Jello World

Lemme tell ya, I am dis many years old.

And when I have a nudder birthday, I think I'm going to be ten. Or nineteen.

I got to spend the night with just me with PaPa and Lalea. Bubba didn't get to come. It was my birthday. Bubba is having his birthday night with PaPa and Lalea next year sometime.

PaPa and Lalea took me to the greatest place to eat ever. Jello World.

PaPa and I got there firstest. And we sat outside. And some people walked in. They were old. And had sticks cause they had broke their legs. I'm Superman. So when I broke my leg, I didn't need a stick. Cause I'm tough. Look at my muscles. They are made of steel.

PaPa is made of mushy stuff.

So when we went inside, it was awesome. I got to pick out whatever I wanted for supper. PaPa said they had more Jello than anybody. I got blue.

And chicken fingers. And salad with lots of ranch dressing. And macaroni. And mashed potatoes.

PaPa said we had to wash our hands first. He's so crazy. He has crazy hair. He says to sing Happy Birthday when I wash my hands. That way my hands will be clean.

But I had to go potty. And that made PaPa have to go potty.

Poor PaPa. He doesn't have Transformers underwear.

And then we went to PaPa and Lalea's house. And I got presents. I got a soccer ball. And I got cleats. The bump things on the shoes make me go fast when I run.

And then I got a Harry Potter cupcake.

And I'm a super hero. I'm Juggernaut. I can go fast.

Then Lalea read me a book. I took a bubble bath. I don't like diving. Wonder if I have nudder presents?

I don't like Dolphin Tales. I like Captain America.

Then PaPa read me a book. I like it. Wonder if I can take it home to show Bubba.

And I tried to go to sleep. I had a dream about baseball cause I'm gonna be a baseball man.

Then I got up and crawled in bed with PaPa and Lalea. They were drinking coffee. I don't use coffee.

And I had a biscuit. But I don't really like biscuits. And I don't use any eggs. My muscles are really big.

Then we played soccer. And I got a dragon blood snow cone. I breathed fire on PaPa.

And I got to swing. Why do these shoes have bumps on the bottom?

A thank you note

2LT Peter Haskell Burks was KIA in Baghdad, Iraq on November 14, 2007.

In May of 2008, we sent the following letter to thousands that had so honored Pete and so touched our family. It seems fitting to share it again as the circle of support has continued to grow.

To the thousands of you that have sent your love, support, letters, hugs, time, cards, boxes for the troops, phone calls, donations, flowers, blogs and emails,

Thank you.

You have encouraged us. You have reminded us of the strength of love, friendship and love of country. You have honored Peter’s life and his sacrifice. You have continued Peter’s legacy of service and giving. We have been in the middle of a circle of love that has amazed us. “It is the most beautiful experience we hope no one else has to go through.”

Peter inspired us all because he talked the talk and walked the walk. If you will indulge me, let me expound.

Peter was a solid athlete, but not the greatest athlete ever to walk the earth. He knew that.

But he had as good a heart as any competitor could have. He valued a team win more than anything. And he would work until he puked his guts out to make it happen. That is why he was awarded the “Unsung Hero” award by his high school football coaches.

And that is why we created the “Peter Burks Unsung Hero Fund” in his honor. The fund was created because immediately after learning of his death, we were confronted by the questions of “flowers or donations”. Nothing wrong with flowers, because they are remembered and they do comfort. But with no better idea, we created the “Peter Burks Unsung Hero Fund” with the purpose of carrying on Peter’s legacy.

He told us time and again that his job was to get his men home safe. Peter also felt a bit guilty because he had a strong support network that many of his soldiers did not have. His guys were excited when mail call came because Pete seemed to always be receiving some goodies from home that he would share. Just before he was killed, Peter had sent an email to Missy asking for help in gathering supplies of goodies that his men didn’t get from home or couldn’t get from the PX.

Since then, thru the fund and on your own, you have shown Peter and the other soldiers that we support them unconditionally. We have sent over three tons of love in the form of snacks, videogames, toothbrushes, etc. We have sent so much love that the Chaplain for Peter’s unit has set up a store where the troops can come in and “shop” for free. There stands now in the Green Zone in Baghdad something called the “Burks Country Store”. It opened on Christmas Eve. Hundreds of soldiers have been the beneficiaries of your love and support, and the store will continue to be restocked and expanded as we continue to be able to support it.

Peter joined the Army of his own choice. Peter had felt a calling to serve his country via the military since he was a very young man. Peter had choices amongst the branches of the military, and he chose the Army.

Peter was a student of world history. He understood the current global conflict because he understood its roots from ancient times.

In America today, we have a professional military. In other words, the men and women that serve do so of their own choosing. Their reasons vary: love of country, money for college, a taste for violence, the camaraderie, avoiding the lifeless soul of corporate work or a thousand other reasons. Peter was a professional soldier. He knew going in that one of the truisms was that, “the country will send you where it needs you and you die if necessary”. Peter understood that. He told us that. He wrote us that. Do not feel sorry for Peter Burks. He died doing what he believed in and doing a job that he loved.

And, he is not alone. As of this writing, over 4000 American soldiers have died in Iraq.

Also, do not feel sorry for Peter because he lived a life fulfilled. At 26, he accomplished what he wanted. He loved unconditionally and was loved unconditionally. He met his life mate. He fought for what he believed in. He had fun. He had convictions, he lived them, and he is at peace knowing that he never compromised.

Not surprisingly, Peter died with no debt. Specifically, no financial debt. So far as I can tell, Peter owed no other debts either. He had told the people he loved that he loved them. He told the people he disagreed with that he disagreed with them. He lived his passions. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder when death came to meet him.

Peter’s life was one of selflessness. He lived for others. He died for others. His role model was Jesus of Nazareth. Whether or not you believe that Jesus was the Christ, the life history of Jesus is not disputed. Peter, as Jesus, was a net giver. He gave much more than he took.

Peter was a young man raised on Southern cooking, Christian principles and the love of a good fair fight. Like football. He was not the least bit concerned that the possibility of winning or losing might hurt someone’s feelings. He believed in the concept of “iron sharpening iron”. Competing with and against the best could only make one better.

Upon graduation from Officer Candidate School, Peter was commissioned a 2^nd Lieutenant and went on to Field Artillery School and Ranger School. He was then assigned to the 2^nd Cavalry Regiment. Once, the Cavalry rode horses. Today, the Cavalry rides Strykers. One of the Army’s newest vehicles, it is both an armed personnel carrier and a lethal strike weapon equipped with a number of powerful guns.

Peter was sent first to Taji and then to Baghdad and was the leader of Thunder Platoon, Palehorse Troop, 4^th Squadron, 2^nd Stryker Brigade. He was put in charge of 17 soldiers including veteran Sergeants and fresh graduates of basic training, 3 Stryker vehicles, and two Iraqi interpreters. Peter told us time and again that his job was to deal with the enemy, complete his missions, but above all, get his men home safe.

Their mission was to patrol and keep safe a sector of Baghdad that had been previously cleared out of insurgents by other Stryker units. They believed their sector to be one of the safest in Baghdad.

On November 14, Peter was leading his platoon back to their base in the Green Zone in Baghdad after a night out on patrol. The three Strykers were within a few yards of entering the gate to the Green Zone. They were literally getting ready to turn into their driveway. They were directly in front of the Iraqi police station there that is intended to ensure safety for military, local Iraqis, and the media in the area.

At about 8am, an EFMP (explosively formed penetrator) was detonated just to the right of Peter’s vehicle. The EFMP was a cluster of 5 bombs hidden in a light pole. The bombs sent white hot liquefied copper into and around the Stryker. Peter was standing in the right rear hatch with his shoulders outside the vehicle looking out for his platoon. There were five soldiers in Peter’s vehicle. Almost all were knocked unconscious by the power of the explosion. The shrapnel hit three soldiers. One was blinded in at least one eye. One has hit in the leg. And Peter took a chunk of the shrapnel into the right side of his head which penetrated his brain, and caused his death.

We know that the soldier blinded is doing ok and is back in the U.S. getting treatment at Walter Reed. The soldier with the leg injury is in Germany. The rest of the soldiers were back on patrol within a few days.

The EFMP was made in Iran. This was no coffee can of nuts and bolts. This was a sophisticated device that the enemy has learned to make that now trumps our technology. The Stryker was built to be impenetrable. It isn’t.

Who placed the EFMP? Well, certainly the police in that station were involved. We will probably never know for sure, but the only group to claim responsibility is JAMI. You can look them up on the internet. They are an Islamic group vowed to kill any occupiers of Iraq by non-Muslims. They are not directly owned by al Qaeda, but they are inspired by al Qaeda. They are Iraqi nationalists that are bound to fight to the death to protect Iraq, the second most holy country in all of Islam, from foreign occupation. There have also been fingers pointed at Shiite militias. We will probably never know and never understand the exact motive.

Peter understood the madness that exists in Iraq and the Middle East. He had read the script provided by the book that he encouraged us all to read, “Imperial Hubris” by Michael Scheuer. He considered Mr. Scheuer and Col. Ralph Peters as heroes because they dared to speak the truth about the world war that “radical Islam” has ordered against the United States and what we must do to survive and win this war.

Peter died a soldier’s death. He was on his mission as directed by his commanders and was doing his best to protect his men.

So, what? What do we all learn from this? What should we do?

I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but here are some thoughts on “what”:

-That we are at war. That there are soldiers that have volunteered to fight the fight. Real men and women with families fighting a strange war in a scary place. Show them you appreciate them in any way you can.

-That the war in Iraq is being mismanaged as it has been since its outset. We went to war over WMDs. Then we were about regime change. Then we were into spreading democracy. Now it is a fight with al Qaeda.

-That our government, our military leaders, and our soldiers on the ground cannot say clearly what the mission in Iraq is.

-That our enemy does not respect the Geneva Convention or any other convention of war. They fight to achieve their objectives, just as the Japanese did in the South Pacific in World War II. They observe no rules. They wear no uniforms. Our military is required to fight as if they did. How does one separate a jihadist from the other populace?

One of the issues that Peter was concerned about are our Rules of Engagement. That is a fancy way of saying how our military must fight. For example, if our military sees an enemy sniper shooting at U.S. soldiers, we can shoot him if he is behind his gun with his finger on the trigger. But, if the sniper gets up and starts running, we cannot shoot him. We have to try to arrest him. Make sense to you?

We are playing into our enemy’s hands. They know our rules, and they take advantage. They kill our soldiers with barbaric ferocity. Yet, our soldiers are restricted in their response. The enemy knows of our political correctness, and takes advantage of it. They know our freedom of speech and freedom of religion, and they are taking advantage of those. They know how to use the internet and the media to spread terror. They show beheadings on their websites. Our media doesn’t show us the burned U.S. soldiers’ bodies hanging from a bridge over the Tigris for concern it will upset us. WE SHOULD BE UPSET. AND WE WOULD BE IF WE SAW WHAT WAS REALLY HAPPENING.

They can behead our soldiers. They can behead an entire group that does not agree with them.

Yet, if one of our soldiers in the heat of battle puts a bullet in the head of an enemy soldier, he can be called out for a criminal act.

We are in a world war called by radical Islam, as directed by Osama bin Laden. We didn’t declare it. Islam, under the call of Osama bin Laden, declared it. If you will read books such as “Imperial Hubris” and “The Looming Tower”, you will understand why bin Laden has declared war on us. Radical Islam has also attacked on every continent with the exception of Antarctica. Apparently the penguins haven’t offended them. Yet.

As Americans, we need to come to grips with this.

Peter disagreed with our strategies in dealing with the Global War on Terror, but he signed up and went nevertheless.

This letter is a call to you to get informed and get involved. Support our troops. Support our politicians, but challenge their policies and strategies. Why do we have such a presence in Iraq if we believe that the real issue is in Afghanistan? Could it be that Iraq has lots of oil and Afghanistan has none?

Those who have studied this conflict with Islam predict that it is going to eventually be fought on U.S. soil unless we change our strategies.

Peter is dead. If he were alive, he would be saying this. Take the battle to the enemy. Kill them. Punish them until they give. Let us as Americans be so smart and brave as to be totally independent of foreign soil for anything. Including, but specifically, oil.

Peter wanted to live the American dream. He wanted to marry his love, Melissa “Missy” Haddad. He wanted a house with a white picket fence, kids and dogs running around the yard.

Well, as much as he deserved it, he didn’t get to live out his dream.

Was it his fault? Was it the fault of a poorly executed mission? Was it the fault of a poorly thought out American strategy? Was it the result of our laziness and dependence on cheap oil?

What we know is that Peter was killed by shrapnel from an Iranian made explosive device detonated by Iraqi police outside the Green Zone in Baghdad.

How and why did he and that bomb get into that place at the same time? That is a question we must ask on behalf of our soldiers and for America in this world conflict. Was it worth it? What did this gain us as a country? Are we safer because of this sacrifice?

Friends, we are at a precipice.

We are at war because radical Islam under the banner of Osama bin Laden has declared it.

Until the United States has a strategy and the willpower to deal with this as a military conflict rather than a police action, we will continue to lose soldiers while the enemy gains strength.

In our attempt to continue Peter’s legacy, we urge you to get educated on the issues that have created this conflict. We encourage you to continue to support the troops in any way you can. We stress that this is not the military’s issue alone, it is your issue as well.

We urge you to get educated, get involved, and take a stand.

For all that you have done and continue to do for Peter and for us, thank you. Your prayers bring peace. Your thoughts bring strength. Your voices bring comfort.

God is with us. Peter is with us. Love is with us.

“No matter the circumstance, we must remember that we are under the control of a good God who loves us very much.”

-email from Pete to Missy in November, 2007

With love and gratitude,

The Burks Family

When the air is on fire

Herman Cain.

Penn State University.

Bank of America.

When the leering press descend on you, it is like the air is on fire.

From the breath of life to an all consuming inferno. Danger in every direction. No way out. Feeding on itself with no clear source of fuel except human speculation.

Doesn't matter if you are in the right or in the wrong. The media smells a hot story, and they will do most anything for a scoop.

I've experienced it twice.

It happened when Pete was killed. It's amazing how fast folks with microphones, cameras and deadlines can find your front door.

The other time was a business situation.

In 1996, I was the Chief Marketing Officer at Haggar Clothing Co.

We introduced a new khaki in September of that year. It really was a great pant. The kind of clothing item you just fall in love with because it is soft, fits great, looks great. It was even wrinkle-free.

Haggar was #2 to Dockers in the khaki world. As a strategy, we took every opportunity to let them and the rest of the world know we had better mousetraps.

So, we named it The Ultimate Khaki.

And to prove it was The Ultimate Khaki, we asked our advertising agency to convince America that men really would love this pant.

Goodby, Silverstein & Partners were, and might still be, the best agency going. They invented cultural icons like, Got Milk? Louie the wisecracking chameleon for Budweiser. And more recently, Chevy Runs Deep.

Our agency created one of the best televisions spots ever. It was funny. It was surprising. It sold pants. Too bad it only got to run twice.

The commercial opened with a father rushing his family out of their burning home.

As you see them running thru the flames, the camera would cut to their pet parakeet. Sweet little bird, chirping away, looking a bit anxious on the perch in his cage.

Once the family is safe outside, the father has an "OH NO" moment.

He rushes back into the blazing house. In his pajamas, he runs like a gazelle. More quick cuts of the bird. The man jumps over burning timbers. He is on a desperate rescue mission.

We see him searching frantically thru the flames and the smoke and the panic.

And then . . .

He finds his Ultimate Khaki. Safe and sound.

We all thought it was fabulous. Our retailers thought it was fabulous. The consumers we tested it with thought it was fabulous.

We put it on network TV in the Major League Baseball playoffs. You remember, that year when Jeffrey Maier became a household name when as a 12 year old kid he deflected a ball into the right field stands at Yankee Stadium out of the glove of Tony Tarasco of the Baltimore Orioles?

We aired it that first night of the playoffs. Twice.

And response from the market the next morning was terrific.

But on that morning after, a note appeared in a newspaper in a small town in Wisconsin.

It seems that our commercial had caught the attention of the chief of the local fire department. He was very upset that a commercial would depict what fire departments preach against. That being, returning to a burning house to retrieve anything.

And he was especially torqued off because that very week was National Fire Safety Week.

And so, the reporter for that small paper with a circulation of less than 2,000 called me. He wanted to know if we were going to listen to the concerns of his local fire chief and stop running the commercial.

I told the reporter that we could understand the chief's concern, but this was clearly just a silly commercial. It was a harmless joke.

The reporter shared my thoughts with the chief. And the chief's response was to say that we should do the honorable thing and stop airing the commercial.

And the reporter wrote what the chief said. And then the Associated Press picked up the story. And they called wanting to know what we were going to do.

The story had become small town fire chief vs. $500 million company.

Haggar was a great corporate citizen of Dallas. We knew the fire chief. I called and asked to meet with him.

I showed him the commercial. He laughed. Alot. And then he looked at me and said, "Alan, I get it. It's a joke. But if you don't take it off the air, the fire community will tear you apart in the media. You can put words on the screen to say, 'Dramatization'. You can put words on the screen that say, 'This is a joke. Don't ever do this in real life.' Alan, it won't matter. They'll win and you'll lose. "

By the time I could drive the 10 minutes back to the office, reporters were calling from around the country. ABC News. The New York Times.

"What is your response to the fire chief in Wisconsin?"

Calls to our PR guy in New York. Calls to the agency in San Francisco. Talks with other members of management.

The commerical was scheduled to air again that night. Less than three hours away.

We had spent over a half million dollars to produce the spot. Heck, the fire chief of El Segundo, California was at the shoot to supervise safety, and he didn't object!

The Wall Street Journal calls. The CBS Evening News calls and wants a statement for their broadcast this evening.

We had lots of options.

And what to do can still be debated.

We pulled the commercial. And we sent out a press release saying so.

We decided to listen to the fire chief of a small town in Wisconsin. Because we believed if we didn't, we would be barbecued in the press.

We were stewards of a great company and a great brand. The long term interest of Haggar was more important than short term sales and profits.

There were more than a few who disagreed. And maybe they were right.

I do know our answer satisfied the press, and we became a non-story as fast as we became the center of their universe.

I still have the plaque presented to us by the Dallas Fire Department for making a decision on behalf of public safety.

Wiener Says Butts T'aint Clean

And you thought the Maryland jerseys were weird.

Well, in the city by the bay, there are bigger (well, perhaps better said, other) issues at hand.

Sometimes these stories just write themselves.

Apparently in San Francisco, it is not illegal to walk around naked. Anywhere.

Seems odd, but, that's the truth. However, it is illegal to walk around naked and be aroused. Now that's illegal. Even in San Francisco. Seems a rather sexist law if you ask me, but nobody's asking.

But that crazy-assed right wing City Supervisor Scott Wiener (who reperesents the Castro District) has proposed a new ordinance to limit those who can't limit themselves.

"San Francisco is a liberal and tolerant city, and we pride ourselves on that fact," said Wiener. "Yet, while we have a variety of views about public nudity, we can all agree that when you sit down naked, you should cover the seat. And, you should cover up when you go into a food establishment."

Thank goodness we can all agree on something, Mr. Wiener.

So, who is going to determine the adequacy of the seat cover? Won't this require a new civil servant force?

And, what if I am homeless and naked. Who will provide me with a free seat cover?

And, just what kind of food establishment will require covering up? Does that include Trader Joe's? Vegan establishments? A steak house? Surely, you don't consider that red meat as food do you Mr. Wiener?

The first offense, under Wiener's proposal, would carry a $100 fine. Breaking the law a second time within a year's period would land the offender a $200 fine. A third arrest would elevate the crime from an infraction to a misdemeanor and come with a penalty of up to a $1,000 fine and up to a year in county jail.

Uh, Mr. Wiener. I have no place to carry a wallet, so just where am I supposed to come up with $100?

And if I DO get arrested three times, what about my civil rights in prison?

Whilst the rest of the country is dithering about deficits, wars, and other trivial pursuits, just know the good folks in SF are dealing with really ________________ (you fill in the blank) issues.

Submit your suggestions here.

Road Trip from Heaven (Or Hell)

It all started simply enough.

Georgia vs. Boise State in Atlanta on Labor Day weekend.

Me and Zac road trip. Eleven hours over. Eleven hours back.

That was and is the plan.

Oh, but the potential for fables abound.

First, there are the 800 miles between Dallas and ATL. Lots of barbecue. Lots of fried animal parts. Lots of flatulence. Lots of male bonding.

If all goes as planned, we'll swim thru Dreamland in Tuscaloosa on Saturday around 4pm and end up in our seats in the Georgia Dome hollering WOOF by 8.

Oh, but there are a few more opportunities that have been put in our path.

This weekend in ATL, there will be the craziest mashup of rednecks, African Americans, Gay African Americans, Asexual Americans, Weird Ass Americans, White Supremacists from Idaho, Danica Patrick, Comic Book Princesses, Kyle Busch, Larry Munson, Clueless Americans, 2xist Underwear, Big Smith Overalls, two dogs walkin', Super Heroes, men and women posing as Super Heroes, innocent children, and a frightened population ever assembled in one Metro area.

Labor Day weekend in Atlanta. Georgia vs. Boise State. Braves homestand versus the McCourt Dodgers. A NASCAR race. The Black Gay Pride Weekend. Dracon.con (look it up: it's too weird to describe)

And oh, this just in.

Tropical Storm Lee will be dumping 20 inches of rain accompanied by 60 MPH winds all along I-20 on Monday. Our route home.

Don't know where we'll end up, but we're already on our way.

We'll report if we survive.

Gilchrist & Soames

All I want to do is wash my hands and dry them.

Sounds so innocent and easy.

Oh, that's a man talking for you.

If it was up to straight American men, then this task would be so uncivil.

There would be a big ole aluminum sink. Aluminum so it doesn't matter if you scratch it. Aluminum so you can degrease your hands after fixing the Weedeater and not worry about it. Aluminum so you can scrub it with Bon Ami and steel wool and get the sucker clean.

An oversized faucet would curl over the sink with about two feet of room between the firehose nozzle and the strainer drain so you can get your hands and forearms in there. And occasionally your feet. A one-handle faucet you can control with your elbows with just the three settings: real hot, good 'n warm, well-diggers arse.

Just over the faucet would be a jug of liquid Lava soap. The spigot placed so that any soap drip would end up in the sink.

And, next to it would be a roll of paper towels. Preferably Bounty. White. No little paisleys printed in aqua. And no select-a-size.

That's it. All I'd ever need.

But again, that's for cretins.

Nope, we need two poofters from England to make a little round puck that smells like Eckerd's perfume counter on Christmas Eve wrapped in cellophane tighter than Dick's hatband. And likely to have the queen's stamp of approval on it. When's the last time she changed the flapper on a toilet? I mean, Prince Charles has never put toothpaste on his own toothbrush. What does royalty know about washing hands?

And speaking of such things, what do Englishmen know about bathrooms? Have you visited there recently?

They don't know the difference between come here and sic 'em when it comes to washing up. They have a hot and a cold faucet on the sink. In the fanciest places.

And what that whole continent needs is a decent shower. I think the reason their P.U. factor is so high is their showers are the size of a phone booth. And they don't have doors or curtains on them. And the hot water runs out in 30 seconds or less. Yep, a properly designed American shower that's 5 feet by 5 feet with twelve adjustable shower heads and a flat screen TV and a mini-fridge would do that place a world of good.

But I digress.

So Messrs. Gilchrist and Soames have not only taken over the sink, they've invaded our showers. In hotels. In the "finest" homes.

I was in a "fine" hotel recently where the two Poms had elevated showering to their high art.

One little problem. There were three tiny jugs of their mystical liquid stuff in there. And I don't wear my glasses to shower. And the type on the little jugs was so tiny (other than, of course, the words GILCHRIST & SOAMES) that it was impossible to tell the difference. Other than the three Easter egg hues of the liquids.

I assumed one was shampoo. I assumed one was conditioner. I assumed the third was something I never heard of.

So I avoided it all and did the best I could with warm water and a clean wash cloth.

Now as for the drying of hands, that too has become much too high-falutin'.

First of all, if a piece of terry cloth has fringe on it, I assume it's for decoration, not for utilization. Same for things monogrammed that are pressed, folded and stacked in a basket. Same for paper napkins designed by Versace.

Come to think of it, I think I've seen this bathroom of my dreams. Isn't that what surgeons have? Isn't that how the guys wash up at Aamco after fixing my tranny?

Stan Richards has built a very large, profitable and stable advertising agency. And I recall having powdered my nose there once. And that's how his mens room was designed. (Wonder how Stan's ladies room is designed? And why do some ladies rooms have couches?)

Anyway. My hands are all germy from using this keyboard.

I'm gonna go let the dog lick 'em and then hose 'em off outside and dry them on my jeans.

Secretary Gates and me

Secretary Gates had the stones to tell the UN today how worthless that organization is.

Gates warns of NATO becoming militarily irrelevant
By Daniel Strauss - 06/10/11 11:29 AM ET

Amen.

I hope we will re-read this post from two years ago that is as relevant today as ever.



Friday, January 30, 2009

Leagues of Nations

There are two amazingly similar organizations headquartered in New York City.

They are both inefficient, ineffective, rendered powerless by their members and their structure, subsidized by governments, and over-subsidized by the United States.

And for some odd reason, when things get really screwed up both organizations call in former Sen. George Mitchell.

Of course, we are discussing the United Nations and Major League Baseball.

In order for an organization to be effective, it must have a clear mission supported by all of its members.

Well, lets start with Major League Baseball. MLB is the organization that is supposed to set the rules, promote the game, and keep the teams and players playing Major League Baseball in line. It has become an international organization now with teams in Canada, season openers in Tokyo, and a farm team called Cuba.

MLB is owned by the owners of the teams. The owners appoint the Commissioner. The owners make the rules. And for years, MLB has been an example of wild West capitalism which means the MLB is a joke.

Unlike the NFL, the team owners in MLB never agreed to play by the same rules either on the field or in the business of running their teams.

The NFL is a lot like Marin County. We believe in socialism, so long as we are all rich and this socialism stuff will make us richer and won’t interfere with our lifestyle. Like, we will send money to Habitat for Humanity, but don’t think of building one of your places in our neighborhood. Like, what do you mean a black owner?

Anyway, MLB doesn’t buy that NFL crap. Dog eat dog. The big dogs do what they damn well please. The small dogs beg for fairness and subsidies. So, the big dogs have made sure that the MLB commissioner will be a meaningless figurehead. No power.

And to make sure that’s the case, the owners have learned that the best kind of commissioner is one of their own small dogs. This is akin to Spike appointing Chester commissioner of the backyard. Like Spike isn’t going to lift his leg where and when he wants to without fear of punishment.

MLB can’t even make sure that their two leagues play the same game. One league has something called a designated hitter. The umpires have made up their own rules including different strike zones. Puhleaze.


The United Nations got its start as the League of Nations. The League of Nations was formed at the end of World War I. Its task was pure and simple. To make sure that war never broke out again.

A couple of little problems. The League of Nations had no power. No peacekeeping force. Germany, who started WWI, wasn’t allowed to join. And the United States refused to join. Oh, Woodrow, where are you when we need you.

So, after WWII, which seemed to indicate that the League of Nations wasn’t cutting it, the idea for the United Nations came about.

The original United Nations sort of made sense. It was formed by the Allied Powers (the good guys) to make sure the Axis Powers (the bad guys) would never be allowed to be bad again.

Rules for membership are clearly spelled out in the UN Charter:

"Membership in the United Nations is open to all other peace-loving states which accept the obligations contained in the present Charter and, in the judgment of the Organization, are able and willing to carry out these obligations.

The admission of any such state to membership in the United Nations will be effected by a decision of the General Assembly upon the recommendation of the Security Council."

Somewhere along the way, it turned into a bad joke. “All other peace-loving states” now includes Iran, Burma/Myanmar, Cuba, Sudan, Afghanistan and North Korea. Every nation on earth is now a member of the UN. The good, the bad, the inconsequential.


Every nation is supposed to contribute on a fair “tax” basis (what a novel idea) to the UN fund. Supposed being the key word.

The UN annual budget is around $20 billion. The United States pays 22% of that. China pays 2%. Yet China has just as much say as the United States on UN decisions and policy. What? If you don’t pay your fair share of your PTA dues you don’t get to be a member and you are held up for public scorn. Not so at the UN.

As for the Secretary General, well s/he is selected by the member states. And since the member states don’t agree on much of anything, they are surely not going to allow someone from a big dog state to be Secretary General. So, we have Secretary Generals from South Korea, Ghana, etc. They strike as much fear as the robins-egg-blue helmeted UN peacekeeping force.

Here are a couple of thoughts on how to improve the effectiveness of the UN.

1. Get rid of the permanent headquarters. Move the meetings around to where the problems are you are trying to solve. There isn’t all that much poverty and violence on the East side of Manhattan. Why not move your meetings around between Mogadishu, Peshawar, Rangoon, Kabul, and other such places that most of the UN ambassadors have never visited. We know. The restaurants and the shopping won’t be quite as good as New York. But you will learn to love the taste of terrier.

2. The only real thing of value at the UN is that 18 acres of prime New York real estate that was donated by John D. Rockefeller. That land is not part of the United States. It is international territory. So sign a 99-year deal with Steve Wynn and let him turn it into Macau. Complete with the global array of prostitution and drugs. Then, the UN collects a big annual fee from this activity to go out and try to stop the prostitution and the flow of drugs in the real world.


Sen. Mitchell, if you need some help, give me a call.