Today is a day for remembrance, as at 11am we all stop for a couple of minutes and remember the war dead, particularly from World Wars I and II. It's also a day for working at home due to the Zepler building still being sealed off (although rumours are rife that we may be allowed some kind of access at some point next week). And it's a day for football, as I play my first five-a-side game of the Veteran's League season, hoping to pull 'ECS Footie' somewhere above mid-table obscurity this season.
And less important than all is a sad piece of news reported in The Times last Saturday, which I only just saw this morning. It seems that some killjoy Canadian scientists have further destroyed the notion that life in Devon can be occasionally interesting by announcing the results of their study into the physics of cow tipping. Not only would it take between two and five people to exert the force needed to tip your average moo-moo over, but they also state that when cows do the sleeping-standing-up thing, they're actually only dozing and would be easily woken. Therefore, you'd need a well-organised team of very quick-working cow-tippers to have any hope of success, and since this particular sport is the exclusive preserve of those leaving country pubs at chucking out time, there's little hope of them being well-coordinated enough to be able to perform such a task.
Now, this is all well and good, except for the fact that I've seen it first-hand. Growing up in rural Devon with a window that overlooked gently rolling farmland on the southern slopes of Dartmoor, you don't see much happening at any time of day, let alone after dark. But sometimes, just sometimes, you'd look out around 11.30 and see a couple of torches flashing around in a field over on the other side of the valley. Fascinated, I would continue to watch while the people - usually around six or seven in number - would walk unafraid towards some cows with the clear idea of tipping. Normally (actually, the vast majority of times) the cows would run away, thereby showing that they were not asleep in the first place, or perhaps were dozing as the Canadian study suggests. But on one occasion it happened: a cow, seemingly standing up, did not move as two tippers closed in. They got close, reached out their hands and pushed hard, while their companions shone their torches on the scene, lighting it up for anyone to see who happened to be looking. And yes, the cow did go over: not in the hilarious Del Boy fashion most people assume, it just kind of stumbled over, legs wobbling as it woke up and tried to right itself. The movement of the torchlight suggested laughter from the companions as the cow got back to its feet and ran off up the hill away from its assailants. The tippers then returned back in the direction of the main road and that was that.
So that's my cow-tipping story. Deeply unexciting, and probably backs up the Canadian study more than anything else, except it clearly shows one thing: cow-tipping is a sufficiently well-known 'rural myth' that it will be (and is) attempted by someone, somewhere on at least a semi-regular basis. And yes, it does work, at least sometimes: this letter to Canada's National Post offers an alternative view of the physics of it all. The problem, of course, is that the original scientists did their work based on a particular model of physics and theoretical analysis: they didn't actually go out and try it empirically. Would have saved them a lot of time if they had, but hey, that's the nature of scientific research.
Which leads to the secondary question: who on earth funded their study in the first place? And were they pleased with the results?
Friday, November 11, 2005
Monday, October 31, 2005
31 October 2005: Charts
Westlife hit number one with their new exciting hit "You raise me up".
I refer interested parties and Selah fans to the blog I wrote a few weeks ago. And no, they didn't even bother doing the second verse. My feelings have changed a little since writing that blog: at the time I wasn't sure what to think about Westlife hijacking the song for the mainstream market, now I get the impression they've made the song feel quite cheap and plastic. Particularly given the fact it's a song you can really belt out, and they choose not to. Ah well.
Meantime us Mountbatten/Zepler building residents need to head in to the uni at 10.30 today for a meeting where we'll be told the latest situation regarding the fire and the contingency plans in place. The antibiotics are starting to kick in, so I'll wrap up and head in, find out how bad it really is, and where we all go from here. Last media reports suggest half of Mountbatten is completely gone, but the admin section more-or-less survived intact, and Zepler is fine: AKT may have fared better than a lot of the other groups, some of whom will have lost everything.
Anyway, better shower up, pop another amoxycillin and head in.
I refer interested parties and Selah fans to the blog I wrote a few weeks ago. And no, they didn't even bother doing the second verse. My feelings have changed a little since writing that blog: at the time I wasn't sure what to think about Westlife hijacking the song for the mainstream market, now I get the impression they've made the song feel quite cheap and plastic. Particularly given the fact it's a song you can really belt out, and they choose not to. Ah well.
Meantime us Mountbatten/Zepler building residents need to head in to the uni at 10.30 today for a meeting where we'll be told the latest situation regarding the fire and the contingency plans in place. The antibiotics are starting to kick in, so I'll wrap up and head in, find out how bad it really is, and where we all go from here. Last media reports suggest half of Mountbatten is completely gone, but the admin section more-or-less survived intact, and Zepler is fine: AKT may have fared better than a lot of the other groups, some of whom will have lost everything.
Anyway, better shower up, pop another amoxycillin and head in.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
30 October 2005: Fire
Large boom early this morning. Woke me up, and I briefly wondered why there was a firework going off so early. The the antibiotics and painkillers kicked in again and took me back to sleep.
When I woke up again the radio, internet and phone calls began coming in with news. Big explosion and fire at the university. No casualties reported as yet, but there are twenty-two fire engines and over a hundred fire-workers at the scene as I write this. And the thing is this: it's our buildings. BBC Solent are reporting that the part of Mountbatten that fronts on to Salisbury Road, is totally gutted. The other part of Mountbatten, containing admin offices such as the nerve-centre of AKT, is under severe threat and Zepler (my haunt) would be next.
Reports are that lots of postgrads and researchers have already lost years of work. Not sure if mine, or that of AKT more widely, is included: there's probably a good chance the fire is being contained before it takes the rest of Mountbatten, but it's ongoing. Staff and students are said to be gathering at the scene, and I'd join them, except I've been in bed with infected glands, ears and tonsils for a while and feel dreadful. Maybe I'll feel up to heading down there later, and find out who's lost what. The only good side seems to be that very early Sunday morning is the best time for this to happen: very few people present.
Still, as the firefighters get it under control and things begin to become clearer, we'll continue to watch and see what's gone, what's left and where we all go from here. An unexpected turn for this AKTing Lark, and not a welcome one.
When I woke up again the radio, internet and phone calls began coming in with news. Big explosion and fire at the university. No casualties reported as yet, but there are twenty-two fire engines and over a hundred fire-workers at the scene as I write this. And the thing is this: it's our buildings. BBC Solent are reporting that the part of Mountbatten that fronts on to Salisbury Road, is totally gutted. The other part of Mountbatten, containing admin offices such as the nerve-centre of AKT, is under severe threat and Zepler (my haunt) would be next.
Reports are that lots of postgrads and researchers have already lost years of work. Not sure if mine, or that of AKT more widely, is included: there's probably a good chance the fire is being contained before it takes the rest of Mountbatten, but it's ongoing. Staff and students are said to be gathering at the scene, and I'd join them, except I've been in bed with infected glands, ears and tonsils for a while and feel dreadful. Maybe I'll feel up to heading down there later, and find out who's lost what. The only good side seems to be that very early Sunday morning is the best time for this to happen: very few people present.
Still, as the firefighters get it under control and things begin to become clearer, we'll continue to watch and see what's gone, what's left and where we all go from here. An unexpected turn for this AKTing Lark, and not a welcome one.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
19 October 2005: Broader
As Wilma (the hurricane, not Mrs Flintstone) coils dramatically and seems to be preparing to smack into south-west Florida on the weekend, and as bird flu advances inexorably across eastern Europe, and as Saddam faces trial (at least until they adjourn) for murdering his own citizens, I found myself shocked by something a little less global in its range this morning.
I went to the student shop here on campus and found myself putting my purchased sandwich and ball of string (I need it to hang my chilies up to dry, ok?) into a black plastic bag that proudly displayed, in big white letters, "BULLDOG - Broadband from Cable & Wireless". I nearly dropped my purchases in shock and disgust. I mean, they were on the TV show 'Watchdog' just a few weeks ago, under fire from hundreds and hundreds of complaining viewers, and were questioned as to why they hired so many sales people yet had a vastly under-staffed support network. This meant that when a new customer signed up for their super-fast broadband service, and suddenly the phone stopped working, say, or the broadband speed was no faster than it had been before, they had no means of even logging the problems, let alone having anyone available to fix the problems. Followers of this blog will know exactly what I'm talking about. Bulldog responded, in front of a national television audience, that they weren't actively seeking new customers nor were they doing any kind of aggressive marketing campaign, instead they were ploughing their efforts into their support network and getting things fixed.
Which explains, presumably, why their web banners are over all the big ADSL sites and why they're spending money making plastic bags instead of getting our broadband up to the speed they promised me when I first signed up for their load-of-old-rubbish service. I will say this: the plastic bag does its job well, far better than their ADSL service. Perhaps they've found their niche?
But beyond that is the news that broadband will soon be brought to us by hot air balloon. No, not a joke, at least it's not the first of April: apparently its going to be better, and cheaper, than satellite broadband. Radio links on high-altitude balloons have already been shown by the University of York to give download speeds of 11Mbps (ten times our Bulldog speed, and that's when it hasn't lost the connection), and they think speeds of up to 120Mbps should be possible and commercially available within three to five years.
And that got me thinking: perhaps the plastic bag wasn't a bag at all, but a mini hot air balloon being trialled by Bulldog as part of their dodgy alternative. Fill it with the hot air from their sales reps, fit it with an old CB radio from the 1980s that keeps cutting out, and there you have it: Bulldog's vision of high-altitude broadband.
Which reminds me, whatever happened to that Ofcom investigation into Bulldog?
Update: within an hour of this blog appearing, The Register reports that Ofcom has cleared Bulldog on two conditions: firstly that they fulfil their pledge to improve customer services, and secondly that they give 'a material level of credit' to those who suffered the poor service. Also, any more spikes in complaints will result in a re-opening of the investigation. Maybe I should send the plastic bag to Ofcom as part of their evidence?
I went to the student shop here on campus and found myself putting my purchased sandwich and ball of string (I need it to hang my chilies up to dry, ok?) into a black plastic bag that proudly displayed, in big white letters, "BULLDOG - Broadband from Cable & Wireless". I nearly dropped my purchases in shock and disgust. I mean, they were on the TV show 'Watchdog' just a few weeks ago, under fire from hundreds and hundreds of complaining viewers, and were questioned as to why they hired so many sales people yet had a vastly under-staffed support network. This meant that when a new customer signed up for their super-fast broadband service, and suddenly the phone stopped working, say, or the broadband speed was no faster than it had been before, they had no means of even logging the problems, let alone having anyone available to fix the problems. Followers of this blog will know exactly what I'm talking about. Bulldog responded, in front of a national television audience, that they weren't actively seeking new customers nor were they doing any kind of aggressive marketing campaign, instead they were ploughing their efforts into their support network and getting things fixed.
Which explains, presumably, why their web banners are over all the big ADSL sites and why they're spending money making plastic bags instead of getting our broadband up to the speed they promised me when I first signed up for their load-of-old-rubbish service. I will say this: the plastic bag does its job well, far better than their ADSL service. Perhaps they've found their niche?
But beyond that is the news that broadband will soon be brought to us by hot air balloon. No, not a joke, at least it's not the first of April: apparently its going to be better, and cheaper, than satellite broadband. Radio links on high-altitude balloons have already been shown by the University of York to give download speeds of 11Mbps (ten times our Bulldog speed, and that's when it hasn't lost the connection), and they think speeds of up to 120Mbps should be possible and commercially available within three to five years.
And that got me thinking: perhaps the plastic bag wasn't a bag at all, but a mini hot air balloon being trialled by Bulldog as part of their dodgy alternative. Fill it with the hot air from their sales reps, fit it with an old CB radio from the 1980s that keeps cutting out, and there you have it: Bulldog's vision of high-altitude broadband.
Which reminds me, whatever happened to that Ofcom investigation into Bulldog?
Update: within an hour of this blog appearing, The Register reports that Ofcom has cleared Bulldog on two conditions: firstly that they fulfil their pledge to improve customer services, and secondly that they give 'a material level of credit' to those who suffered the poor service. Also, any more spikes in complaints will result in a re-opening of the investigation. Maybe I should send the plastic bag to Ofcom as part of their evidence?
Monday, October 10, 2005
10 October 2005: Predictable
What I said.
And this year, it didn't even go to a fifth game. Braves blew a 6-1 lead in the eighth inning of game four and that, extra innings later, was that.
Glad I was in London and didn't actually see it.
And this year, it didn't even go to a fifth game. Braves blew a 6-1 lead in the eighth inning of game four and that, extra innings later, was that.
Glad I was in London and didn't actually see it.
Monday, October 03, 2005
3 October 2005: Selah
Last autumn it was Florida rather than Louisiana that got pounded by the hurricanes. Four hurricanes, one after another, pounded into the Sunshine State, three of them criss-crossing such that they all hit the Orlando area.
Regular readers will know I am a keen listener to Z88.3, a Christian music station based in Orlando but available worldwide over the web. During the hurricane onslaught, I found the Z to be quite compelling listening, particularly as they doubled-up the on-air presenter line-up and hunkered down in their reinforced building as the storms passed directly overhead and their generators just about kept the station on-air. And as the broadcasts continued, an oft-repeating song on the playlist was a hope-filled number called "You Raise Me Up". Written and originally recorded by Norwegian/Irish band 'Secret Garden', and most famously covered by Josh Groban, this version was recorded by Christian vocalists Selah. (Video available on Yahoo here.) The song combines the flavour of a negro spiritual with the feel of an Irish hymn, and it crescendos in a manner a little reminiscent of Bette Midler's version of 'Wind Beneath My Wings'. The lyrics are spiritual without being overtly agenda-pushing and as I listened again and again, I understood what this song would be meaning to those hidden away in hurricane shelters, listening to their transistor radios.
You raise me up so I can stand on mountains,
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on your shoulders,
You raise me up to more than I can be.
When you don't know if your home, family and entire life is about to be literally blown away in the wind, those words of supernatural oversight brought hope to many, regardless of their religious affiliations. So it's fair to say I became a fan of the song.
Then Rob told me about 'The X Factor'. I don't watch the show, but it seems to be Pop Idol by a different production company. Last week some kid was on there and auditioned by singing "You raise me up by Josh Groban". Not only did the judges (even Simon Cowell) say they all liked the song, but they even played Groban's version a little bit. This week, they did the same and played even more of the song. Rob began to get a little suspicious and launched on to Google to see what the judges were trying to do by pushing this song into the public eye. Did one of them perhaps have a hidden agenda?
Step forward Louis Walsh. Producer of some of the more bland bands on the marketing-rigged teenage pop scene, Walsh has a great deal to do with Boyzone spin-offs Westlife. And guess what their next big single release is going to be? That's right. You can here a clip of it on Westlife's official website and listen to how they can't - or don't seem to be interested in - hitting any of the high notes. No wonder The X Factor is giving the song a good plug right now. How much free advertising does Louis want?
And the funny thing is, when Rob told me about this last night, my reaction was silence, followed by the words: "I really don't know what to think about that." And I still don't. I think it's a good song, with a good message, and I'd like it to be in the public eye. But there's part of me that thinks, "not Westlife, please." And there's another part of me that says, "but that's my song from the hurricanes last year." And yes, that's selfishness, but without the element of hope-in-the-midst-of-hopelessness, this song just becomes another overly sentimental power-ballad. Selah's original recording was in part to raise money for African medical and hospital projects, and it became a beacon of hope in the hurricane strikes of last autumn. That was what made it a good song, as much as the song itself. Context provided the strength, and that brought the song meaning for me.
If it turns into the Christmas number one for Westlife I'll be happy for them, and for Secret Garden. But the whole thing seems a little too cheap and plastic for my liking, even by the standards of the British music industry today. I may be biased, but even without the hope context, Selah's vocal performance makes Westlife's sound like my dad after four shots of Laphroaig. They should just release Selah's version with Westlife miming.
Now, what are the odds on the Liberty X covering 'Voice Of Truth'?
Regular readers will know I am a keen listener to Z88.3, a Christian music station based in Orlando but available worldwide over the web. During the hurricane onslaught, I found the Z to be quite compelling listening, particularly as they doubled-up the on-air presenter line-up and hunkered down in their reinforced building as the storms passed directly overhead and their generators just about kept the station on-air. And as the broadcasts continued, an oft-repeating song on the playlist was a hope-filled number called "You Raise Me Up". Written and originally recorded by Norwegian/Irish band 'Secret Garden', and most famously covered by Josh Groban, this version was recorded by Christian vocalists Selah. (Video available on Yahoo here.) The song combines the flavour of a negro spiritual with the feel of an Irish hymn, and it crescendos in a manner a little reminiscent of Bette Midler's version of 'Wind Beneath My Wings'. The lyrics are spiritual without being overtly agenda-pushing and as I listened again and again, I understood what this song would be meaning to those hidden away in hurricane shelters, listening to their transistor radios.
You raise me up so I can stand on mountains,
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on your shoulders,
You raise me up to more than I can be.
When you don't know if your home, family and entire life is about to be literally blown away in the wind, those words of supernatural oversight brought hope to many, regardless of their religious affiliations. So it's fair to say I became a fan of the song.
Then Rob told me about 'The X Factor'. I don't watch the show, but it seems to be Pop Idol by a different production company. Last week some kid was on there and auditioned by singing "You raise me up by Josh Groban". Not only did the judges (even Simon Cowell) say they all liked the song, but they even played Groban's version a little bit. This week, they did the same and played even more of the song. Rob began to get a little suspicious and launched on to Google to see what the judges were trying to do by pushing this song into the public eye. Did one of them perhaps have a hidden agenda?
Step forward Louis Walsh. Producer of some of the more bland bands on the marketing-rigged teenage pop scene, Walsh has a great deal to do with Boyzone spin-offs Westlife. And guess what their next big single release is going to be? That's right. You can here a clip of it on Westlife's official website and listen to how they can't - or don't seem to be interested in - hitting any of the high notes. No wonder The X Factor is giving the song a good plug right now. How much free advertising does Louis want?
And the funny thing is, when Rob told me about this last night, my reaction was silence, followed by the words: "I really don't know what to think about that." And I still don't. I think it's a good song, with a good message, and I'd like it to be in the public eye. But there's part of me that thinks, "not Westlife, please." And there's another part of me that says, "but that's my song from the hurricanes last year." And yes, that's selfishness, but without the element of hope-in-the-midst-of-hopelessness, this song just becomes another overly sentimental power-ballad. Selah's original recording was in part to raise money for African medical and hospital projects, and it became a beacon of hope in the hurricane strikes of last autumn. That was what made it a good song, as much as the song itself. Context provided the strength, and that brought the song meaning for me.
If it turns into the Christmas number one for Westlife I'll be happy for them, and for Secret Garden. But the whole thing seems a little too cheap and plastic for my liking, even by the standards of the British music industry today. I may be biased, but even without the hope context, Selah's vocal performance makes Westlife's sound like my dad after four shots of Laphroaig. They should just release Selah's version with Westlife miming.
Now, what are the odds on the Liberty X covering 'Voice Of Truth'?
Thursday, September 29, 2005
29 September 2005: Repeat
This blog suffers a little from seasonal repeats. Just like turning on BBC1 at Christmas and seeing Mary Poppins or Zulu, arrive at this blog in late September/early October and you'll find me talking about the Atlanta Braves.
For those who don't follow baseball, it's quite a remarkable story: the Atlanta Braves were, for a long time in the 1980s, a load of old rubbish. In 1990, they finished bottom of their division with the worst record in the whole of baseball. Then in 1991, with the same management staff of Bobby Cox, John Schuerholz and Leo Mazzone, they added a couple of young players and suddenly began winning games. Young pitchers Tom Glavine and John Smoltz had break-out years, Glavine winning the Cy Young 'pitcher of the year' award, and the Braves won their division. They then went all the way to the World Series, losing narrowly to the Minnesota Twins in the final inning of the final game.
The following year, with much the same team, nobody expected them to win their division again. The Dodgers and the Giants were much too good, surely. Not a bit of it: the Braves won quite comfortably, leading from the front, and suddenly people began to take serious notice. Again a close World Series loss meant a sad end to the post-season, but the pattern was set. The Braves were a team who won their division.
And so here we are, fifteen years later, and the Braves have won their division every year since. Fourteen in a row (the 1994 season was shortened by a strike and never finished), and while most of the players have changed (only Smoltz remains of the original '91 miracle team), the Holy Trinity of Cox, Schuerholz and Mazzone remain in charge, bringing through a seemingly endless stream of young players who come in, do supremely well and lead the Braves to yet another division title. This years crop of rookie wonder-kids include catcher Brian McCann, infielders Wilson Betemit and Pete Orr, outfielders Kelly Johnson and Ryan Langerhans, pitchers Kyle Davies and Blaine Boyer. Oh, and right fielder Jeff Francoeur, who played only half the season but ranks third in the Majors in outfield assists, and for a long time was hitting over .400, feats that earned him a solo-slot on the front cover of Sports Illustrated magazine.
So, on Tuesday night, the Phillies lost and the Braves beat the Rockies, thus confirming the fourteenth title in a row. And here's where it gets weird. Next week, the post-season playoffs begin between the various division winners, and the Braves will do a Jekyll-and-Hyde transformation into the most useless team of non-hitting, weak-pitching baseball players you'll have seen since watching the first half of movies like The Natural, Bull Durham and Major League. Yup, just like last year, it'll be Tumbleweed Week.
The Braves used to enjoy post-season. They'd fight through the NLCS and get to the World Series, usually losing a close encounter (1991, 92, 96) or, once, winning it (1995). Since losing to the Yankees in a series of blown opportunities in that '96 series though, there's been something of a shift. They've only made the world series once in eight tries since then, and even then (1999) they lost in four straight games to the Yankees. In the last few years, they haven't even made it to the NLCS, losing in the division series, often to the wildcard team. And in these games, they seem to just roll over and die, blown away like tumbleweed in a light desert breeze. They win their division every year, but the fact is this: they have not won a World Series game since 1996. That's almost a decade ago.
I know, I know, this is a good team, it's full of youth and hunger, the players know how to battle and know how to win in tough circumstances. Andruw Jones leads the league in home runs and RBIs. John Smoltz and Tim Hudson are two of the best pitchers in baseball right now, both headed for the Hall of Fame. But then you look at how the playoffs are lining up, and you realise the Braves will probably be playing a five-game series against the Houston Astros next week, who will send Pettite, Oswalt and Roger Clemens to the mound to pitch for them, and suddenly you remember losing to them at the same time last year, and the mountain grows in your mind.
I hope it's different, and maybe it will be. But the pattern is set: Braves win their division, then turn into lollygaggers. Right now, we don't need Andruw Jones or Tim Hudson or Jeff Francoeur.
What we need is Francisco Cabrera. And maybe a bat named 'Wonderboy'.
For those who don't follow baseball, it's quite a remarkable story: the Atlanta Braves were, for a long time in the 1980s, a load of old rubbish. In 1990, they finished bottom of their division with the worst record in the whole of baseball. Then in 1991, with the same management staff of Bobby Cox, John Schuerholz and Leo Mazzone, they added a couple of young players and suddenly began winning games. Young pitchers Tom Glavine and John Smoltz had break-out years, Glavine winning the Cy Young 'pitcher of the year' award, and the Braves won their division. They then went all the way to the World Series, losing narrowly to the Minnesota Twins in the final inning of the final game.
The following year, with much the same team, nobody expected them to win their division again. The Dodgers and the Giants were much too good, surely. Not a bit of it: the Braves won quite comfortably, leading from the front, and suddenly people began to take serious notice. Again a close World Series loss meant a sad end to the post-season, but the pattern was set. The Braves were a team who won their division.
And so here we are, fifteen years later, and the Braves have won their division every year since. Fourteen in a row (the 1994 season was shortened by a strike and never finished), and while most of the players have changed (only Smoltz remains of the original '91 miracle team), the Holy Trinity of Cox, Schuerholz and Mazzone remain in charge, bringing through a seemingly endless stream of young players who come in, do supremely well and lead the Braves to yet another division title. This years crop of rookie wonder-kids include catcher Brian McCann, infielders Wilson Betemit and Pete Orr, outfielders Kelly Johnson and Ryan Langerhans, pitchers Kyle Davies and Blaine Boyer. Oh, and right fielder Jeff Francoeur, who played only half the season but ranks third in the Majors in outfield assists, and for a long time was hitting over .400, feats that earned him a solo-slot on the front cover of Sports Illustrated magazine.
So, on Tuesday night, the Phillies lost and the Braves beat the Rockies, thus confirming the fourteenth title in a row. And here's where it gets weird. Next week, the post-season playoffs begin between the various division winners, and the Braves will do a Jekyll-and-Hyde transformation into the most useless team of non-hitting, weak-pitching baseball players you'll have seen since watching the first half of movies like The Natural, Bull Durham and Major League. Yup, just like last year, it'll be Tumbleweed Week.
The Braves used to enjoy post-season. They'd fight through the NLCS and get to the World Series, usually losing a close encounter (1991, 92, 96) or, once, winning it (1995). Since losing to the Yankees in a series of blown opportunities in that '96 series though, there's been something of a shift. They've only made the world series once in eight tries since then, and even then (1999) they lost in four straight games to the Yankees. In the last few years, they haven't even made it to the NLCS, losing in the division series, often to the wildcard team. And in these games, they seem to just roll over and die, blown away like tumbleweed in a light desert breeze. They win their division every year, but the fact is this: they have not won a World Series game since 1996. That's almost a decade ago.
I know, I know, this is a good team, it's full of youth and hunger, the players know how to battle and know how to win in tough circumstances. Andruw Jones leads the league in home runs and RBIs. John Smoltz and Tim Hudson are two of the best pitchers in baseball right now, both headed for the Hall of Fame. But then you look at how the playoffs are lining up, and you realise the Braves will probably be playing a five-game series against the Houston Astros next week, who will send Pettite, Oswalt and Roger Clemens to the mound to pitch for them, and suddenly you remember losing to them at the same time last year, and the mountain grows in your mind.
I hope it's different, and maybe it will be. But the pattern is set: Braves win their division, then turn into lollygaggers. Right now, we don't need Andruw Jones or Tim Hudson or Jeff Francoeur.
What we need is Francisco Cabrera. And maybe a bat named 'Wonderboy'.
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