Sinfest

Tatsuya Ishida's Sinfest webcomic is one of the handful of things I absolutely must read every day. To say it is irreverent, often scatalogical, oversexualized and vulgar is an understatement and a compliment, but it is also offers some of the most consistently damning satire in the U.S. Read today's installment and see if you don't wind up shaking your head while you laugh.

Incidentally, this Sunday offering from March (below) is my all-time favorite Sinfest. Yes, that's Jesus. Probably not something to share in Sunday School. (Click on it for a better viewing size.)

Reelect this

To all members of Congress who voted against the bailout plan,

Congratulations on standing up for free markets and responsible investing. Your principled stand just cost your constituents at least 7% of their retirement portfolios in one day. Have fun getting reelected on all the kudos you'll receive for making Joe Sixpack work another year to fill out his 401k. This is, alas, just the kind of right-thinking we expect from Congress.

Best regards,
John League

Yikes

The regular season ended last night, so it's time to review my preseason picks.

First and foremost, the Reds did not win the wild card. By a long shot. They were fourth in the NL Central, behind a robust Cubs team, a gutsy Brewers squad that managed not to choke (though they gave it their all), and surprisingly solid Cardinals and Astros sides that, were it not for their respective late and early-season struggles, might have blown the race wide open.

There are lots of things that hurt the Reds this year. The lack of depth that saw Corey Patterson consistently on the field with Andy Phillips and Jolbert Cabrera was debilitating. The lack of imagination that kept Brandon Phillips at second base instead of move to short where his range might have bolstered the defense (and given a bit more support to Edwin Encarnacion) was hurtful. All those at-bats to Griffey at #3 in the batting order didn't help.

But if you had to boil it down to one single thing that killed the Reds, it was Aaron Harang. I thought Harang would be a legitimate Cy Young candidate this season, and if his 6-17 record had been more in line with the past two at 17-6, the Reds still would have finished fourth in the NL Central but fifth in the wild card, 4.5 back. Which might have made it harder to get rid of Adam Dunn (the point at which I really stopped paying much attention because the season was GONE).

For next year, the pitching--can't believe I'm saying this about the Reds--looks solid. Arroyo righted himself with a strong second-half, Volquez will be fine again if he shuts it down and rests, Harang did much better after his July rest and there are lots of younger starters with stuff. Nice. We still need a right-hand bat, but there aren't many attractive ones available.

As for my other picks, I got two of the eight playoff teams correct, but only one in its actual spot (Cubs in NL Central). The other was the Red Sox, whom I picked to win the AL East but got in on the Wild Card. My worst pick, even worse that the Reds for the Wild Card, was for the Mariners in the AL West. They were miserable. I thought they had finally put together a decent starting group and some hitters. Alas, no. The Angels ran off with it. My next worst pick was for the Tigers, whom I believed would live up to preseason hype. Yeah, well, Miguel Cabrera did hit a ton, but no nobody pitched.

Ugh. I suck.

I'll post sure-to-be-equally-reliable postseason predictions when the White Sox and Twins have done their playoff on Tuesday. I think the Twins have that one, but I'm hoping the Sox make it just for Griffey's sake. He wasn't great in Cincinnati, but he was in Cincinnati and for a sucker like me that matters.

The error of their ways

How ESPN screwed another non-Top 10 game: Friday night, Louisville v. Connecticut. (UofL loses because of two interceptions at the end, from a quarterback who could barely walk. Dumb.) ESPN stops talking about the game ON THE FIELD in front of them, and spends four minutes of GAME TIME talking to the Oregon State coach on the phone about beating USC. Yes, at the UofL-UConn game, the announcers were talking about OSU-USC.

Meanwhile, I find that I am enjoying Garry Wills' What the Gospels Meant far more than I did his other books, What Jesus Meant and What Paul Meant. It may be that Wills' interpretations are too overtly Catholic for my taste, or that I have issues with Paul. But so far through Gospels I am enjoying what I'm reading. It's not exegetical, but it is comprehensive. His analysis of what Mark meant to its likely first readers--Syrian believers under persecution from Jewish zealots and perhaps even other Christians--is compelling.

And for the record, Richard Skinner, the last Cincinnati pitcher with 20 wins in a season was NOT Tom Browning (20-6) in 1985: it was Danny Jackson (23-8) in 1988. Seriously, have you never heard of Baseball Reference? Does Gannett not pay for Internet access for its reporters?

According to the WSJ, Merrill Lynch employees had 27% of their retirement funds invested in company stock at the end of 2006. Hopefully some of them cashed out or actually diversified, like Merrill brokers tell their clients (and as Horace Greeley would tell you: go diversify, young man). If not, those employees lost more than $1 billion of their own money in 2007 and 2008. And they want you to invest with them?

Playing: With iTunes' Genius feature.
Reading: What the Gospels Meant; The Brewmaster's Table, Garrett Oliver. From Oliver's introduction, about why he started brewing his own beer after enjoying a year in Europe: "The beer, the salmon, and the sunshine bouncing off the river... I started to seriously consider moving to Amsterdam. Instead, however, I came back the United States. And there was nothing to drink." (Emphasis his.)

Finally, something we agree on

The Wall Street Journal and I both think John McCain is full of crap. There are two things to keep in mind about this whole financial meltdown thing:

1. It's a transaction. The U.S. government is buying Wall Street's acquiescence to tighter regulation and lower profitability for $700 billion.

2. If this had happened last year, rather than a year divisible by four, you would not be hearing blowhards like Richard Shelby (R-Al.) on the news every night about how awful a deal this is. The thing would already be done, because the need to look tough before actually giving in would be minimal in a year in which no one gets reelected or not.

I am actually having a good day, despite the generally pissy tenor of my comments. I don't think my mood is completely attributable to a rare alignment between the Journal, usually a steaming pile of Republican apologia, and little old me, but it doesn't hurt. They even managed praise for Obama there toward the end. Maybe the universe is coming to a shuddering halt.

Here's a great bit of new irony (via Roger Nusbaum et al.): Barclays hangs out its shingle at its new digs, but the old occupant's name is still there on the door.


Playing: Rachmaninoff, Concerto No. 3; Berliner Philharmoniker, James Levine with Arcadi Volodos. I'm comparing this one to Gutierrez-Maazel-Pittsburg. Not sure which I like best. Both are technically spectacular, superior even to Horowitz-Ormandy-New York.
Studying: Macroeconomic consequence of taxes.

Attention relegation

The only thing to expect with Newcastle United is the unexpected. That said, I'm not going to watch them slide inexorably to relegation. 3-1 away to a very ordinary West Hame side is not sufficient. They put on about twenty minutes of strong attack, but the available forces at central midfield, full back and the other forward are insufficient. Gone is the spark--and the health--of the team that took a point at Manchester United away. If this team isn't sold soon to someone who can persuade a dynamic manager to come in, I can't watch. Well, that's not true. I'll probably watch, but I'll not be dwelling on their certain defeat in any of my all too precious spare time or writing about a consistently miserable performance here. How many times can you say that Newcastle have too little in defense and no creativity at midfield? I'm tired, and I have to study.

Struggle

So I'm reading this great book, The Whiskey Rebels by David Liss. The main character Ethan Saunders is jaded and opportunistic, but still in love with the woman he had to abandon when Alexander Hamilton smeared him as a traitor. Good stuff, especially since I think Hamilton is one of American history's most important fellows and quirky enough to be good fodder for much great fiction.

Alas, I'm reading this other book that is not compelling. It's The Whiskey Rebels by David Liss. Joan Maycott is moderately interesting as a socio-historical anomaly, the outspoken late-18th century woman. It seems that Liss is trying to channel an American Jane Austen here, but the effect is one of distance and detachment far in excess of what one might reasonably expect along those lines from Austen. Joan give us long histories of herself and her relationships, with little eyewitness to the actual events of her life. And she's not cheeky enough. She never really does anything truly audacious, just moderate rule bending that does not raise the stakes for her or the reader. If hers was the only story in The Whiskey Rebels, I'd already have passed on it. I am soldiering on because Ethan is captivating, and because the blurb assures me that Ethan and Joan are going to meet at some point later in this enormous tome.

This is one of the books I got from LibraryThings' Early Reviewers program. I just requested Jennet Conant's The Irregulars, about Roald Dahl's war-time service to British intelligence, from Amazon's Vine operation. I keep chuckling to myself about something along the lines of James and the Giant Nazi.

Playing: Rachmaninoff, Piano Concerto No. 2; Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, Lorin Maazel with Horacio Gutierrez. This is one of the very best recordings of this concerto that I've heard. Gutierrez is amazing, the pacing is right and the Telarc sound is clean and clear but warm. Good stuff, on par with Cliburn-Reiner-Chicago in style and temperament, but Gutierrez' technique is more impressive.
Reading: Unconventional Success; The Whiskey Rebels; The Letters of James and Peter, William Barclay; Sessions with James, Michael McCullar; The Deer Leap, Martha Grimes. I should probably finish a couple of these before I start anything else.
Celebrating: West Virginia's 1-2 start.
Studying: Price elasticity of demand, elasticity of supply.

Volunteering my money

I would pay more for cable if all the sports came with no commentary. Just game sounds. No broadcasters, former players or sideline reporters. Just the game.

Context-specific banned words

Writers on financial markets are hereby enjoined against the word "catharsis."

Writers on soccer are hereby enjoined against the word "clinical." Fans and athletes of English football are hereby enjoined against the word "massive" in reference to clubs or other players. (Unless in reference to Titus Bramble, as in "massive idiot," or Danny Guthrie, as in "massive fool." Hey, Joey Barton never broke anybody's leg during a match.)

That is all.

From absurd to sublime and back again

The Wall Street Journal is publishing a monthly magazine called WSJ. It is about consumption. No, not tuberculosis. Rather, the unrestrained and almost vulgar squandering of wealth. Really. It's quite a sight. But their first issue contained a piece on the evolution of excessive largesse, how buying a painting was outdone by buying an entire auction, only to be outdone recently by the purchase of a "chain" of art museums. Closer to my own interests were the bits on the grander steps mankind has taken above and beyond the purchase of a luxury sky box at a sporting event or that of a racehorse. I'm all for capitalism, low taxes and wealth formation, but this had me just shaking my head.

Meanwhile, Mike Ashley is offering up Newcastle United to the first Middle Eastern oil magnate who calls him up. I am simply astounded at how this is going. Ridiculous, ludicrous, risible, fantastical--none of those words even begin to describe the three-ring freakshow that is the running of the English football team that I CHOSE of my own accord and volition to follow three years ago. Also, I am astounded at the crummy advice Ashley has gotten since he decided to flex his fortune in football. He bought the club without looking at the books? He didn't know--or no one told him--that transfer fees were paid over a period of years, including follow-on payments depending on performance? He hired a my-way-or-the-highway manager and then tried to back him up with departmental club structure? That was to be run by Dennis Wise? Under the auspices of a casino owner? How in the world did Mike Ashley get to be a billionaire with this miserable display of savvy? It certainly wasn't by saying one thing (we would be happy to spend £20 million a year on players for the club) and doing another (spending only about £1 million net, AND NO LEFT BACK). Anybody got about £400 million they're not doing anything with (as of today that's $715 million)?

The bright fellows at Bespoke wonder how far the Federal Reserve's willingness to accept lower-quality assets as collateral for borrowing might extend. They offer up a Gregg Jefferies rookie card as a possibility, which hits home with me. In the spring of 1988 I had two such cards, and I refused to trade them. Until today I have looked back at my youthful instransigence as a misunderstanding of the market: I didn't even like Jefferies, so why shouldn't I have cashed in when the thing was inexplicably worth $5 and loaded up on Barry Larkin cards? Now I know. So I could borrow millions from the Primary Dealer Credit Facility. I'm sure I have that Steve/Al Leiter 1988 Topps error card (pictured) somewhere still.

Bill Edgar can be a blowhard, but his Ten Ways to Improve Football is thought provoking. I disagree with him in a few respects: dimissing 'keepers for PK encroachment is a bit extreme, as is his suspensions for accumulated non-bookable fouls. But while dismissal for dissent of any kind and eliminating offside completely are extreme, there is a certain logic to them that appeals--even if their practicality is, at best, questionable.

And a complaint: why does my Better Homes & Gardens Christmas Cookies cookbook deny gingerbread men their due of spices? The nearly identical recipe on the facing page for gingerbread cookies provides ample amounts of both ground cloves AND nutmeg, in addition to obligatory cinnamon and ginger. But the gingerbread men are denied such exotic flavor. Cinnamon and ginger, sure, but that's all--and be grateful you're getting it. Why? Who can say? But this blind culinary misandry must end!

Playing: Brahms, Six Piano Pieces, op. 118; Emanuel Ax
Reading: The Whiskey Rebels, David Liss
Studying: Upper and lower bounds of American and European options; Strategies and profit for covered calls and protective puts.

Advances in portraiture

Here (c. 2005, The Red Period), the artist presented his first crude understandings of his place in the universe. Notice that the name dominates the self, with the identity of the actual human obscured in the rough-rendered and single-colored figure.


And now this more clearly realized self, one in which the being is dominant over the name to suggest the true grasp of self and that which makes him unique.

The more things change...

Say what you want about the distractions of fan protests, manager resignations, international call-ups and board tom-foolery, the difference between no points and one point for Newcastle United this weekend was a problem long before even Keegan returned.

CHARLES N'ZOGBIA IS MISERABLE IN DEFENSE.

I've not been impressed with his ability on the ball, which lacks consistency, but he is capable of the occasional and compensatory impossible strike. But the reason Marlon King scored his second goal was that N'Zogbia was incapable of an effective tackle. He is NOT a left back. He wasn't when Allardyce played him there, he obviously wasn't against Manchester United away last season, and he is not now. Newcastle could have salvaged a point from this fiasco if they had someone, anyone who can tackle at left back. Which is the same problem they've had in every season I've watched them play.

At least Keegan seemed to understand this (though he kept trotting N'Zogbia out there, based on some deluded notion that because he plays there for France U21 he is suited to do so in the Premier League). Keegan's frustration that Wise & Co. didn't get him a left back is apparently one of the factors in his resignation. But it still hasn't gotten us one.

League of ExtraOrdinary GentlePersons

Politicians are a lot of things. Ordinary is not one of them.

Don Gonyea filled a report on NPR this morning with Republicans who are enthusiastic for Sarah Palin because she reflects their beliefs and is "ordinary people." This same quality was believed to be one George W. Bush's most appealing characteristics. It's also ephemeral, unquantifiable and wholly a product of packaging.

Sarah Palin is a former beauty queen and governor of a state at the far end of the earth. Not ordinary. She's got five kids! Admirable? Yes. Ordinary? No. John McCain was in a Vietnam prison camp for five years. His last job in the Navy was as military attache to Congressmen on trips abroad. He doesn't know how many houses he owns. Not ordinary. George W. Bush went to Yale, then ran an oil company, a baseball team and a state before becoming president. He owns a ranch in Texas. Many of those things are worthy of aspiration, but they do not make one ordinary.

On the other side is Barack Obama, whose biography is far from ordinary. The saga of his victory in the 2004 Illinois senatorial campaign (involving, of all people, Seven of Nine) is NOT ordinary. Joe Biden, who has served in Washington longer than I've been alive and commutes from D.C. to Wilmington every day, is not ordinary.

The truth is, that I don't want to vote for someone who is ordinary. The impossible task set before the President of the United States is one that only a super-human could meet, even in part. I don't want a president who is just like me. I want a president who is far more intelligent, disciplined, principled, energetic and visionary than me, one that is both uncompromising and skilled at working with others, honest, forthright and direct. I find no appeal in any candidate who goes out of their way to appeal to me through their regular-Joe credentials. First because that's not what I want, and second because it's just not who they are.

That's fine. It is an exceptional (some would fairly say deranged) person who has the audacity to think they should be president in the first place. I will ever vote for the person who reflects my beliefs and, to me at least, seems most extraordinary, not the person who possesses extra ordinary.

"I want you to murder me"

Yesterday I posted about Martha Grimes at the top of her game in Jerusalem Inn. Gregory McDonald was in top form right out of the gate with Fletch, where you read pages of dialogue before you realize that you haven't read any description or said tags. A true master is gone now at 71. Writing so good not even Hollywood and Chevy Chase could ruin it (though they did their best).

Expect the unexpected

So I'm finally well into Martha Grimes' Jerusalem Inn, which I started back in January but had to put down for some reason. This is the fifth or sixth of her Richard Jury novels, and while I was truly taken with the actual mystery in The Anodyne Necklace, I think this has to be the best put together of her books up to this point in the series. And this surprises me. The Dirty Duck was the weakest of these first Jury novels, and I had thought that perhaps that was the point at which they would start to suck. But the way the story holds together is quite amazing, and I am rooting for this turn out well, since most series novels coast after just two or three books. This is well on into the series and shows the author in unquestioned command of the material. Highly recommended.

Interestingly, Jerusalem Inn takes place in Tyne and Wear County, home to Newcastle. Look, I have no idea what's happening over there, and I don't really think anyone else does. At this point, I wouldn't give money for anything that's expected to happen. I'm waiting for a resolution to this soap opera that is, alas, fittingly outlandish. Needless to say, I'll be watching the Hull match on Saturday. I think Hull has a good chance at some points here, which I wouldn't have dared admit this time last week.

And now for something completely different, I'll be teaching a study on James at church in a few weeks. I know only two things about James, 1) James 2:26 "For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also," and 2) Martin Luther so reviled James' insistence on faith paired with works that he wanted the book excluded from the Bible. Just a surface reading of 2:26 is pretty damning, especially when one considers the emphasis many Christians place on pure orthodoxy of belief and the increasingly popular (and ever-repugnant) Gospel of Prosperity. I had planned to do a study of Ecclesiastes, which is congruent with my rather jaded view of the world. Something about the right-wing orgy over Sarah Palin, who represents a people who are far more concerned with whether you believe what they believe than whether you can afford to eat or if your children can read, changed my choice, as it makes me want to author just one action that brings to mind something else when the word "Christian" is uttered. This is my first small step in that direction.

And again with the completely different, the sharp guys at Bespoke Investment Group have compared the oil-price spike pattern to that of the Nasdaq in the late '90s and to homebuilders a few years ago. They point out that if the same sort of dynamics of boom-to-bust hold for oil as they did for tech stocks and homebuilders, oil would fall to somewhere around $32/barrel. Alas, no matter how much we might wish it to go there, we'd need an epic discovery of crude somewhere (the Moon?) or global economic apoplexy to get it.

One or the other

Hanna. The last few times it has rained any at all we've lost power. Those places in Northern Virginia unfortunate enough to have above-ground power lines are usually without power for some part of any storm. Tropical Storm Hanna did not knock out our power, but the steady gush of rain exposed heretofore unknown weaknesses in our roof. We had water dripping in from over the header above the sliding glass door to the patio and from one of the exposed beams in the living-room ceiling. Not a waterfall by any stretch, but alarming and damned inconvenient. I think I'd rather have lost power for a while.

Aruba. For several weeks we have been considering where to go for our 10th anniversary next year so we can start saving our pennies. We'd love to go back to England, but despite the dollar's recent surge the exchange rate is still unfavorable. Instead, we thought we'd head to a beachy place, which is different from most everywhere we've been together. We got a nice hotel deal for Aruba, and so have decided to put off England (and Hawaii) for another occasion. We have no idea when we're going to go, but we are already excited.

Keegan. I am sick to death of "sources." Reporters of every stripe, from the well-regarded journalists at The Washington Post who go on CNN and Face the Nation to hacks like The Daily Mail's Alan Nixon, use "sources" because NO ONE is willing to go on the record. Where did we get this idea that a steady diet of anything--rumor, conjecture, opinion or even fact, however sourced or substantiated--was an appropriate substitute for actual news?

This is an important societal question that I am about to dumb down by relating it to the former manager of a Keystone Kops football club in northeast England: how is it that "sources" close the Newcastle United board are telling reporters that Kevin Keegan knew all summer that he would only have £12 million to spend and that he accepted that willingly, while other learned "sources" claim that his summer spending plan was Thierry Henry, David Beckham and Frank Lampard? Which one is it? Reading these articles is meant to make someone look bad, but seeing them side by side the people who look bad aren't Keegan.

Besides, you know this insider is talking out of a non-mouth orifice in claiming that they could buy Schweinsteiger! for £12 million. If Gareth Barry is worth more than £18 million, Schweinsteiger! is worth more than £12.

Playing: Dead or Alive, "Give It To Me"
Reading: Jerusalem Inn, Martha Grimes; Unconventional Success, David Swensen.
Watching: Good Night and Good Luck. We finished this last night. A svelte, atmospheric piece that shows off what Murrow was and good journalism is about--and what that costs.
Pipeline: I finished the first chapter of The Last of the Gentleman Farmers last night. It felt good to finish that much, and it felt good as I was writing, which is not that big a deal but sure beats the hell out of it feeling like dental work.

A new quest

Colin MacInnes is missing from the Fairfax County Library, and every chain and independent bookstore in the D.C. area. (I looked.) So it's down to interlibrary loan or used from Amazon for the single-volume edition of MacInnes' London novels: City of Spades, Absolute Beginners and Mr Love and Justice. Being cheap, I'll probably opt for ILL first. The excerpt of City of Spades that I read online was terrific.

I also notice that Absolute Beginners was the inspiration for a movie musical with David Bowie and Patsy Kensit. I put that one in the Netflix queue, but I don't expect it to give much insight about the book.

These novels are representative (if not comprehensive) of the societal changes afoot in England, and specifically London, in the late '50s, with a heavy emphasis on culture and race. I came across these books quite by accident in some other online wanderings, and I realized that I have no clue about this kind of work from this period in my own country. My schooling--and my own curiosity up to now--have left this gap between Hemingway and the very recent past. I have made a few excursions into the intervening period, with Philip Roth and the obligatory Harper Lee and J.D. Salinger. But what else is out there, an American equivalent to MacInnes, if not in style or period but in effect? On the Road? Eh. Maybe that counts. Is that the best I can come up with?

A check of Wikipedia makes me feel a bit more complete. Joseph Heller? Check. Vonnegut? Check. Flannery O'Connor? Check. No Updike for me, though (no novels, at least). And nothing (really?) from a non-white author. Telling. So. Lots of stuff to do.

Like I'm running out of things to read as it is.

Where did that come from?

I just watched James Milner juke his way through two Portugese defenders, race down the right and fire in a beautiful cross toward the box.


Where was that in two-plus years at Newcastle? Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen him do that before. Damn it.

Milner is likely just grateful not to be at Newcastle this week.

Update, two minutes later: And then a penalty for the first goal of the game. Someone is VERY grateful to be in Birmingham.

New Wave

I have a few problems with iTunes and my iPod. Actually, this is my second iPod, after the first decided to shuffle off this mortal coil for no apparent reason. Sound familiar? Applause for Apple making it very simple to get your music into iTunes; torch-carrying protests for making it difficult at best to actually move the music from device to device once you get it in there. Trent has well documented the overabundance of features on the new iPods, complete with iGouge technology.

One unexpected bonus to Apple's imperial dominion over the music on my computer is their "radio" offerings. For the past few weeks I have been transfixed by the RadioIo 80s New Wave channel, which has in turn sparked a New Wave/Post-Punk/Punk binge that, thanks to iTunes and Wikipedia, leads one from one band to another to another and so and on.

The truth is, and I date myself here, I'm too young for this to be particularly nostalgic. By the time I was deliberately listening to the radio in the late '80s, the last vestiges of New Wave and punk had survived as pop icons or occasional nods to breakout hits. For example, the only tune from The Clash that you might hear on the radio was probably "Rock the Casbah" or "Should I Stay or Should I Go." Maybe "London Calling" if the DJ still had any influence over the playlist. The first INXS album I knew was not Listen Like Thieves but rather Kick. At that time, I knew I liked this music, but what you heard were typically token offerings of one-hit wonders (think Pet Shop Boys' "West End Girls"). But I loved that sound, the synthesized weird of Thomas Dolby, the stripped-down cool of Blondie or the electric moodiness of Depeche Mode.

(No, this is not something I was aware of at the time. I didn't sit around thinking about how disparate these sounds and bands were, or that they might have any sort of greater oeuvre with an overarching sensibility. I just didn't like hair bands.)

At a time when everyone I knew was learning the tropes of classic rock or dabbling in more musically stimulating bands like Rush, I went bananas when "One Night in Bangkok" came on. Explains a lot, doesn't it?

There is the soundtrack of life, the one we grow up with, full of songs we know whether we want to or not. Mine includes such gems as Tone-Loc's "Wild Thing," Bon Jovi's "I'll Be There For You" and Tony Basil's "Mickey." Sigh. Then there's the soundtrack that we get to pick, the music we go for when we don't care what everyone else is listening to. Thankfully, iTunes helps there.

Playing: Naked Eyes, "(What) In the Name of Love."

Update, 10:46: Alas, as with all great things there is an occasional dud. RadioIo is presently subjecting me to the title track from The Never Ending Story. New Wave, perhaps. Good, um, no.

The king is dead. Long live the king.

It has to be Shearer. It just has to be. There is no other conceivable way that Newcastle doesn't lynch Mike Ashley.

For my part, I hope it's Shearer, only because I am comfortable that he would bring the same emphasis on attack as Keegan. I would welcome other proven quantities: I was hopeful of either Gerard Houllier in January (as the only manager until Keegan came along who seemed to know what to do with Michael Owen) or Didier Deschamps. But why would either want to come to Newcastle knowing, as Keegan does, that he would have no influence over signings or contracts? Who can say that Shearer would have interest in that situation, either? How does that continental system really work, Mr. Jol? (Now there's a thought. Martin Jol.)

That said, and more importantly really, the club is weak. Lost these past three days in all the hubbub about who was getting to pick the players is that nobody was picking truly significant players. If Xisco and Nacho are as immediately impactful as Spiderman and Coloccini, then bully on Dennis Wise. But the side is thin, injury riddled and very much a work in progress. That doesn't change, whoever the manager is, and it doesn't change the structure of the club, which is designed to emphasize stability at the corporate level, not on the field.

This is not the season that Newcastle get back into Europe. It's much like relegation, this stumble into mid-table mediocrity. Once you fall into it, the window for returning to the top four closes fast. The longer you remain down, the harder it is to make the climb back up.

Now I'm upset

I wasn't going to write any more about Kevin Keegan today, but if it's true that one of the points of acrimony between Keegan and the board was that they wouldn't pony up to buy Bastian Schweinsteiger from Bayern Munich, I'm pissed. Oh, God: Schweinsteiger across the field from Jonas Gutierrez? Are you kidding? That could ooze awesome. I'm far more upset about this than losing Keegan. Schweinsteiger! This assumes, of course, that Bayern Munich would sell, but still... Schweinsteiger!

Wor Kev, again

I have to think the only reason the Keegan saga has drawn on throughout the day without official confirmation is that Keegan quit in a predictable fit of pique or disillusionment (take your pick, doesn't matter) and that someone at Newcastle is still trying to get him back, because his abandonment of the team is dog whistling for supporters that the good ship Toon is taking on water. They bought into Mike Ashley's stewardship of the team because Keegan endorsed it. Without that seal of approval, fans rightly will feel they have carte blanche to turn on Ashley as they did on Shepard.

The problem there is that Newcastle fans feel like ownership should be stewards of the team. And maybe they're right, but owners have no obligation to steward the team's success or its personnel. They are stewards of profit. Alas, Ashley (and Gilette and Hicks, for that matter) are trying to make profit from the team. Dr. Al-Fahim, Roman Abramovich and Malcolm Glazer are applying their carefully tended profits from elsewhere into a free-for-all on their football clubs. The difference is striking. Newcastle brought in Xisco and Nacho; Liverpool couldn't buy Gareth Barry. Al-Fahim and Abramovich both bid over £30 million for Robinho. One of these things is not like the other.

I am amused that Newcastle fans berate Ashley for modeling Tottenham's book-balancing management but not splashing out cash like Spurs have for Corluka and Pavlyuchenko--conveniently forgetting a woebegone striker named Berbatov.

Not a good day for Newcastle. And not much else to say until we see what happens.

Update, 12:18: Faithful Newcastle fan sites NUFC.com and Newcastle United Blog are patiently suspending judgment until confirmation comes (though I think the volume of hits over the past two days has crashed NUFC Blog). Again, I have to wonder if Newcastle management aren't delaying confirmation as they recoil in horror at the seething invective being heaped upon them from all corners of the universe. Hell, British sportswriters (Guardian, Football365, ESPN) are defending Kevin Keegan. Boycott plans abound. No matter what, not a good day. I note with some satisfaction, however, that odds on Dennis Wise as the next manager continue to fall, from slightly better than 2-1 early this morning to 3-1 just within the last half hour. Shearer moves up to 5-1.

Update, 1:35: Looks like the bookmakers are thinking what I am, that the delay is because someone is trying to put Humpty Dumpty together again. Odds (via PaddyPower) are longer now for everyone, including Wise at 7-2 and Shearer at 11-2. And yes, I am getting my work done, with only an occasional look in at the odds and NUFC.com to see if anything has changed. Nope. Things still suck.

Update, 2:23: If I wasn't on deadline this week, I would be live blogging this. I am absolutely fascinated. Not the kind of sick watching-a-car-wreck fascination, but a real sense of wonder at how much devotion people have to Keegan and how fans of all teams from all over are pissing on Ashley, Wise & Co. I think it's bad business to let Keegan go, sacked or not, but what could they possibly do at this point to get him to stay, short of firing everyone else in upper management? Odds are still 7-2 for Wise, but better from some bookmakers for Tottenham's Gus Poyet.

Update, 3:33: So Keegan wasn't sacked, which says he walked out (thinking he'd been fired?) and the delay at confirmation today probably came as his lawyers tried to sort out how much money he was going to get. Wow. Even better, I looked up Newcastle chairman Derek Llambias--one of the apparent tosspot instigators of this whole saga--and was privileged enough to see that his Wikipedia page had been, ahem, amended by an enthusiastic saboteur. The nicest claims read, "Currently in talks with director Steven Spielberg to co-produce the motion picture 'The Llambias Theorum' which will see Verne Troyer star as Dennis Wise," and, "Believed to have inspired Eric Clapton to write 'Layla' after a steamy four-month affair in Kent."

Update, 7:16: September 2 is gone now over on Tyneside, and not fast enough for all involved, I'm sure. This has amused me no end today, partly because it seems that I nailed it on the first try (Newcastle seem to have spent the day trying to make amends with Keegan) and partly because this is the first time I've ever seen every comment--journalists, pundits, bloggers, fans--all on the same side: Keegan got shafted, he quit/was fired, and that was wrong. I have no idea how this can possibly be smoothed over, and do not envy anyone who has to follow Keegan. At the same time, I don't think Keegan is the end-all-be-all that Newcastle supporters would like to believe. Management obviously doesn't think so, but they made a grave miscalculation. Two things are certain: Newcastle United will field a weak side, decimated by injury, ineptitude and inexperience, until January at the very least, and Mike Ashley will never be welcomed among the fans on the terraces again.

(Oh, and Derek Llambias' Wikipedia page is still very amusing.)

Strength in numbers

1. The number of offensive touchdowns allowed by the UofL defense against Kentucky. Also the grade Reed starts tomorrow.

2. The number of players Newcastle added (Xisco and Nacho) before the transfer window closed. The number of points UofL's defense scored against Kentucky. Also the total number of points UofL scored against Kentucky. The number of my children going to school ALL DAY tomorrow. Also the total number of children I have. The number of hours I need to study per day on the CFA exam. The number of Alan Furst novels I haven't read.

3. The number of times Lera has beaten me at darts in the past week (see below). The number of coats of stain we've put on the new table for the kitchen. The number of times I cursed Charles N'Zogbia on Saturday. The number of 100% out-and-out no-question idiotic calls (for and against Newcastle) Rob Styles made on Saturday.

8. The number of times I have beaten Lera at darts in the past week (see above). The number of times I cursed Shola Ameobi on Saturday.

1185. The number of words I have written on The Last of the Gentleman Farmers this weekend.

30,750,000. The number of pounds sterling Sir Alex RedNose thinks it will cost him to win another title this year.

32,500,000. The number of pounds sterling Dr. Sulaiman Al-Fahim thinks it will cost to put Citeh in the Champions League next year.