November 8, 2004 - Dolphin Student Group Web Accounts

The Undergraduate Magazine
Vol. V, No. 6 | Noevember 8, 2004
Putting Up Some Numbers
Goldstein’s skinny on NBA finances.
Page 7
BlackBerries
Sour Grapes
Pederson’s psycho-electoral breadown.
Page 8
Not just for breakfast anymore.
Page 5
Bob Dylan, The Book
To Houston, he’s just as good in print.
Page 3
CONSERVATIVE HOT
ALL MALE ACTION
Optimism facing four more years
M I C H A E L PAT T E R S O N | O U T O F T H E F O L D
DANIEL NIEH
SHUT THE WINDOWS,
LOCK THE DOORS
BRIAN HERTLER | SLEIGHT OF HAND
IT WAS NEXT APRIL. I was in my room innocently filling out
some graduation forms when I heard someone knocking.
“Just a moment!” I skipped to the door and opened it eagerly,
expecting to see my beautiful new girlfriend. Instead, I faced a
man with a dark suit and a clipboard. He was smiling wickedly
at me.
“Greetings, Mr. Hertler. Perhaps you’ve been expecting me.”
My first thought was that Bill Gates had put a price on my
head. But I couldn’t be sure.
“Wh-who are you?” I stammered.
“I’m the little man,” he said, “from the draft board.”
“Oh. Goodbye!”
I tried to slam the door in his face, but High Rise doors don’t close very quickly. I suppose
I looked foolish pushing on it.
The draft man stepped inside easily. “Your country needs you,” he said. “Our mighty
President, George W. Bush, wants to fight a smarter, more aggressive war on terror. He
wants to impress the Middle East with a massive show of American force. Unfortunately,
he’s run out of American forces. Would you mind pouring me a drink?”
He sat on my couch and started smoking a cigarette. I tried to reason with him. “Surely
the government doesn’t want me,” I said. “I’m a college student studying English literature.
For goodness sake, I’m almost legally blind!”
“That doesn’t matter. We’re allowed to pull students out of college now. In truth, Brian,
we’ve been watching you very closely. Thanks to the Patriot Act, we have total access to your
computer. We’ve seen your violent video games—
“Oh, come on!”
“—and poor vision has never hampered you. We’ve watched you play Unreal Tournament, Brian. You’re the best damn warrior at Penn.”
“Okay, that’s probably true,” I admitted. “But really, I had a more peaceful career in mind.
I was going to work in publishing and write silly fiction in my spare time—”
“We’ve also been reading First Call, and we’re not impressed. George W. Bush, our
mighty President, knows what’s best for you. He’s been personally talking to Jesus, and Jesus
says He wants you—you, Brian J. Hertler— to kill some Arabs for Him.”
Finally recognizing that I wouldn’t pour him a drink, the draft man stood up and opened
my refrigerator. He was obviously disappointed by my discount orange juice, but he poured
himself a glass anyway.
“We’ve got a strategy,” he continued, “a three-pronged plan to eliminate Arab hatred. The
first prong is a hostile military occupation. The second prong is a complete breakdown of
Continued on PAGE 5
LIKE SO MANY PEOPLE on Penn’s campus and throughout the country, I was absolutely crushed by the results of
the election last week. Staring at the TV with my fellow
Democrats, we watched as this country took an even more
right-ward turn: the Republican party increased control of
the Senate as it stayed in control of the House, and held
onto the Presidency with a man whose incompetence stuns
me. I also watched as eleven states passed amendments by
overwhelming margins to their state constitutions denying
myself and all gays and lesbians the right to marry.
In the face of four more years of conservative, anti-progressive government, can any good come from this? Is there really a bright side to
any of this? Yes, there is! At least there is for the gay and bisexual men in this country—a bright, hot, sexy side.
Many of the anti-gay conservatives in this country, the same ones who vote
against things such as same-sex marriage rights, have a secret. Many, many of them
have more in common with me than they would ever admit. Many of the redneck,
gun toting, and bible thumping men share my deep, heartfelt passion for other
men.
Think I am kidding or just going overboard with some wishful thinking? It’s
actually true. Men who are homophobic and dislike gay men tend to have a much
greater chance of being attracted to men than do straight men who are not homophobic.
In 1996, the University of Georgia did a study on this very matter. It involved 64
men, none of whom engaged in any form of homosexual hot man on man action in
their lifetimes. Unfortunately, as they described them, their sexual fantasies only involve women. Of these men, 35 were rated homophobic, 29 were not. In case you are
wondering what the researchers defined homophobic as, it was a negative emotional
reaction such as fear, anger, discomfort, etc., to homosexuality.
The men were taken into a room individually and shown three types of hot, xrated films—one not-so-hot heterosexual one, one lesbian and one gay male. While
watching this orgy of media, each man had a plethysmograph, also known as a “peter
meter”, attached to his penis to measure his reaction to the pornography.
Both groups of men experienced similar sexual reactions to the video clips from
the heterosexual and lesbian movie. But then, when shown the hot all male film,
their arousal levels changed dramatically. 54 percent of the homophobic men experienced a definite, outright erection during the viewing of the gay porn, while only
24 percent of the non-homophobic men did. Even more dramatic, only 20 percent
of the homophobic men had no reaction whatsoever, while a full 66 percent of the
other men had no erection.
The consensus among the researchers was that homophobic men often do have
repressed homosexual desires. Show a film such as “Finding Ryan’s Privates” to a
room of youthful strong homophobes at the Young Republican Convention, an NRA
meeting, or even better, the locker room of most major male sports teams and you’ll
be dealing with one group of horned up men. Hey now, better not leave them alone
with each other!
Penn itself is no exception to this rule. We have many men on campus who go
around accusing people of being gay, liking “gay” things, and voting for “fags” like
John Kerry. Homophobia has even pervaded groups on thefacebook.com. Take a
look sometime at the Seth Cohen, and By Extension Everyone Who Likes Him, Is
Gay’s Profile. Granted, there are only five losers who belong to this group, but their
belief in using gay as some sort of derogatory term permeates the entire campus.
Fortunately for me, one of the members of this group is actually hot, and if the research is right all I have to do is be alone with him and some gay porn for some really
hot action to go down. Maybe I’ll be really lucky and he will be a bottom. Call me!
On Election Day itself, there was a car driving around Penn’s campus with “Faeries for Kerry” on it. Undoubtedly, the occupants thought themselves good conservative men of conviction, showing that only we dirty, silly fags would vote for such a
man as John Kerry. Again, fortunately for me, the odds are that many of the men
responsible for that lovely display of democracy are repressing deep urges for penis.
Maybe at the next drunken frat party I attend they can come introduce themselves
to me and we can see where it goes from there.
So for all the young gay men on campus who feel discouraged by a right-wing
Republican President and legislature, I say rejoice. The conservative period we are in
might mean an all-time high in scoring at conservative frat parties and Republican
college get-togethers all across the country. Especially in the South. The more red
the state is on the electoral count map, the more chances there are of hot, horny men
just waiting for an excuse to get in bed with another guy. After all, it is in these states
where the most radically religious homophobes live.
So to George Bush and all the religious nuts who pushed so hard to get him reelected in the name of protecting the heterosexual “way of life”, I have only words of
thanks for you. With a new generation of Republicans at Penn and elsewhere come
new opportunities for us to crush the conservative machine from the inside with the
power of hot, all male action!
Michael Patterson is a senior in the College. You can write to him at mjp2@sas.
N OVEMBER 8, 2004 | FIRST CALL | VOL . V N O . 6
P AGE 2
FirstCall
Editorial
HURRAH FOR THE
RED AND THE BLUE!
Vol. V, No. 6 | November 8, 2004
The Undergraduate Magazine
Executive Editor
Jordan Barav
Editor-in-Chief
Julie Gremillion
Assistant Editor
Robert Forman
Andrew Pederson
Lauren Saul
Columnists
Robert Forman
Julie Gremillion
Brian Hertler
Mickey Jou
Michael Patterson
Andrew Pederson
Lauren Saul
Anna Strongin
Writers
Christine Chen
Adam Goldstein
James Houston
Steve Landis
Artists
Stephanie Craven
Shira Bender
Marian Lee
Daniel Nieh
Layout Editor
Krystal Godines
Layout Staff
Anna Stetsovskaya
Marnee Klein
Business Managers
Alex Chacon
Greg Lysko
Marketing Manager
Leah Karasik
Marketing Staff
Lauren Saul
Anna Strongin
Webmaster
Rachit Shukla
Whether you supported the red or the blue, chances are pretty good that you did vote in the
recent election, which was particularly important for young voters. For many of us, it was probably the first presidential race in which we were eligible to vote. Additionally, given the “get out
the vote” efforts, particularly among young voters, expectations for young people’s turnout were
already high. To make the stakes even greater, Penn in particular was party to another push
among young voters: getting students registered in swing states if they attend university there.
Across the political spectrum, the emphasis was overwhelmingly placed on making sure
everyone—especially young people—made their voices heard and performed their civic duty
regardless of political leanings. In other words, getting out the vote was the top priority. When
pamphlets circulated misinformation relating students’ eligibility for financial aid in the state
in which they vote, both Democrats and Republicans on campus lamented the attempt at discouraging voter participation among students. On Election Day, fraternity brothers from Phi
Kappa Sigma called out to passersby on Locust Walk, confronting them with the question: “You,
there! Have you voted yet?” Professors entreated: “don’t forget to vote.” A pep rally mood and
excitement abounded over the show-down we all knew would be a close game.
Was the emphasis on getting out the young vote successful in this election? According to
the Associated Press, nine percent of voters were aged 18 to 24, and 17 percent of voters were in
the 18 to 29 age group. These figures represent the same proportion of young voters that voted
in 2000. However, given that the overall turnout was much higher in this election, the “young
vote” was still up in 2004. Hence, getting out the vote was successful among young voters, as
well as among voters in general.
Perhaps the trend of hooking in a younger demographic was initiated even before the presidential race heated up, with Howard Dean mobilizing many young politicos and starting the
“blogging” revolution of campaigning. Furthermore, as Curtis Gans, director of the nonpartisan
Committee for the Study of the American Electorate, notes: “On both sides, the presidency of
George Bush was a lightning rod” which inspired not only young voters to turnout but also motivated the greatest turnout since the election of 1968, with just under 60 percent of the vote.
As young people in the heart of a close election and battleground state, this election and the
voter turnout, particularly among younger voters, is particularly relevant to all of us. Unfortunately, youth turnout around the country did not parallel the turnout on Penn’s and many other
university’s campuses, which is disappointing considering the money spent encouraging youth
voting. What we can be proud of is Penn’s dedication to being active in the political process and
congratulate everyone who dragged his ass out of bed early in the morning to make sure his voice
was heard and his opinions counted.
Contact Information
330 Jon M. Huntsman Hall
3730 Walnut Street
Philadelphia, PA 19104
(215) 898-3200
fcpaper@wharton.upenn.edu
JULIE GREMILLION | SOUND ADVICE
Julie presents the old, the new
and the diehard favorites.
Web Site
clubs.wharton.upenn.edu/fcpaper
Submissions
Email letters to the editors and
guest submissions to
fcpaper@wharton.upenn.edu.
Students, please include your
school and class.
Editorial Policy
First Call is the undergraduate magazine
of The University of Pennsylvania. First
Call is published every Monday. Our
mission is to provide members of the
community an open forum for expressing ideas and opinions. To this end, we,
the editors of First Call, are committed
to a policy of not censoring opinions.
Articles are provided by regular columnists and writers. They are chosen for
publication based on the quality of writing and, in the case of commentaries, the
quality of argumentation. Outside of the
weekly editorial and other editorial content, no article represents the opinion of
First Call, its editorial board, or individual members of First Call other than the
author. No content in First Call unless
otherwise stated represents the official
position of the administration, faculty,
or student body at large of the Wharton
School or the University of Pennsylvania.
RETRO REWIND
“Gimme Some Truth”
John Lennon
IN STEREO
“Slow Hands”
Interpol
EDITORIAL ADVICE
“Don’t Pull Your Love”
Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds
I find it infinitely appropriate to
resurrect a past SA song in light of
the political events of the past week.
Unfortunately, John Lennon’s request
is not likely to be fulfilled any time
soon no matter how well he phrases
his request. After the last few weeks
of nonstop political backbiting ads,
aren’t we all tired of “hearing things
from uptight, short-sighted, narrowminded hypocrites”? If the past four
years have taught us anything, it’s that
the only truth we’re going to get is “It
was the CIA’s fault!” Off Lennon’s 1971
Imagine album, “Gimme Some Truth”
was speaking to President Richard
Nixon and the problems with the
Vietnam War, not a far stretch from
today’s application. If you’re struggling with the lack of truth in today’s
world, this song is a great expression
of your frustration with a memorable
beat and clever lyrics.
Off their newest album Antics, “Slow
Hands” is the first single released
and has steadily made its way up the
Modern Rock Charts. The song and
album are fairly different from their
past record Turn on the Bright Lights,
and everyone seems to be welcoming
the change. The band still claims to
be very morose and brooding, but
this time they’ve added extra layers of
excitement and color to create a product destined to bring them closer to
stardom. Their sound is reminiscent
of Radiohead and their depression is
just as palpable, but don’t expect the
experimentation you would find not
only on a Radiohead album but within each individual song. Still, “Slow
Hands”, a song about abandonment
and lost love with a few bizarre mysterious lyrics thrown in, is compelling,
energetic and interesting enough to
make you want more.
On the advice of Editor Jordan, “Don’t
Pull Your Love” has been selected
as one of those songs you know and
remember from way back in the day
but forget until the first line of the
song refreshes your memory. The
band was pretty much an accident;
originally just studio musicians, they
created music that was released by the
record companies under the guise of
being from a real band. Eventually,
the group got tired of making pop ditties and formed their own group. They
struggled until achieving a Number 4
hit in the early 70s with “Don’t Pull
Your Love”, one of two hits for the
band. The song is a desperate plea
for his woman to stay with him even if
she takes anything and everything she
wants whether it’s his heart, his soul or
his money. It’s a great little sing-along
song even if the lyrics aren’t nearly as
positive as the actual rhythm.
N OVEMBER 8, 2004 | FIRST CALL | VOL . V N O . 6
P AGE 3
THE UNAUTHORIZED-AUTHORIZED
BIOGRAPHY OF BOB DYLAN
BY JAMES HOUSTON
FEW THINGS ARE MORE IRRITATING than the perversion of the term “folk” in
contemporary music. Once reserved for the proud cross-generational transmission of
melodic time capsules, it is now grafted to “-rock” and stamped on every bumbling girlwith-acoustic-guitar and pack of lovesick Boyband U. dropouts lacking the balls to turn
up their amps.
And it’s all Bob Dylan’s fault. If he had never become the most significant and idolized
American musician ever, folk music would have remained an underground curiosity and
retained its name integrity, at least until the next wunderkind
got his hands on it.
OK, OK, of course that’s bull. Not only is it inconceivable
that “another Dylan” would have risen to the same earthly
heavens in his absence, but if we blamed geniuses for the
legions of hacks and wankers who predictably surface in their
vast wakes, our lives would be too bitter to endure.
A sometimes-overlooked achievement of Dylan’s is the
way he raised confounding the media to an art form. Since his
anointment as the transcendent voice of Cold War America,
a straightforward, sincere interview with Dylan about himself and his music has been the most elusive trophy in rock
journalism. If you’ve ever wanted to see pompous reporters
bludgeoned with their own highfalutin’ questions, find the
documentary Don’t Look Back and enjoy watching luminaries
of the American and British presses cry uncle as Dylan runs
circles around them. In light of this carefully-maintained
opacity, finally getting his autobiography is a considerable
event.
Also considerable (though unsurprising) is the absence of
a fine-print name preceded by “and” or “with” on the cover. An
autobiographical co-author is always trouble for readers—not
merely for being a contradiction in terms, but because of the
inescapable and icky questions his presence raises, to wit:
“How much writing did the subject actually do? Did the
co-author ask a few questions and then write the whole book
or just clean up a draft?” Chronicles has no such ambiguity.
Dylan has been nominated for the Nobel Prize in literature
every year since 1996, so it’s safe to assume that a co-author
would have been dead weight.
The structure of the book is odd: it begins with the young
Dylan in New York City having just signed his first record
contract. He reflects on his life up to that point and then
inexplicably skips to the end of the 1960s as he records the album New Morning. Then,
welcome to warp zone, it’s 1987 and a creatively slumping Dylan meets producer Daniel
Lanois through a mutual Irish megastar friend. Lanois produces 1989’s Oh Mercy, beginning a fertile artistic relationship eventually resulting in the Grammy-winning Time out of
Mind. The final chapter returns to the past and ends roughly where the book begins. So
we’re left with no juicy Beatles anecdotes, no mention of his mid-1960s masterpieces, no
explanation of the “Jesus-Bob” phase, and assorted other no’s. No worry, though. Trying
to squeeze Dylan’s larger-than-life life into three hundred pages would be pointless, and
the title Chronicles, Volume One all but guarantees that Volume Two is on the way, perhaps
followed by Volume Three, Volume Four, etc.
The vivid originality of Dylan’s lyrics translates smoothly into prose—the people in his
world wear “illegible smile[s]” and sing “like they were navigating burning ships.” Describing his late-1980s frustration, he finds he has become “a fictitious head of state from a
place nobody knows”, whose overwhelming fame is “like having some weird diploma that
won’t get you into any college.” Lines this exquisite should give long-suffering fans hope
that Dylan’s tenth time will be the Nobel charm.
Still, his language favors the colloquial: Money is “wampum” and “‘til” is favored over
“until”. This gives the narrative a warmth only offset a few times by frustrating verbosity.
At the end of a thoroughly head-scratching ramble about a new approach to musical arrangement, he clobbers us with “My playing was not going to be an impellent in equanimity to my voice and I would use different algorithms that the ear is not accustomed to.” Oh
would you, Mister Jones?
Those wondering what Dylan read in his formative years get the full rundown: Thucydides, Dante, Byron, Poe, and shelves of others. Strangely, or maybe not, he harps on
Clausewitz’s On War for over a page. He reveals that early in his life, he aspired to attend
West Point!. His deep interest in combat is clarified later when he considers the extraordinary connotation of the Civil War: “Back there, America was
put on the cross, died and was resurrected. . . The godawful
truth of that would be the all-encompassing template behind
everything that I would write.” Whoa.
He names Roy Orbison, Hank Williams, and Robert
Johnson as musical influences, but always towering over
the rest is Woody Guthrie—you know, the guy who wrote
the music for that Bush vs. Kerry JibJab movie. The many
adulatory pages dedicated to the legendary Okie are summarized in the declaration that “The songs of Woody Guthrie
ruled my universe.” Hopefully this will inspire people to find
Guthrie’s records, as he, Williams, and Johnson effectively
created American music (jazz excluded) as we know it.
Dylan has occasionally spoken on his songwriting before,
but the major difference in Chronicles is that instead of discussing it in response to press hounding, he’s freely volunteering the key to the once-unpickable lock. Describing the
transition from playing Guthrie covers to writing originals,
he explains “Sometimes you just want to do things your way,
want to see for yourself what lies behind the misty curtain.”
He alternates this sort of vibrant abstraction with nuts-andbolts analysis of how he assembles songs, so that in the end,
the process is laid out in fine detail while still maintaining its
overall mystery—he’s not telling us how to do it, he’s telling
us how he did it.
The great triumph of Chronicles is that it is about more
than Bob Dylan’s life and music. All biographies aspire to be
literature on some level, but so few come close. Chronicles
pulls it off because its author’s purpose in powerfully commanding our attention is to show us reflections of our world
and ourselves. Not surprising, since it was this technique
applied in his indelible songs that originally made Dylan
biography-worthy. Reading Chronicles is to bask in Dylan’s gently didactic views on the
supposed function of celebrities, the value of self-sufficiency, and in his fiercely unique take
on the American character.
One common question the book addresses is how Robert Zimmerman came to be
called Bob Dylan. He writes that his first stage name was “Robert Allen”, which for aesthetic reasons became “Robert Allyn. Then sometime later, unexpectedly, I’d seen some
poems by Dylan Thomas. . .” He goes on for another half-page about how the final product
is “Bob Dylan”. Something bothered me about the Welsh poet being cited as the catalyst for
the legendary moniker, but then I remembered reading an interview Dylan gave in 1966 in
which he tersely snapped: “Get that straight, I didn’t change my name in honor of Dylan
Thomas. That’s just a story.” Surely I’m not the first person to notice this, and all things
considered, it’s not a big deal—if consistency was ever expected from Bob Dylan, no one
would care to read his autobiography. Like Guthrie, Dylan’s ingeniously unpredictable art
has elevated him from folksinger to folk hero, and we love folk heroes precisely because
their stories change a little with each retelling.
GRADE: A
James Houston is a senior in the College. You can write to him at jhouston@sas.
INTOLERABLE INTEGRITY
Credit for cartoons is fine by me
ROB FORMAN | MY 13-INCH BOX
In Friday’s Daily
Pennsylvanian,
Craig
Cohen’s column “He
Hate Me” blasted a burgeoning area of study
across American higher
learning
institutions:
courses on television.
Though
specifically
mentioning UNC’s new
class on American Idol,
Cohen’s generalization disregards the potential value of
medium as a whole. I do agree with his thoughts about
the specific course devaluing academic integrity, as well
as the preposterous declaration of “I majored in reality
TV with a concentration in Survivor.” Cohen completely
misses the point. This banal American Idol class, where
the final project involves making a method for determining the winner—and if you were able to do it for
Fantasia, wouldn’t it be better to apply it to, say, elections instead?—is the exception to what could prove a
provocative rule. Not all television is created equal, and
I think Cohen would find some of the topics I propose
below not only challenging but enlightening. Certainly
of more value than simply watching TV for credit.
Before getting into examples of where television
studies could indeed be legitimate academic subject
matter, I’d like to point at the ever-growing field of
Cinema Studies. Film, the most recent art form—only
created in 1895—has struggled to find a legitimate place
in the liberal arts oeuvre next to topics such as Homer,
medieval romance, and the many hard sciences. Fortu-
Let’s not discount the
great examples that
float above the sea of
mediocrity and primetime after-school
specials.
nately, it has made inroads. Admittedly, the offerings
filling seats at The Bridge won’t be covered in most lectures. There is serious artistic subject matter we could
be studying, like Monet or Picasso! That attitude, which
Cohen exudes, is close-minded. After all, if we judged
the painting medium by kindergarten finger-painting,
it wouldn’t get the respect it both receives and deserves.
Likewise with film, there are great examples of cinema
to study, from typically screened American fare like Citizen Kane or The Godfather to foreign films, which allow
students a portal into other countries, other cultures,
and other time periods in addition to teaching about
film techniques themselves. Say, it’s like reading Plato’s
Republic! Of course, we could be reading Danielle
Steele and watching White Chicks.
There are plenty who will point at my defense of
television by using the film medium as unfounded.
Granted, there are differences between the two media.
Television today is a grind where you follow the same set
of characters over weeks and weeks to years and where
production time is often less than a week per thirty minutes. Film, on the other hand, is much more expensive,
self-contained, and made over the course of weeks if not
months. It would be hard to match film’s quality in story
and direction week after week. But the differences between the two aren’t just negative for TV. The pace and
consistency of television allow much more opportunity
for development and current events commentary—since
by the time a movie got out the event being commented
on would likely be two years old.
Continued on PAGE 6
P AGE 4
N OVEMBER 8, 2004 | FIRST CALL | VOL . V N O . 6
THE PAIN OF A SIX FIGURE MINIMUM WAGE
Blame the Unions for inflated athletes’ salaries
BY JULIE GREMILLION
I MADE THE INTERESTING DECISION to take Sports Law with Scott Rosner this
semester, and my assessment thus far is that the material is intriguing, the professor is
great, and the students are annoying. As I should have expected, the class is largely male
and largely sports fanatic male, that all too common breed of know-it-all that exists to
remind us exactly how much useless information can be packed into one brain. While
some of the comments from students can be insightful, many of them are mind-numbing, particularly when it comes to discussion about player compensation.
Naturally, any talk about pro athletes’ salaries evokes a rousing, highly polarized debate over their validity and fairness. On one side, you have the idealists arguing such high
salaries simply aren’t fair in a world where teachers make $30,000 a year. On the other
side, you have the purists arguing players are paid only what owners are willing to pay.
Few if any actually take the realistic position: superstars deservingly get paid what the
market can handle, while everyone else is inordinately overpaid through a union mechanism designed unlike that of any other industry.
When the subject of player compensation arises, people often make the argument
that professional athletes are unique entertainers just like movie stars and musicians. As
a result, they get paid extraordinary salaries to accommodate their extraordinary talents.
Why criticize pro athletes for making $20 million when we don’t criticize Tom Cruise
for making $20 million per movie, they ask. They both have unique talents, high public
demand, and high revenue-generating capabilities. We just like to criticize pro athletes
because they’re playing a “game”.
I simply cannot understand why
any intelligent person would begin
to make this argument unless he has
less than even a remotely basic understanding of the movie and music
industries. And yet, these exact arguments were made during my class this
past week. Unfortunately, class time
constraints and too many over-eager
hands waving in the air to explain why
the Yankees shouldn’t be penalized
for being such a great team prevented
me from popping their self-important
over-inflated balloon egos, so I present
my argument here.
Allow me to clarify one key point. I
completely agree that marquis players
like Alex Rodriguez and Randy Johnson and Barry Bonds get paid ridiculous salaries and that those salaries are
supported by teams’ and fans’ willingness to pay such a price for the value
of the unique skills and talent such a
player possesses. The crux of the argument lies in the marginal player, the
backup, the average schmuck reaping
the benefits of a superstar life without
the talent to back it up.
Presence of Unions
Both pro sports and the entertainment industries have unions, but we
should take into account a few major
differences. For one, pro sports unions
automatically cover every single player
in the league without exception. An
athlete does not have the option of
just not joining and going it alone. For
another, every team in the league must
work with the union according to the
rules of the leagues; a team can’t opt
out and hire non-union players. As a
result, these unions have generated a
significant amount of leverage for their players. You could easily argue Major League
Baseball players pretty much have their owners by the balls when it comes to determining
the upper hand.
The entertainment industry is protected by no such union. Several organizations
do exist for actors or musicians or radio personalities, but these optional unions are not
mandatory umbrella protection. They certainly do not automatically cover every actor
or musician in the industry regardless of choice, and members of groups like the Screen
Actors’ Guild (SAG) can only work on projects authorized by SAG and are in serious legal
trouble if they accept non-union work. Such unions can encourage people to become
members and pay dues, but they do not have the leverage or the forced relationship pro
sports unions have.
Collective Bargaining Agreements (CBA)
Compounded by the over-riding power of the pro sports union, herein lies the single
greatest different between pro sports and entertainment: salary restrictions and rules imposed on owners by the CBAs. The lowest minimum salary in the four main professional
sports in 2003 was $150,000 in the NHL, while the lowest minimum player salary in
the NBA in 2004 is $385,000. When is the last time an extra in a movie was guaranteed
$385,000? Most actor/waiters will tell you that not only do they rarely get paid for their
minor roles but they often lose money on the deal because they have to pay all their expenses to get to where the movie is actually being filmed. I imagine any pro athlete would
pitch a fit if asked to pay for his own expenses.
The ridiculousness of such a floor is compounded further by the knowledge that the
average salary is $4.5 million in the NBA and $2.55 million in MLB. NFL players have
guaranteed salary increases with each contract depending on their classification as a
player. In all four of the major pro sports, a player is almost always guaranteed at least
100% of his previous salary, and usually he receives a 10-20% increase. Virtually no pay
cuts exist unless the player agrees to take a lesser salary for certain other perks like being
on a championship team: examples include Gary Payton and Karl Malone going to the
Lakers, in what must now be one hell of a disappointment. The only other job in America
with guaranteed pay raises every year is that of U.S. congressmen, and that’s only because
they vote themselves a “cost of living” salary adjustment every single year.
Free agency has been argued as the greatest inflator of salaries, and while it is not the
only contributor, it is a significant one. Free agency allows teams to bid up player salaries
usually beyond what they’re worth because teams want to retain the player. Granted, this
problem is the fault of both owners and players. More importantly, a limit is set on the
number of free agents available in the market in any given year, creating an artificially
restricted supply. The purpose of such a limit is to cause player salaries to be bid up even
higher since the supply of free agents is less than it could and should be. Fewer people to
bid on equals more money to spend on those few people. I think we can all agree neither
the music nor the movie industries have any such limits in place.
Salary Arbitration
Pro athletes argue they are bound to their team for a set number of years, which is
unlike any other industry. As a result, they have a system in place to renegotiate contracts
every few years. The NHL and MLB have salary arbitration with third party arbitrators
if a player doesn’t like the offer his team is presenting him or feels he is being under-paid.
Only players can bring their problems to arbitration; owners can’t try to bargain a player
down from a previous year’s salary that’s too high. Historically, such arbitrations have resulted in salary increases of 75-150% of the existing salary. In baseball, players are signed
to a team for a period of six years. After three years, or two years if they are particularly
skilled, they are eligible for salary
arbitration. Lest we forget, these
players not yet eligible still earned
an average of $490,000 in 2002
while those who were eligible were
earning $1.2 million.
We should make baseball players
talk to rising musicians about what
shitty contracts actually mean. Surprisingly enough, the only coherent
and absolutely accurate thing Courtney Love says, when she isn’t OD’ing
on heroine or showing her panties to
the crowd, is that record companies
keep a stranglehold on musicians
for their entire careers. Labels sign
upcoming musicians to contracts
requiring the group to produce a set
number of albums before the artist is
free to change companies or renegotiate. Hole, Love’s personal project,
disbanded in response to the record
company demanding another album.
Pearl Jam was tied to a seven album
deal with Epic Records under Sony,
which took 12 years to complete, and
you can be sure Epic didn’t share any
more of the pie during those 12 years
than they originally agreed.
Can you imagine a musician
walking up to David Geffen and
demanding a 150% salary increase?
Better yet, can you picture Geffen
agreeing to go in front of a third
party salary arbitrator because the
artist he signed at a rock bottom
price is now multi-platinum? The
reason the music industry is so profitable is because they sign unknown
artists with potential to insanely low
contracts for a long period of time so
the company is guaranteed to reap
the benefits throughout the height
of the artist’s career. Musicians don’t get paid their actual value to the record company
unless they survive the five or six album, 10 year contract and are still creating popular
music! We don’t hear many people complaining about the bad deal musicians get, and
they arguably have the worst contract setup of all.
The movie and music industries would seemingly have a far easier time getting away
with such salary floors and negotiation avenues considering the overwhelming profitability of the industry. In reality, it’s the opposite; both of these industries maintain a
death grip on their willingness to pay actors, and the unique skills involved in acting or
performing are easily comparable to that of pro athletes.
What irritates me the most is that people actually argue pro athlete compensation
is based on a free and open marketplace where people are paid what they deserve to be
paid. How on earth can we know about all the salary floors and guaranteed percentage
increases set in place and still call it free and open? When a marginal player who rides
the bench is guaranteed $300,000 per year, he is not getting paid what he is worth. The
union established minimum salaries to protect players from themselves, to keep them
from accepting salaries they actually deserve or would be willing to take.
If we are going to accept the pro athlete compensation system, we must also accept
and profess its absolute uniqueness in the world. Why try to pretend the leagues are
like anything else when they so clearly aren’t? Why even bother making a connection to
entertainment industries which operate at opposite ends of the spectrum? The only possible argument is that superstars in both movies and sports garner much higher salaries
because of public demand. But that doesn’t take into account the role of the average
player free-riding on a system created to inflate salaries. This situation is nowhere near a
free and open marketplace; supply is artificially exceeding demand, but the price is going
up. Don’t romanticize the system to make yourself feel better. It’s not fair. It’s not right.
And it’s not like anything else.
Julie Gremillion is a senior in Wharton. You can write to her at grmillj@wharton.
N OVEMBER 8, 2004 | FIRST CALL | VOL . V N O . 6
P AGE 5
VERIZON: MAN’S NEW BEST FRIEND
L A U R E N S A U L | W E E K LY S A U L U T A T I O N S
ONCE UPON A TIME, no one at Penn or in the world had
AIM or cell phones. As recently as a decade ago, life as we
know it had a different form. The skeptical readers may roll
their eyes, but to them I ask: can you imagine a day in your
life without those two items? Such an attempt undoubtedly
would be headache-inducing, and you’d probably give up after about three minutes.
In those days, if people wanted to talk to each other, they
were afforded two measly options: actually seeing their target
or calling on a land-line. Piquant away messages didn’t exist, and the ability to use discretion in picking up the phone
was severely limited. Let’s be honest—we’ve all handled our
cell phone like it’s a hot potato when it says an unfamiliar
number or a name that we are not in the mood to deal with at a given moment. We live in a
world where voice mail messages are rehearsed before they’re sent, where people can know
the instant their emails are received, and where IM’s can be copied and pasted so that the
whole world can give feedback on one person’s usage of the English language’s punctuation
minutiae. People who leave their away messages on all the time can be contacted even while
they are asleep. The existence of AIM enhancers allow people to pretend they’re not at the
computer while they still are there, IMing away. Classes back in the day were also free of a
professor’s reaction to the unexpected sound of Kevin Lyttle’s “Turn Me On” in the middle
of class.
When Generation X’ers were in college and needed to talk to their suitemate, they had
actually to stand up and knock on the person’s door instead of typing into a screen. If they
wanted to meet up with someone, the plan had to be made before leaving the room. No one,
except for the Zach Morris’s of the world, had the freedom to change his day’s socializing
schedule unless he was by a telephone or ran into his friends, first. If people were going to be
late, they would be. No one would call the person they were meeting a while after the designated time to announce the obvious. If people wanted to change the location for mundane
events such as dinner, they couldn’t call their friends moments before to try to re-coordinate
everything. In the case of private conversations, where there is always the natural concern
of potential eavesdropping, people must have felt the need to go directly to a person’s room,
instead of relying on IM and quick closing of the flashing windows. Logging is also a big
problem.
Going out was also an entirely different ballpark. The attendees of frat parties couldn’t
call each other and compare dinginess or drunkenness levels. People must have been more
locked into their plans for the evening than they are now. No murky possibilities of “maybe
we’ll meet up” were allowed, as canceling events in the middle of a night was not an option
without cell phones. Many people have a strategy nowadays about going out that could not
have existed back in the day—they indicate to several groups of mutually exclusive people
that they will “call them and hang out”. We all do it. We tell several people on the periphery
of our social circle something along these lines, that way we can keep as many options open
as possible for as far into the night as is respectable. If a party gets stale and your friend is
talking to some dud of a guy while you’re standing there forced to listen to more hogwash
BEST BETS
11/8 - 11/14
Rob’s TV picks for the week
Monday: $25 Million Dollar Hoax (NBC, 10 p.m.) Come bear witness to
continued downward spiral that is NBC. I don’t even watch reality TV, but
I’m absolutely sure this is a rerun of some FOX show. Stealing ideas from
FOX? Now that’s irony.
Tuesday: I Hate My Job (SpikeTV, 9 p.m.) Reverend Al Sharpton encourages eight good men to quit their jobs and find the Lord. I mean follow their
dreams, trying to become whatever it is they really wanted to be before succumbing to white-collar America. They have three months. On Al Sharpton’s list of dream jobs? President of the United States. Good luck, Al.
Wednesday: Smallville “Spell” (WB, 8 p.m.) Erica Durance as Lois Lane
has singlehandedly brought this show from the doldrums of its entire existence to a semi-acceptable Superman pre-story. Also helping: not doing
Kryptonite Metaphor Monsters of the Week, and using DC Comics staples
like The Flash and Mxyzptlk. This week, we not only get Lois, but witch possession. Of Lois.
Thursday: ER “Time of Death” (NBC, 10 p.m.) Oh my god! It’s a superfabulous guest-star episode! With November Sweeps upon us, the cameos
are coming out of the woodworks like so many termites. Ray Liotta, you
should’ve stuck to Scorsese films.
Friday: Untold (SpikeTV, 9 p.m.) Although I thought everyone was pretty
much aware of this, Terry Bradshaw is depressed. And now you can hear all
about it, his private, and professional life. It’s premiere week on Spike, hence
the double-recommendation.
Saturday: Saturday Night Live “Liam Neeson/Modest Mouse” (NBC 11:
30 p.m.) It’s that guy! From the crappy Star Wars prequel! No, not Jar Jar
Binks. He’s apparently in some indie movie called Kinsey, and now wants to
plug it. Shocking! Also, Modest Mouse will lip-synch.
Sunday: The Simpsons “All’s Fair in Oven War” (FOX, 8 p.m.) Apparently
Homer has a latent talent for cooking, so he and Marge decide to would be
best to compete in a spoof of Pilsbury’s Bake-Off. Because fighting is what
this married couple does best.
If You Can Only Watch One: Gotta go with The Simpsons. Last season
had, oh, two episodes worthy of the title “classic.” There’s only up to go from,
so with low expectations and head held high, I’m prepared for something
surprisingly funny.
than a stupid unproductive meeting that eats up weeknights, a bunch of back-up exit ideas
are readily available. For more direct problems, some cell phones even have a bad date emergency function. Thank you, Nokia.
Without cell phones, another ritual might not happen: the programming of the number.
Programming someone’s cell phone number means there is no excuse for not calling them.
Obviously, the facebook has forced us to reach the same point, but inputting a number into
one’s phone leaves even less room for excuses. In addition, the ease of the cell phonebooks
can cause people to dial the wrong number at times. In the days of physical dialing, at least
you would have to press a bunch of numbers before making the mistake. Now, it can take as
little as the push of one button to cause a socially awkward situation.
We are all attached to our computers.
Some people even keep their webmail
page open so they can press “refresh”
every four minutes. Now those people
don’t have to give up this activity during
the several hours per day when they have
no choice but to leave their glowing monitor. Many companies are giving their
more mobile employees a device called
Blackberry, which allows its users to
check email at any time or place. It uses
cell phone networks instead of wireless
to import email. Though I may not have
much work experience, if I were working
I wouldn’t want to be reached at every
possible instant. Commuting time is sacred — it’s meant for zoning out and listening to one’s
ipod or radio channel hopping to mentally prepare for work. Being able to access employees
will increase productivity, but everybody’s sanity is going to suffer just a little bit. College students who want Blackberry baffle me. It’s not like we are ever kept away from our computers
for long periods of time. I think Blackberry should be kept for the use of employees at work.
Expanding it for personal usage is another way to drill away at personal privacy.
The bottom line is that we are all so painfully reachable. I can count the people I know
who don’t own a cell phone on one hand, if I could even think of one person. Since everyone
has one, this reachability essentially is institutionalized. Some people manage to resist AIM,
though those folks are in the minority. Spontaneity has disappeared from many aspects of
life, and our social maneuvers as a result have become more recorded and rehearsed than
anyone ever intended. I am not trying to sound like a psychotic Luddite, as I realize the
convenience that these devices afford us, and I am as dependent as the next person. However, I still think it’s mind boggling, but important, to spend some time thinking about how
much of a role technology is playing in the most basic, day-to-day parts of life and in every
interaction.
Lauren Saul is a sophomore dualing in the WHollege. You can write to her at lcsaul@wharton.
DRAFT
Continued from PAGE 1
law and order. The third prong, should it become necessary, is to gun them down one-byone.”
“Not me—I’m a total coward.”
The draft man shook his head. “We’ll make a man out of you. We need soldiers with
killer instincts, who can duck more quickly when rockets are coming at them. Afterwards,
we’ll need you back in the States. We’re pushing an anti-sodomy amendment to the Constitution, and the homosexuals might get uppity.”
He drained his orange juice, and I offered to pour him another glass. I filled it to the top
and then flung the juice at his nice suit.
I bolted for the door, but I couldn’t reach it in time. The dripping-wet draft man sprang
to his feet and caught me by the collar. “You coward!” he snarled. “You hypocrite! You,
after filing for Selective Service when you were eighteen—”
“It was required by law!”
He shook me roughly. “How do you expect to conquer the Middle East without a draft?
You’ll stay in Iraq until you run out of Arabs—no matter how long it takes—and then you’ll
go to Syria and hunt down some more, and then Iran—”
“Actually, I’d be fighting Persians in Iran not Arabs.”
He reached his hand back to slap me. My killer instincts were starting to surface, and I
was starting to duck when suddenly...
I woke up in bed, with the morning light coming through my window. It was only a
dream, thank goodness! I remembered John Kerry had really won the election last Tuesday thanks to the massive turnout of youth voters. A tide of secularism was sweeping the
country, and we were fighting the war on terror with intelligence rather than brute strength.
Great job, everyone!
Brian Hertler is a senior in the College. You can write to him at hertlerb@sas.
m
s
i
l
l
a
our dose of
c
t
s
weekly wisdom
r
i
f
BEWARE OF THE FURBY! IN 1999,
THE NSA CLASSIFIED THE FURBY
AS A NATIONAL SECURITY THREAT
AND LATER REALIZED IT WASNT.
N OVEMBER 8, 2004 | FIRST CALL | VOL . V N O . 6
P AGE 6
51% DUMB AND 48% SOUR GRAPES?
If you can’t say anything constructive...
A N N A S T R O N G I N | A TA S T E O F M E D I C I N E
I REALLY WANTED to get
through these elections with
as little emotion as possible,
because I didn’t think either
of the candidates was worthy
of compassion. In the end,
the 2004 Presidential Race
proved to be as personal for
me as it did for the majority of voting Americans.
It wasn’t so much due to the outcome, but the general
response to said outcome. Of course, it was no surprise
that anger and dissatisfaction were far more prevalent
than any kind of joy and excitement on our campus. At the
same time, I never expected to hear so many attacks on the
intelligence and competence of those who voted for Bush.
I’m not going to deny that, in part, the reason I was
insulted by some post-election conversations was because
I did vote for Bush. I don’t like to think that my decision
immediately places me in a category of intellectually inferior, uninformed people. Likewise, I was far from amused
by the website that gauged IQs of people in states that
voted Democrat to be far higher than the IQs of those in
Republican leaning states.
My decision to vote for Bush had little to do with a
“misguided” belief that he was the superior candidate. On
the contrary, I disapprove of the majority of the things
that he has done over the past four years, starting with the
War in Iraq. But what I disapprove of even more is Kerry’s
inability to put forth a strong, convincing platform in light
of Bush’s errors.
If Kerry was truly a quality candidate, he would have
taken advantage of the many mistakes and problems
characteristic of the presidency throughout the last term.
However, Kerry failed to distinguish himself in any way.
Few people, it seems, actually talk about that. A friend of
mine, who informed me that I only voted for Bush because
I was uniformed about many crucial facts, believes the
quality of Kerry’s campaign is irrelevant—all that matters
is that he is not Bush.
I never expected to hear
so many attacks on the
intelligence and
competence of those who
voted for Bush.
Such an outlook is far from novel among those who
voted for Kerry. But how is making such a one-sided decision any more intelligent or informed than voting for a
candidate who appeared to have done nothing good?
Then again, I can ask the question in a different
way—how is choosing a candidate because you disapprove
of the issues supported by and policies carried out by the
president any less intelligent than voting for the candidate
whom you feel addresses your concerns? It’s not, because
elections are not a matter of intelligence but a matter of
opinion, which is based on issues relevant to each citizen’s
life. If a voter is from some small town in the Midwest
with little or no diversity, then racial issues are not pertinent to that person’s life. He or she will feel no reason to
take them into account when voting. On the other hand,
if a voter is a student at a diverse urban university, race
becomes a significant presence in that person’s life and is
likely to influence his or her voting decision.
Intelligence, therefore, is not a measure of whether a
person can make a good voting decision—if it were, there
would not only be age restrictions but also baseline IQs.
The day that happens is the day one of the essential elements of democracy—the one that was fought for so hard
for so many years—ceases to exist. Everybody is entitled to
make a decision based on what is important to him or her.
This should not be attributed to a lack or excess of knowledge or understanding—generalizations are least appropriate when trying to characterize 51% of the population.
If you want to talk about how bad it is that Bush has
been re-elected, then discuss the things he’s done or hasn’t
done and how Kerry would be able to do them better. If
you want to throw your support behind Bush, then justify
tax cuts to the rich and the pro-life stance. Don’t just sit
there and talk about how stupid the voters are and how
they don’t know what they’re doing when they voted Bush.
It’s not constructive, and it in no way enhances your own
intelligence.
Anna Strongin is a junior in the College. You can write to her at
astrongi@sas.
CARTOONS
Continued from PAGE 3
There is one key difference between film and television almost impossible to rectify: viewing habits. Films are events. You physically go to
the theatre, with its larger-than-life projection screen, stadium seating,
and surround sound. For TV, you sit on the couch, flip through channels, and eventually decide on whatever parameters best suit your needs
at the time—hot bodies, a comedy, cooking instructions, etc. It’s routine,
commonplace, and typically requires no thought. Thus, the typical TV
viewer gives no thought to what they’re watching—though this epidemic of
thoughtlessness is increasingly more prevalent in audiences exiting Hollywood blockbusters to the point that the difference is becoming negligible.
I’ll be the first to say the best of TV does not rival the best of film. But
let’s not discount
the great examples
that float above the
sea of mediocrity
and primetime afterschool specials. Let’s
revel in them. Let’s
jump in, dig deep, and
learn how to appreciate and analyze TV—in
a different way than we
do film—instead of just
passively watching and
writing the whole medium off as obtuse. Here are a few suggestions for incorporating the field
of television studies into the various Arts and Letters departments:
Seinfeld and Philosophy. Suggested readings include texts of feminist
studies for Elaine, Kierkegaard for Kramer, Aristotle and George, Socrates
and Jerry, and more.
Ethics and the Slayer. Readings include essays on nihilism, existentialism, the categorical imperative, and more. Then watch how these ideas
play out in the progression of characters Willow, Faith, and Buffy.
Family in the 1900s. Any sociology or gender studies class should have
no problem incorporating the evolution from The Honeymooners to Archie
Bunker of All in the Family to The Simpsons into real terms with accompanying reading material.
Literary Allegory on the Small Screen. Have you considered how many
shows use themes and storylines almost directly transplanted from classic
texts? One could assign Dr. Faustus, The Odyssey, Milton, Spenser… the
topics are almost limitless.
Minority and Queer Studies. Take a look at the on-screen prevalence, or
lack thereof, and stereotyping of African-Americans, Latinos, Asians, and
more while cross-sectioning with societal views on the groups. Likewise,
track homosexuality on TV from closed or stereotyped figures to Ellen, Willow on Buffy, the mixed examples on Will & Grace, and more.
If nothing else, a course involving popular culture can serve as a springboard for getting students interested in a subject they hadn’t before considered or for seeing how these areas relate to modern topics. While the idea
of a preceptorial is nice, I don’t think it gives enough time with the subject
matter. Hopefully Dean Bushnell and the heads of various liberal arts departments are reading and take these considerations to heart.
Regardless, the next time you watch TV, try to take a close look between
the lines. If you find nothing there, maybe you’re watching the wrong programs and are, indeed, wasting your time.
Of course, we could be
reading Danielle Steele
and watching White
Chicks.
Rob Forman is a junior in Wharton. You can write to him at robertf@wharton.
N OVEMBER 8, 2004 | FIRST CALL | VOL . V N O . 6
P AGE 7
NBA MUST REINVENT ITSELF FOR FANS
BY ADAM GOLDSTEIN
I WAS JUST STROLLING into Pottruck the other night to get my weekly treadmill fix
when I heard it. Maybe I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually gone for a run,
but I sure as hell knew that voice. That loud, obnoxious, slightly nasal voice I hadn’t heard
for about six months, but I would’ve recognized it instantly even if I hadn’t heard it for six
years. I gazed at the big screen television beneath the stairs and, sure enough, there he
was: Philadelphia’s own sports personality and basketball guru, Stephen A. Smith, known
affectionately—and not so affectionately—as Screamin’ Stephen for his obstreperous demeanor on camera and in print. Still hung-over from baseball’s stupendous postseason
and sufficiently caught up in the midseason drama of the NFL, I had almost completely
forgotten that the NBA season was about to get underway. Could my absentmindedness be due to the fact that
the fortune of my favorite
NBA team, the Washington
Wizards, hedges greatly on
the play of Kwame Brown,
the worst number one draft
pick in the history of the
league? Perhaps. Either
way, I had to admit I was
excited about the prospects
for this year’s basketball
season. At least the NBA
games would provide some
mid-week entertainment
until the NCAA hoops season starts up in two weeks.
All potshots at the NBA aside, I believe this truly is a pivotal year for professional basketball. For one, the league’s Collective Bargaining Agreement expires at the end of the
2004-2005 season. Sure, league commissioner David Stern has recently tried to assuage
tensions between the NBPA and league owners by stating that an agreement between the
two parties could be reached by as early as the end of this calendar year. Nonetheless, one
need only look at the NHL to witness firsthand how the failure to renegotiate a CBA can
wipe out a league. One would think that the disastrous state of hockey would convince
owners and players alike to jettison their greedy ways and to hammer out a deal as soon
possible. Yet when a high profile player like Latrell Sprewell angrily declares that his
yearly salary of $14.6 million is “insulting[ly]” low since he has “got a family to feed”, a
fan can only wonder as to whether any kind of agreement can be reached. After all, only
five years ago the league’s failure to establish a CBA led to a lockout-shortened season.
This catastrophe greatly eroded the NBA’s fan base, and the league has never fully recovered from its woeful 1999 season.
Ironically enough, the CBA problems which are currently afflicting the NHL provide
a potential boon to the NBA. With no hockey currently being played, the NBA has only
to compete with the NFL for exposure within the world of professional sports. Already,
many NBA teams are reporting increases in ticket sales. And, should the NHL season
be wiped out completely, the NBA would experience an even greater financial windfall,
as it would be the only major professional sport in operation from mid-January until the
beginning of April.
Will the NBA seize this tremendous opportunity to exploit the absence of a competitor league and perhaps rival the NFL as the richest and most successful league in the
country? My definitive answer is … maybe. I am hesitant to provide a clear-cut response
mainly because I have yet to figure what effect USA basketball’s ghastly performance in
last summer’s Olympics has had on the NBA’s fan base. If you can remember—I know, it’s
painful—the USA basketball team, led by Lebron James, Tim Duncan, and Allen Iverson,
lost by 20 points to Puerto Rico in its first game and then proceeded to lose to Lithuania
and Argentina as the team finished a dismal third in the tournament.
I would argue that America’s putrid play was actually beneficial to growing the sport
and the love of the NBA outside of the U.S. Residents of countries such as Lithuania and
Argentina who had never seen a game of basketball in their lives must have been awed
to see their countrymen knock off the mighty American squad and compete for a gold
medal. I am sure that more than a few young boys in Buenos Aires suddenly stopped
dreaming about becoming the next Maradona and started thinking about honing their
jump shot or crossover in order to become the next Manu Ginobli. And, for hardcore
basketball fans around the world, the performance of the international squads convinced
them of what they had already known for years: the best players in South America, Europe, and Asia can compete with the best athletes from the U.S. NBA executives took note
of this fact as well, as many NBA teams hurried to sign the best players from nearly every
one of the international teams that played in the Olympics. Over the coming years, there
is no doubt of an international player influx into the NBA. This migration will solidify an
already expanding NBA fan base.
Will the NBA seize this
opportunity and perhaps
rival the NFL as the richest
and most successful league
in the country? My definite
answer is... maybe.
Within our own country, however, the reaction to team USA’s performance was hardly
as positive. Some basketball fans responded apathetically, explaining that team USA’s failure was due to the fact that the NBA game simply did not translate well to the international
game and that the NBA players were still far superior to those of other countries. Others,
however, were furious with the play of the American players, claiming the U.S. team’s lack
of effort elucidated the NBA players’ lack of passion and respect for their sport and country.
Many of the NBA’s most loyal followers admitted that the NBA they had grown up with
and had come to love, defined by team unity on offense and defense, strong shooting, and
high scores, had given way to a league based on individuality and brute athleticism. Today’s American NBA players, unskilled at the team game, could no longer compete against
highly cohesive international units, as evidenced during the Olympics. The response to
team USA’s poor showing in Athens shed light on the growing rift between the NBA’s fans
and players. Quite simply, middle class white males, who buy the majority of the league’s
tickets and continue to comprise the bulk of the league’s fans, can no longer relate to NBA
athletes who are predominately young, black, and have increasingly not attended college.
If the NBA wants to augment its popularity and revenue, it must find a way of boosting
absolute quality of play. This means preventing players, no matter how athletically talented, from entering the league if they lack competitive seasoning. The league ought to
impose a minimum age of entry or create a solid minor league system to ensure that athletes entering the league are sufficiently skilled. Also, the NBA must discontinue awarding expansion franchises. While expansion temporarily adds to the number of league
fans and revenue, it dilutes talent, robbing the NBA of success in the long term. Finally,
the NBA must take note of the growing presence of basketball throughout the world and
continue to heavily scout and sign international players, many of whom are as good, if
not better, than our own country’s top collegiate athletes. Only by improving play on the
court, not through slick marketing campaigns, will the NBA be able to create synergy
between players and fans, both at home and abroad.
Adam Goldstein is a junior in the College. You can write to him at adamsg@sas.
GRAB BAG
Continued from PAGE 8
program, though, was Randy’s manipulation of the diablo against the tense music from
Men in Black. I couldn’t listen to the music without breaking a sweat while Randy was
able to keep his cool and did everything possible with an hour glass-shaped plastic shell
being spun like a top attached to a long piece of string, moving it down, up against gravity,
between his legs, and around his back.
Snickers Bar: Jocelyn Falls
They say you should save the best for the last, and Up On Stage did with Jocelyn Falls,
a rock-and-roll jam band led by Patrick Gorgen on the Hammond organ and lead vocals,
with Mike on the electric violin, Ryan on the bass, and Jon on the drums. Like the Snickers Bar, which has everything a candy bar ought to have, Jocelyn Falls had everything a
good stage performance called for: band members who were in tune with each other and
paid attention to the overall balance of the sound, enough enthusiasm for playing the music to get the keyboardist to jump up and down, and taking the time to interact with the
crowd by talking about the songs and the band. The ability for the band members to play
off each other was especially evident in “Passing of September”: instead of letting the electric violin float aimlessly around in the background, the band allowed the violin to come
in with a solo that eventually blended with the keyboard to create a serious duet echoing one of Bach’s violin concertos in minor. The band had a solid, collaborative sound,
giving them incredible edge in experimenting with different genres—within a couple of
bars, they would change the sound without missing a beat. Jocelyn Falls could be gritty
or Four Tops’ “My Girl” happy, German creepy or Beatles’ “Hello, Goodbye” bouncy. The
best test to the group’s professionalism: after they started playing the first measure of
their last song, “The Cabin,” Patrick stopped them, “Hold up, hold up. We can do it faster
than that.” Younger bands and performers usually try not to stop and say that, for fear of
appearing “amateurish” or “unprofessional”, but I like it. I like being able to count on the
artist to have that magical instinct, to be able to hear what needs to be done. That drummer guy from That Thing You Do! would know what I’m talking about, as would Jocelyn
Falls, who ended the program as the best treat in this grab bag of Halloween fun. They’re
even better than the free pizza.
For the aspiring performers out there: Talk about yourself, take your time to introduce
the band members, tell the audience about the songs, and name the tunes. Take up Adam
Sandler’s attitude from The Wedding Singer: “Well, I’ve got the mic, so you will listen to
every damn word I have to say.” You’re up on stage—own the crowd!
For more information about upcoming performances of Up On Stage or the Penn Collective, go to http://www.penncollective.com.
Mickey Jou is a senior in the College. You can write to her at myjou@sas.
THE UNDERGRADUATE MAGAZINE | N OVEMBER 8, 2004 VOL . V NO .6
Critically
Informed
PAINT IT RED
ANDREW PEDERSON | BRUT FORCE
A LOST ELECTION is not
the end of the world. These
things come and go every four
years, and when examined
closely and ignoring superficial variations in policy, one
candidate does not differ all
that much from the other. After all, this time around, both
were affluent, well-educated
men from prominent backgrounds with approximately
1.8 daughters and a mannish wife who argued nearly constantly about a single issue. Indeed, politics is a murky,
insider domain, and for decades now America has relied
on economic interests and indicators to shape policy. Why
is it, then, that I am still pissed off?
The morning I finally got the news I remember telling
myself the above argument to justify the situation but to
no avail. I remained genuinely disturbed from that point
on, and that feeling continues to this very moment. I
spent several hours considering all the reasons why I
should resign myself to the fair—so it seems for now—decision of the electorate and make my contribution to national unity. As I thought, however, it dawned on me why
I was still upset: on November second, we lost far more
than an election.
While 2000 was a hotly contested race which lasted
months afterward in the midst of an incredible legal imbroglio, this year was, in contrast, anticlimactic. Truthfully, the process worked. George W. Bush won handily,
and for this very reason, I am embarrassed to live in this
country today. Whereas four years ago W stole the election, this year it was given to him, and in so doing, he has
been given a popular mandate to continue his “policies”
worldwide.
Now more than ever W can assume whatever mantle
he pleases to pursue whatever half-brained project of imperial capitalism that he chooses and the rest of us may
simply stand aside and watch, because he was actually
voted into office this time. I, however, obviously did not
vote for Bush, and I am therefore stunned by the idiocy
of the popular vote. To that end, I would like to present
my personal message to the supporters of George W. Bush
wherever they may be.
First and foremost: Turn off NASCAR, and read a
goddamn newspaper! Do you see the big red splatters
all over the charred yellow and black scenery? That is
not modern art! That is a few hundred billion dollars of
It won’t be long until the
starving mob outside
tears down your gates,
ransacks your house
and torches you along
with your stock
certificates.
“nation building” at work mixed in with a pint or two of
innocent blood. Then again, if you’ve been out of work
since the local KKK field office shut down, perhaps that
would be the sort of thing you’d like to hang on your wall.
Regardless, people are dying, and it is in fact the fault of
one man. In fact, you probably know him—he’s the guy
you just cursed us with for another four years.
Second, keep Jesus out of this mess! Jesus was a great,
peace-loving kind of guy, and I’m sure the last people
he’d ever want to grant eternal life to would be a gang
of drawling yokels whose cultural outlets revolve around
beer, tractor pulls and unguarded sheep in a dim pasture.
Furthermore, why the hell would he care about men marrying each other while we continue to starve and/or bomb
the better part of the world? If you really have such a
homosexual fixation, you should evaluate your own personality a little closer. If after coming out of the closet you
still hate yourself, then you can keep voting Republican,
otherwise, perhaps after you come to terms with yourself
you can begin to act like an actual human being.
Third, I hope you and your money are very happy with
each other. You should make sure this is so because after
the gap between rich and poor gets large enough and the
majority of Americans are living in their own filth, you
will be a lonely pariah locked away in your drafty palace
with nobody else who gives a rat’s ass about you or your
paltry economic growth. Don’t worry though, if and when
it gets to that point, it won’t be long until the starving mob
outside tears down your gates, ransacks your house and
torches you along with your stock certificates. It really is
worth it to have the escalade with the spinning rims and a
marble hot tub, don’t you think?
Lastly, don’t include me in your shit anymore. With
my vote for Kerry, I officially washed my hands of all of
you, and I won’t be held accountable for anything the
spawn of 41 may say or do that happens to get a great
number of people killed. Moreover, although I know I
should retrain myself, I feel I must say in advance that
I told you so. When—and it truly is merely a matter of
when—George W. Bush’s blatant disregard for human life
as well as the truth comes back to bite this country in the
ass, the blame will be entirely on your shoulders. As for
the rest of us, a large and hearty laugh will issue up from
Toronto.
Andrew Pederson is a sophomore in the College. You can write to
him at awl@sas.
GRAB BAG OF TREATS
A Spirited Halloween Performanceth Up On Stage
MICKEY JOU | SITES AND SOUND
S AT U R D AY
NIGHT,
I
went to see
the Up On
Stage
Halloween party
in the Rooftop Lounge
of Harrison,
only to find
myself
the
lone audience member. The musicians
were up on stage, doing sound check while
I waited for them to begin. But one should
never doubt the enthusiasm and power of
the student organization, or the power of
free pizza and soda: before long, we had
an intimate crowd and a night of decent
entertainment. As the only campus student-organized coffee house scene, Up On
Stage, presented by the Penn Collective,
was really a creative network that allowed
performers of all kinds to showcase their
skills. The relaxed atmosphere and small
crowd setting allowed the performers to test
out materials, get some publicity, and it was
a good place to get your feet wet, if you were
just getting started. Going to the special
extended Halloween Up On Stage was like
going trick-or-treating: you never know
what you’re going to get.
A Pack of Life Savers: The Siddharth
Project
The show opened with Kate on the flute,
Swami on the tambla, Brian on the bass and
harmonica, and Siddharth leading the band
on vocal and guitar. Collectively, they call
themselves The Siddharth Project. As implied by their name, the Siddharth Project
was a jam band with an improvised sound
ranging from down-south Blues Jam to an
Irish jig theme. While the band’s diverse
interest and adventurous spirit was admirable, its members need a little more time
to get used to each other’s rhythm. I was
very impressed with the Indian Jam, which
combined a Spanish guitar-esque melody
that could charm snakes with a distinctly
Indian tune for the flute. The Blues Jam,
on the other hand, balanced itself out—
while Brian had impeccable control over
the sound that was coming out of the harmonica, Siddharth’s fingers seemed to move
too fast for the music at times, even though
he had solid skills on the guitar. But the one
piece where the band took everything in
stride was the Flute Jam; after three songs,
the group finally found its collective groove.
Their first song, Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably
Numb”, started way too slow, dragging all
the way through, and it didn’t do much justice to the talent of the band, especially of
the flutist, Kate. She and the band avenged
themselves with a marvelous job in the
Flute Jam, and special kudos to the tambla player, Swami, who garnished the same
song with crisp and tangy rhythms, proving that after getting used to each other’s
rhythms, the Siddharth Project was a pack
of five specially-flavored treats.
The Tootsie Roll Pop: Simply Chaos
Guest Comedian, Colin
As a representative from Simply Chaos,
Penn’s student stand-up comedy group,
Colin stood before the crowd and said his
piece. Only, his piece wasn’t very long, and
he didn’t take very much time. His rushed
timing didn’t get much response out of the
crowd, which was unfortunate, because
he had some pretty interesting material,
and he did make people smile even if they
weren’t necessarily laughing. Remember: it
takes more than one lick to get to the center
of the Tootsie roll pop, so take your time and
let the audience have a chance to appreciate
your routine, even if it is short.
Skittles: Rail 3
Like Skittles, Rail 3 is classic—as in
classic rock. With quite the attitude, Rail 3
opened with Beatles’ “Come Together” and
closed with the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy
for the Devil,” filling the rest of the set with
“spooky” themed, original songs. Considering this was a student performance, I was
unbelievably impressed with the rock and
roll sound these guys were making. The
band consisted of Jeff on lead vocals, Nick
Gonedes, who is the supervisor of the
Penn Collective organization as well as the
manager for Up On Stage, and Gideon on
guitars, newcomer Dan on the drums and
Ryan guest starring on the bass. Yet despite
the undeniable talent I heard, I did not see
much of a stage presence from the band
members. Bassist Ryan looked very distracted throughout the show, as if he were
trying to talk to someone off-stage while he
was playing, and while Jeff had a great voice
that sounded like the lead singer from the
Cure, his quieter, almost shy presence in
the first song didn’t complement Michael
Jackson’s version of “Come Together”. But
I knew Jeff was holding out on me: the
surprising high note he let loose in “Black
Horizons” sparked my imagination and
made me wonder what this guy could do if
he’d let loose a little more. The most solid
performance of the show came from Nick,
whose seasoned guitar solos were a fine illustration of what differentiated rock and
roll from Britney Spears. Given the choice
between sexy guitar riffs versus a sexy midriff, I would pick the guitar any day. Dan,
on the other hand, seemed to be the only
person having any fun making a ruckus,
banging on the drums in the instrumental
piece like he’s not going to take it anymore.
Maybe it was just my lack of experience
with rock and roll, but I could almost hear
the crowd in the stadium cheering as Jeff
came in on the harmonica and Gideon finished his bitter, spiced-up, middle-ranged
solo in the instrumental jam. If only Rail 3
had looked as absorbed by the music as they
sounded, that would have made the performance a performance.
Pop Rocks: Amorphous Jugglers
Watching the jugglers made me understand, for the first time, the real meaning
and artistry of time management. Not only
do Abbie, John, Kel, and the two Dans juggle, they juggled to upbeat music in rhythm.
Abbie and John juggled apples and had the
time to take bites out of them. Kel could
juggle Hackey sacks and Hackey sack at the
same time. While the jugglers did drop the
ball (or apples) more frequently than you
might want a juggler to, the fact that they
were dropping balls was almost working
in their favor when John eventually started
juggling knives and John and Abbie juggled
bottles with a brave audience member
between them, making the performance
crackle with fun and tension—not unlike
eating pop rocks. My favorite part of the
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