discovery that stock prices are ahead of what the economy is promising. Well, I guess that’s two things really.
In any event, what matters in the short run for those with dough at stake is the news flow. Job growth should take a while, but stock prices expect that. Key this week will be Thursday’s release of retail sales data and Friday’s University of Michigan report on consumer sentiment for May. Expectations are that both will point to tentative revival. Also to be monitored is the blitz of U.S. Treasury auctions of notes. The yields necessary to sell them will affect the equity markets as much as the bond markets.
The great deflation-inflation debate is for another day. We’ll get to it eventually, but for now we’re concerned about profits to pay greens fees and Mr. Landlord.
Our darling, PALM, has taken a beating recently, though we’re still significantly in the black. Those wishing to take money off the table would be entirely justified. The Pre phone has been released and the battle with Apple and Research in Motion is joined. News is that Apple is cutting the price of the original iPhone to $99. Let’s get physical.
Brave souls who ventured with Kev into Novavax (NVAX) and GM (ticker is now GMGMQ), have been rewarded. If you bet the ranch on these two you would be considerably better off than if you left Summer Bird out of your trifecta box at Belmont. Both are up more than 30% since purchase May 1 and June 1, respectively. Ford is still a keeper.
But Kev picks losers as well. Sonnanstine pitches a superb game for the Rays tonight at the Yankee Stadium launching pad (NASA should consider blasting space probes to Pluto from home plate), but the homers, like the DJs used to say about the hits on AM radio, just keep on comin.’ I’m swearing off going against the pinstripers at home unless Harmon Killebrew, Hank Aaron, Ralph Kiner and Jimmie Foxx are in the opposing line-up.
Monday, June 1, 2009
See the USA in a Chevrolet
You can draw a direct line from the Declaration of Independence to Dinah Shore, who touted GM's most visible nameplate.
Walk through Prospect Park and trod the same ground George Washington skedaddled through in August of 1776 fleeing the British and Hessians who had routed the Continentals in the Battle of Long Island. Kev saw no red coats with muskets there this weekend, just red-shirted young ladies, fearless as only the young can be, playing a game with ball and bat that began in the young republic as something called rounders.
Little has changed in the game since the Knickerbockers played all comers at Elysian Fields in Hoboken. Well, ok, the mound has been lowered, the pitch count has become a much-watched statistic, gloves have become lengthier, and players’ bodies have swollen and shrunk with the ebb and flow of, ahem, B-12 injections. But it is still a kids’ game invested with the American dream of pastoral sublimity – a pastime without a clock, as the seven-hour, 25-inning collegiate affair between Texas and Boston College attested to.
In the meantime, though, the clock ticks in the world of striving and getting. Before you know it, the ground shifts under your feet and all the striving doesn’t result in any getting. The latest tremor is the reorganization of General Motors under the aegis of the taxpayer, but it is not a quake. Largely foreseen, the UAW and bondholders inevitably had to bow to the less-worse than the catastrophic. Proof of the inevitability is the blythe reaction of the stock market. Although four shares of GM will now secure a Big Mac (no fries or Coke), Miss Market cares not a whit and goes merrily on her way, gathering her rosebuds while she may. Just hope my dream of owning a new Corvette does not go aglimmering and I can live my own Tod and Buz Route 66 adventures.
As capricious a mistress as she is, she cannot help but respond to the soft summer cooing of newborn whippoorwills. It brings out the nurturing side of her. The latest song of hope comes from the purchasing managers survey (now the Institute for Supply Management). Its diffusion index rose to 42.8% in May from 40.1%. That still indicates contraction in the manufacturing sector, but not as steep as prognosticators thought. More importantly, the new orders sub-index, an indicator of future activity, rose above 50% for the first time in a year and a half.
Miss Market is also a Yankees’ fan, apparently. She giveth and taketh away. The Tribe let Kev down tonight, issuing too many walks to the pinstripers, giving its latter-day muderers’ row too many chances to rattle run-scoring doubles off the wall. Still have the Dodgers tonight, but Kuroda looks like he wants to issue free passes as well. Already 40-some odd pitches into the second inning, what looms?
Well, Washington escaped to Manhattan and lived to fight another day and father a country that lets us take all the time we need on grass and dirt with bat and ball and leather. The clock is clicking elsewhere. Stay invested in equities and commodities, shun government bonds, and enjoy the open road.
Walk through Prospect Park and trod the same ground George Washington skedaddled through in August of 1776 fleeing the British and Hessians who had routed the Continentals in the Battle of Long Island. Kev saw no red coats with muskets there this weekend, just red-shirted young ladies, fearless as only the young can be, playing a game with ball and bat that began in the young republic as something called rounders.
Little has changed in the game since the Knickerbockers played all comers at Elysian Fields in Hoboken. Well, ok, the mound has been lowered, the pitch count has become a much-watched statistic, gloves have become lengthier, and players’ bodies have swollen and shrunk with the ebb and flow of, ahem, B-12 injections. But it is still a kids’ game invested with the American dream of pastoral sublimity – a pastime without a clock, as the seven-hour, 25-inning collegiate affair between Texas and Boston College attested to.
In the meantime, though, the clock ticks in the world of striving and getting. Before you know it, the ground shifts under your feet and all the striving doesn’t result in any getting. The latest tremor is the reorganization of General Motors under the aegis of the taxpayer, but it is not a quake. Largely foreseen, the UAW and bondholders inevitably had to bow to the less-worse than the catastrophic. Proof of the inevitability is the blythe reaction of the stock market. Although four shares of GM will now secure a Big Mac (no fries or Coke), Miss Market cares not a whit and goes merrily on her way, gathering her rosebuds while she may. Just hope my dream of owning a new Corvette does not go aglimmering and I can live my own Tod and Buz Route 66 adventures.
As capricious a mistress as she is, she cannot help but respond to the soft summer cooing of newborn whippoorwills. It brings out the nurturing side of her. The latest song of hope comes from the purchasing managers survey (now the Institute for Supply Management). Its diffusion index rose to 42.8% in May from 40.1%. That still indicates contraction in the manufacturing sector, but not as steep as prognosticators thought. More importantly, the new orders sub-index, an indicator of future activity, rose above 50% for the first time in a year and a half.
Miss Market is also a Yankees’ fan, apparently. She giveth and taketh away. The Tribe let Kev down tonight, issuing too many walks to the pinstripers, giving its latter-day muderers’ row too many chances to rattle run-scoring doubles off the wall. Still have the Dodgers tonight, but Kuroda looks like he wants to issue free passes as well. Already 40-some odd pitches into the second inning, what looms?
Well, Washington escaped to Manhattan and lived to fight another day and father a country that lets us take all the time we need on grass and dirt with bat and ball and leather. The clock is clicking elsewhere. Stay invested in equities and commodities, shun government bonds, and enjoy the open road.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Game on!
The World Champion Philadelphia club of the National League brought the mighty American League pinstripers to their knees tonight, taking advantage of the mysterious winds of the Bronx bandbox, putting Kev in the plus column. We will forgive our taking the bloody socks of Boston against the glove-challenged Metropolitans of Queens, but Kawakami, alias KK, stood up brilliantly against Halladay in the home of Sherman’s gift to Lincoln. It must be hell for unreconstructed Confederates to see that statue at 59th Street with Nike hailing the victor astride his prancing mount. But it’s just a game, after all.
Just a game? What nonsense. Why, it is the very reason for living. If it were not for games, the world would be a dreary place, fit only for debtor prisons and dour sires and mares counting the pennies they earn while the mules in their harnesses plow the 20 acres allotted them.
God (your higher being or whomever) has now given us summer. A delicious sweat trickles on our brows. Shorts and polo shirts are required wear. A golf glove keeps the left hand noticeably paler than the rest of the exposed appendages. The same glove protects the mole on my index finger knuckle that has reminded me which is my left hand since I was a boy. I pray it doesn’t fade.
But I stray beyond what makes the world goes ‘round – fear and greed.
Just as the previous administration knew its bread was buttered by preventing another terrorist attack on U.S. soil, so does the present one know that economic recovery will define it. Fiscal and monetary policies have as their single goal reviving animal spirits even at the cost of soaring inflation down the road.
Bush, Cheney, et al., were willing to sink to waterboarding to prevent another 9/11. Obama, Geithner, Bernanke, et al., will risk all to get the U.S. fully employed again. The bet they are making is that growth will be robust enough to pay for the debt used to get it going. They could well be wrong, and the U.S. could be saddled with slow growth, massive inflation and a collapsing currency, but given that they hold all the reins of power, I wouldn't doubt that climbing out of the mess is all but certain, though it may land us in another mess.
In the meantime, though, staying with equities, oil and other commodities seems the path of least resistance.
And Lebron is indeed King James, the guy who ruled Britain when Shakespeare wrote “The Tempest.”
Oh yeah, broke 100 the other day with a brilliant display of course management. I’ll insist on nothing less in the future
Just a game? What nonsense. Why, it is the very reason for living. If it were not for games, the world would be a dreary place, fit only for debtor prisons and dour sires and mares counting the pennies they earn while the mules in their harnesses plow the 20 acres allotted them.
God (your higher being or whomever) has now given us summer. A delicious sweat trickles on our brows. Shorts and polo shirts are required wear. A golf glove keeps the left hand noticeably paler than the rest of the exposed appendages. The same glove protects the mole on my index finger knuckle that has reminded me which is my left hand since I was a boy. I pray it doesn’t fade.
But I stray beyond what makes the world goes ‘round – fear and greed.
Just as the previous administration knew its bread was buttered by preventing another terrorist attack on U.S. soil, so does the present one know that economic recovery will define it. Fiscal and monetary policies have as their single goal reviving animal spirits even at the cost of soaring inflation down the road.
Bush, Cheney, et al., were willing to sink to waterboarding to prevent another 9/11. Obama, Geithner, Bernanke, et al., will risk all to get the U.S. fully employed again. The bet they are making is that growth will be robust enough to pay for the debt used to get it going. They could well be wrong, and the U.S. could be saddled with slow growth, massive inflation and a collapsing currency, but given that they hold all the reins of power, I wouldn't doubt that climbing out of the mess is all but certain, though it may land us in another mess.
In the meantime, though, staying with equities, oil and other commodities seems the path of least resistance.
And Lebron is indeed King James, the guy who ruled Britain when Shakespeare wrote “The Tempest.”
Oh yeah, broke 100 the other day with a brilliant display of course management. I’ll insist on nothing less in the future
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Tra La It's May...
“…the lusty month of May.
“That lovely month when ev’ryone goes Blissfully astray.”
Apologies to Lerner and Loewe and the gambling public, which includes those who trek to the track known as the stock market.
But Kev insists. Sweatered and blue jeaned this May morning, pondering whether to shave and what the weather will be at 10 o’clock tomorrow when he tees off at the course Babe Ruth used to play, he is remaining buoyant and taking the cue from Camelot’s lovely verse, not the Wall Street chestnut of “Sell in May and go away.”
Not that there’s anything wrong with being a fan of show tunes. I wore out the cast recording on our Silvertone stereo from Sears as a kid.
But let’s not get carried away like Guinevere. Trimmed positions in Ford and PALM this morning to take profits and pay the Little Sisters of the Poor who manage my sporting life, but still holding on. Cringing at my swine flu play, Novavax, which has plummeted since my tout, but still holding on. The faint of heart will be forgiven if they bail. Now they tell me this virus is not that big of a deal! Oink. But a guy who told me to take Dunkirk in the Derby was wrong, too. Whoa, Nellie.
Getting out and getting back in is becoming a problem for the investing (read, gambling) public. Hope you got back into new Yankee Stadium last night when they began the game after nine o’clock, but you should have hung out with the family at the Hard Rock Cafe for a multi-bucks hamburger dinner before heading to the Escalade purchased by selling credit default swaps for AIG.
Into each life a little rain must fall.
Construction spending rose last month. Bernanke is chirping about economic growth later this year, though high unemployment will continue to persist. But it’s clear now to all but the crybabies that the economy will soon start hitting more greens in regulation
Resist at your own peril. Reason and rhyme tell us the corner has been turned. The market for equities will not swoon because the survivalists and conspiracy brothers wish it. Not to be invested is to put down the rifle with all the fish in the barrel.
And, anyway, It’s May, it’s May!
“Those dreary vows that ev'ryone takes, Ev'ryone breaks. Ev'ryone makes divine mistakes. The lusty month of May!”
“That lovely month when ev’ryone goes Blissfully astray.”
Apologies to Lerner and Loewe and the gambling public, which includes those who trek to the track known as the stock market.
But Kev insists. Sweatered and blue jeaned this May morning, pondering whether to shave and what the weather will be at 10 o’clock tomorrow when he tees off at the course Babe Ruth used to play, he is remaining buoyant and taking the cue from Camelot’s lovely verse, not the Wall Street chestnut of “Sell in May and go away.”
Not that there’s anything wrong with being a fan of show tunes. I wore out the cast recording on our Silvertone stereo from Sears as a kid.
But let’s not get carried away like Guinevere. Trimmed positions in Ford and PALM this morning to take profits and pay the Little Sisters of the Poor who manage my sporting life, but still holding on. Cringing at my swine flu play, Novavax, which has plummeted since my tout, but still holding on. The faint of heart will be forgiven if they bail. Now they tell me this virus is not that big of a deal! Oink. But a guy who told me to take Dunkirk in the Derby was wrong, too. Whoa, Nellie.
Getting out and getting back in is becoming a problem for the investing (read, gambling) public. Hope you got back into new Yankee Stadium last night when they began the game after nine o’clock, but you should have hung out with the family at the Hard Rock Cafe for a multi-bucks hamburger dinner before heading to the Escalade purchased by selling credit default swaps for AIG.
Into each life a little rain must fall.
Construction spending rose last month. Bernanke is chirping about economic growth later this year, though high unemployment will continue to persist. But it’s clear now to all but the crybabies that the economy will soon start hitting more greens in regulation
Resist at your own peril. Reason and rhyme tell us the corner has been turned. The market for equities will not swoon because the survivalists and conspiracy brothers wish it. Not to be invested is to put down the rifle with all the fish in the barrel.
And, anyway, It’s May, it’s May!
“Those dreary vows that ev'ryone takes, Ev'ryone breaks. Ev'ryone makes divine mistakes. The lusty month of May!”
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Sign of the Times
Gross domestic product plummeted at a stunning 6.1% annual rate in the first quarter, the government tells us. Throw a tea party, not the one with bags from Ceylonese plantations tossed into Boston harbor, but the one on a sunlit yawn with crumpets and lots of jam. Wear ascots.
The story is in the mix – the cleansing decline in inventories and the rise in consumer spending is making our party. The train is leaving the station. Sure, there will be more tales of financial malfeasance and outbreaks of torch and pitchfork curmudgeons at various stops when we take on more coal and water and let Gary Cooper off to duel at high noon, but the path of least resistance has been paved. The choo-choo, fired by fiscal and monetary stimulus, is staying on the rails. The 2009 second-half recovery is playing out.
All that said, the inflationary world where savings evaporate and borrowing booms will meet us down the track. Great Depression II has turned into garden variety recession. Take what God has given us, which are cycles. Stock prices recover ahead of GDP.
In the event, though, things go awry. My Redbirds’ ace Lohse did his job last night with six scoreless innings, but the Cards lost 2-1 to the Braves. Nevertheless, I’m laying another dime on St. Louis and the stock market, even though the Steinbrenners are cutting ticket prices, a good sign because they are behind the curve. Prediction: Phil Hughes remains in the bigs and Joba is back in the bullpen.
The story is in the mix – the cleansing decline in inventories and the rise in consumer spending is making our party. The train is leaving the station. Sure, there will be more tales of financial malfeasance and outbreaks of torch and pitchfork curmudgeons at various stops when we take on more coal and water and let Gary Cooper off to duel at high noon, but the path of least resistance has been paved. The choo-choo, fired by fiscal and monetary stimulus, is staying on the rails. The 2009 second-half recovery is playing out.
All that said, the inflationary world where savings evaporate and borrowing booms will meet us down the track. Great Depression II has turned into garden variety recession. Take what God has given us, which are cycles. Stock prices recover ahead of GDP.
In the event, though, things go awry. My Redbirds’ ace Lohse did his job last night with six scoreless innings, but the Cards lost 2-1 to the Braves. Nevertheless, I’m laying another dime on St. Louis and the stock market, even though the Steinbrenners are cutting ticket prices, a good sign because they are behind the curve. Prediction: Phil Hughes remains in the bigs and Joba is back in the bullpen.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright
Mr. Inge, third baseman of the Detroit Tigers American League baseball club, is my hero of the day, though he scored no runs and did not drive one in. He didn’t bemoan his just-miss luck. He hit a just-foul double off the wall, a just-foul homerun and then placidly stroked what God gave him from hard-luck CC Sabathia -- a fastball that he solved and scooted into the outfield. Check the box score.
OK, later he was caught stealing after being hit by a pitch and then struck out. Yet he started the double play that pulled the plug on the pinstripers in the ninth -- yeoman’s work in the city that is the poster child of crumbling, but still aspirational, America. Life west of the Hudson goes on. The Yankees had 10 hits, for crying out loud, and only two runs with gobs of runners left on base. No need to break ‘em up until A-Rod returns.
Can the Incredibly Shrinking Three match the moxie of the Bengalese cats of northern Michigan?
The UAW will likely own a majority stake in Chrysler according to the plan that has been hammered out among the USA, creditors and private equity owners. GM is finally smelling the coffee and telling bond holders to take equity or get lost and putting Pontiac to its eternal rest (I can still see the jaunty smile of my father when he cranked up the air conditioning of his brand new baby blue Catalina in the 1960s. I think “Help!” had just been released).
Ford stands tallest, like its home town third baseman Mr. Inge, having secured financing before the credit crunch and refusing taxpayer help. It has missed on a few home-run swings but knocked the mud off its cleats and took a single, thank you.
And we have profited as well from buying Ford common stock because the luck of investing is to settle for the infield hit that can spark a big inning when all the world expects a strike-out. Disclaimer: I’ve been a member of all the world many times. But then, it’s no fun unless somebody gets hurt, even if it’s you.
Verlander threw serious heat for the hometown team. Fastballs can be struck by the weakest among us enough times to plate several runs, yet he gave up zero.
Ford bucked the market today as well. It has further to go. Taking gains is forgiven, but its stock price will be higher this time next year. Will the sub-.500 Yankees?
OK, later he was caught stealing after being hit by a pitch and then struck out. Yet he started the double play that pulled the plug on the pinstripers in the ninth -- yeoman’s work in the city that is the poster child of crumbling, but still aspirational, America. Life west of the Hudson goes on. The Yankees had 10 hits, for crying out loud, and only two runs with gobs of runners left on base. No need to break ‘em up until A-Rod returns.
Can the Incredibly Shrinking Three match the moxie of the Bengalese cats of northern Michigan?
The UAW will likely own a majority stake in Chrysler according to the plan that has been hammered out among the USA, creditors and private equity owners. GM is finally smelling the coffee and telling bond holders to take equity or get lost and putting Pontiac to its eternal rest (I can still see the jaunty smile of my father when he cranked up the air conditioning of his brand new baby blue Catalina in the 1960s. I think “Help!” had just been released).
Ford stands tallest, like its home town third baseman Mr. Inge, having secured financing before the credit crunch and refusing taxpayer help. It has missed on a few home-run swings but knocked the mud off its cleats and took a single, thank you.
And we have profited as well from buying Ford common stock because the luck of investing is to settle for the infield hit that can spark a big inning when all the world expects a strike-out. Disclaimer: I’ve been a member of all the world many times. But then, it’s no fun unless somebody gets hurt, even if it’s you.
Verlander threw serious heat for the hometown team. Fastballs can be struck by the weakest among us enough times to plate several runs, yet he gave up zero.
Ford bucked the market today as well. It has further to go. Taking gains is forgiven, but its stock price will be higher this time next year. Will the sub-.500 Yankees?
Monday, April 20, 2009
Yankee Ingenuity
Is the ball juiced? Is there some mysterious wind current in the new Yankee Stadium that makes warning track power Ruthian? Home runs are on a pace to double the number hit last year in the House that Ruth Built. Word is the Steinbrenners are consulting the engineers who built the new palace to determine what might be going on. Is there some flaw in the façade that allows broken-bat triples and pop-up round-trippers? Or does the old horsehide come from the flank of Secretariat?
Doubtless, many missed Posada’s video-reviewed home run yesterday because they weren’t in their $2,500 seats, preferring instead to spend a day at the ball park munching on raw fish or savoring the filet mignon. I see this as a good sign. “Hey, kids, let’s go to Yankee Stadium and have lunch; we can always see the game on HD, which will show the players watching themselves on HD.”
I say it’s a good sign because it connotes a certain insouciance about the present and the future, a necessary ingredient for playing bogey golf (the best I can hope for at my advanced age), finding love and happiness, enrolling in that yoga class, enjoying the two hardy tulips that managed to bloom this year in my garden. I’m going with daffodils next year. I’m told they are hardy perennials, and I love the way they bow to you.
Times change, but fear and greed persist in all but the rare Mother Theresa among us, waxing and waning with whatever wind blows our way. Is greed, like the baseballs flying out of the Bronx, getting the upper hand now? Talk of "green shoots" is nudging the needle that way, but the survivalists and conspiracy sisters resist it mightily, hoping that the four horsemen of the Apocalypse come galloping to validate all the pork 'n beans they've laid up in the root cellar. My guess is they will be sorely disappointed. The bottom is in sight. The next tea party will be held not to protest the "the govment" (as Huck Finn's Pap complained), but the great inflation sure to come.
Key this week are first-quarter earnings reports and Friday’s release of durable goods orders for March and home sales data. If within expectations, the green shoots should grow a bit.
Though the market is taking a tumble today as I write, PALM and SLV are keeping me afloat. Avoid the usurious bankers. With the Fed Funds rate at zero and 25% on credit card balances, their means of making dough is exposed. The return to Glass-Steagall and “bankers’ hours” is coming. Paul Krugman tells me so.
Doubtless, many missed Posada’s video-reviewed home run yesterday because they weren’t in their $2,500 seats, preferring instead to spend a day at the ball park munching on raw fish or savoring the filet mignon. I see this as a good sign. “Hey, kids, let’s go to Yankee Stadium and have lunch; we can always see the game on HD, which will show the players watching themselves on HD.”
I say it’s a good sign because it connotes a certain insouciance about the present and the future, a necessary ingredient for playing bogey golf (the best I can hope for at my advanced age), finding love and happiness, enrolling in that yoga class, enjoying the two hardy tulips that managed to bloom this year in my garden. I’m going with daffodils next year. I’m told they are hardy perennials, and I love the way they bow to you.
Times change, but fear and greed persist in all but the rare Mother Theresa among us, waxing and waning with whatever wind blows our way. Is greed, like the baseballs flying out of the Bronx, getting the upper hand now? Talk of "green shoots" is nudging the needle that way, but the survivalists and conspiracy sisters resist it mightily, hoping that the four horsemen of the Apocalypse come galloping to validate all the pork 'n beans they've laid up in the root cellar. My guess is they will be sorely disappointed. The bottom is in sight. The next tea party will be held not to protest the "the govment" (as Huck Finn's Pap complained), but the great inflation sure to come.
Key this week are first-quarter earnings reports and Friday’s release of durable goods orders for March and home sales data. If within expectations, the green shoots should grow a bit.
Though the market is taking a tumble today as I write, PALM and SLV are keeping me afloat. Avoid the usurious bankers. With the Fed Funds rate at zero and 25% on credit card balances, their means of making dough is exposed. The return to Glass-Steagall and “bankers’ hours” is coming. Paul Krugman tells me so.
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