It's Over (We Think)

The long and sometimes extremely bizarre travail of Floyd Landis appears to have come to an end, of sorts. The decision handed down by the CAS in Switzerland was much harsher in tone than the that from the Pepperdine proceedings, but the end result is much the same. The adverse decision has been upheld. (More discussion here, from TBV, elsewhere on Blogspot.)

Some observations follow:

One, I doubt that this is really and truly over. Legal matters are rarely over so long as there's a lawyer somewhere who hasn't got paid yet. Expect this to wend its way through someone's court system like a gut-shot mule for another year, at least. But at this point, Landis stands a better chance of drawing to an inside straight than winning vindication.

Two, the truly disappointing thing about this decision is its affirmation of the "competence" of the LNDD laboratory whose clown-tastic inability to follow procedures started this whole farce in the first place. Apparently, CAS looks at the officially-sanctioned labs and says, "Men of my stamp commit no crimes."

Mind you, I don't care enough to be really outraged. But it does stick in my craw to see shoddy work rewarded. What incentive does the Chatenay-Malabry lab have to improve its procedures, if even the most craptacular monkey-work passes international muster?

Maybe they've addressed their deficiencies, maybe not. Maybe the decision from Pepperdine was enough of a rap on the nose to set them straight, but I doubt it. No, the only rebuke strong enough is if a panel outright declares that their work isn't to be trusted, and overturns their result. That absolutely forces them to review how they keep records, run tests, and otherwise armor-plate their lab work with solid paperwork. As it stands, I wouldn't trust that lot to do a store-bought pregnancy test properly. I've seen no evidence that their standards have improved. I'm prepared to say otherwise, pending evidence to the contrary. I shan't hold my breath.

Meanwhile, it's almost time for the 2008 Tour to start ... and for the second year running, there's no returning champion riding to defend his title. And that's just sad. It's possibly the saddest thing about this entire sorry spectacle.

Maybe the worst is over, and we'll have a good, clean race this year. Maybe we'll see a race decided on the road, not in a test tube or a courtroom.

Wouldn't that be something?

Primary 2008 Post-Mortem

"If God is merciful, we'll get to choose between John McCain and Barack Obama in November." -- Me, 27Jan08

Well, I got the match-up I wanted, but how the heck did we get here?

It's easy to forget the Republican race, since it ended so long ago. But it's especially hard to remember that only a year ago, John McCain was politically DOA. His campaign practically disintegrated last summer. He scraped through the fall on a shoestring budget. Here's the thing, though: John McCain didn't need to tell anyone who he was. They already knew that. He just had to hang around long enough to capitalize on an opportunity. That opportunity came with Mike Huckabee's surprise win in Iowa. I remarked at the time that this would cause the antibodies to come out with a vengeance ... The Republican electorate felt the blitz coming, and like a quarterback, ran through their check-down. Romney? No. Giuliani? No. Both looked OK earlier, but now? Well, looky here, guess who's still around? And lo, John McCain surged in the polls. Really, he was the only sane choice out of that lot.

Now we get to the interesting bit ... The Democratic Primary, which seemed to go on for-freaking-ever. And I do have to say that the campaign really highlighted Hillary Clinton's unfitness for the Presidency in a way that I didn't clearly understand before. Why do I say that? Because she failed spectacularly at a relatively simple exercise in contingency planning.

Looking back to the campaign's beginnings, she started with a massive lead in the polls, and a seemingly insurmountable lead in name recognition. She and her staff took one look at the calendar, much like I did, and made the mental calculation that it'd be in the bag after Super Tuesday. All she had to do was win the first primaries, carry the momentum into February, and there you are ...

To all appearances, the following question was never floated at a Clinton strategy meeting: "What if we're wrong? What if the race goes on into March and April?"

Barack Obama's campaign, on the other hand, had a full-court press planned from the beginning. Superior organization and fundraising gave him advantages in the early races that didn't show until it was go-time. This allowed him to build momentum going into February. A split decision on Super Tuesday didn't seal the deal for him, of course, but it gave him a springboard to launch into the March primaries, for which his team was already well-prepared.

Clinton's team, on the other hand, didn't even know how Texas' split election-caucus system worked. That hurt them in Texas. Clinton won the vote part, but lost so dramatically on the caucus side that Obama ended up winning a majority of Texas' delegates.

Clinton's campaign recovered better than I thought they would. They managed to scramble, and cobble up organizations in states they never expected to matter ... but too late, really, to do any good. The damage was done. Obama gained a lead in March that he never relinquished.

There were a lot of other factors at play, of course. But the lack of planning was the killer. Failing to plan is the same as planning to fail.

And now, it's time to start looking forward towards November. As I said earlier, this is the match-up I really wanted to see. Now, I'll tell you why I say that.

Each party rejected something nasty and caustic from its past. The Republicans had an opportunity to choose a candidate who was a lite theocrat (Huckabee) or a full-time security nut (Giuliani), and rejected both. They chose a candidate who understands morality, and understands national security, but blends both with a real respect for America's finest traditions. The Democrats had a chance to nominate a real class-warfare candidate (Edwards) or a divisive culture-warrior (Clinton), but again refused to do so. They've picked a candidate who represents what's still right about America: if you come here and play by the rules, there's no job your sons can't aspire to. That's as powerful an advertisement for the dream that is America as damn near anything else I can think of.

I think each man brings real strengths to the table, that could serve them well as President. Now, it's up to both men to sell themselves to the American electorate, and it's our responsibility to listen to them very carefully in the next few months. And maybe, just maybe, we can have an honest national discussion on where we really need to go from here.

Let's have a good, clean fight, gentlemen. Let the best man win!

Video Del Fuego, Part VII

This is quite possibly the greatest moment in all of sport:

"Leaves football in disgrace," my hairy butt ... I still say Zinedine Zindane is a superhero.

Oh, Dear...

I don't believe that I've ever said this before in this space, but in my opinion the three worst things that can happen to a manned spacecraft are, in order:

(1) A collision with another spacecraft,

(2) A fire or explosion on board the spacecraft, and

(3) A major toilet malfunction.

You might believe that my #3 is a bit too high on the list, but I beg to differ. Down here, if your toilet backs up, you always have the option of going up to the local gas station, or borrowing a neighbor's, or in extremis sneaking out to the back yard.

You can't do any of those when you're in a spacecraft. Stepping out for a leak isn't just bad form, it's fatal.

Bearing that in mind, you can easily imagine why this item is of such urgent alarm to NASA.

"Ah, Houston, we've got a problem ... The can's broke." Yeah, it's not quite as urgent as the problem on Apollo 13 was, but as far as crew morale goes, it's still a biggie. Having to do your business into a Ziploc baggie after getting used to the high life of having a more or less real toilet is probably a spirit-breaker.

The good news is that NASA has a quick-turnaround fix. If all goes well, Discovery will take flight this afternoon with a Japanese laboratory module, and just as eagerly anticipated (at least for the crew), spare parts to fix the toilet. Spacemen won't let their brothers go without a working toilet if they can help it.

Well, American spacemen won't, anyway ... If it were the Russians in charge, they might tell 'em to man it up and deal. They're a bit hard-core that way.

[Addendum, 4Jun08: Operation House Call is a success! The new parts have been installed, and everyone's very, very happy ... Oh yeah, and the new lab's been installed, too.]

Whooooooo!

I know what I want for Christmas!

One of these:


And one of these:


Yes, brothers, your high-speed jet-powered future has arrived! Act now, before supplies run out...

Memorial Day 2008

From the Lay of Horatius, by Thomas Babington Macaulay:

XXI.

But the Consul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech was low,

And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe.

"Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down;

And if they once might win the bridge, what hope to save the town?"

XXVII.

Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain of the Gate:

"To every man upon this earth, death cometh soon or late;

And how can man die better than facing fearful odds,

For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his Gods,

XXVIII.

And for the tender mother who dandled him to rest,

And for the wife who nurses his baby at her breast,

And for the holy maidens who feed the eternal flame,

To save them from false Sextus, that wrought the deed of shame?

XXIX.

Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may!

I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play.

In yon strait path, a thousand may well be stopped by three:

Now, who will stand on either hand and keep the bridge with me?'

The Ballad of Rodger Young, by Frank Loesser

Oh, they've got no time for glory in the Infantry.
Oh, they've got no use for praises loudly sung.
But in every soldier's heart in all the Infantry
Shines the name, shines the name of Rodger Young.

Shines the name, Rodger Young!
Fought and died for the men he marched among.
To the everlasting glory of the Infantry.
Lives the story of Private Rodger Young.

Caught in ambush lay a company of riflemen
Just grenades against machine guns in the gloom.
Caught in ambush till this one of twenty riflemen
Volunteered, volunteered to meet his doom.

Volunteered, Rodger Young!
Fought and died for the men he marched among.
In the everlasting annals of the Infantry
Glows the last deed of Private Rodger Young.

It was he who drew the fire of the enemy
That a company of men might live to fight.
And before the deadly fire of the enemy
Stood the man, stood the man we hail tonight.

On the island of New Georgia in the Solomons
Stands a simple wooden cross alone to tell.
That beneath the silent coral of the Solomons
Sleeps a man, sleeps a man remembered well.

Sleeps a man, Rodger Young!
Fought and died for the men he marched among.
In the everlasting spirit of the Infantry
Breathes the spirit of Private Rodger Young.

No, they've got no time for glory in the Infantry.
No, they've got no use for praises loudly sung.
But in every soldier's heart in all the Infantry
Shines the name, shines the name of Rodger Young.

Shines the name, Rodger Young!
Fought and died for the men he marched among.
To the everlasting glory of the Infantry
Lives the story of Private Rodger Young.

Thomas Jefferson once wrote, "The Tree of Liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots." We are free today because every generation of Americans has faithfully taken their turn to water that tree. They will not be forgotten.

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Video Del Fuego, Part VI

Those of you who enjoy good crash footage will love this entry. I don't want to give it away, except to say that no sentients were harmed in the making of this film. So, without further ado, here's today's Video Del Fuego entry:

"The Not-So-Irresistable Force Meets the Mostly Immovable Object", or

"I Fought The Wall, And The Wall Won".

I Like Monkeys

Editor's Note: I did not write this piece, nor do I know exactly who did. I first saw it about fifteen years ago on the public forum area of a local BBS. If you're in the right frame of mind (well, some might say the wrong frame of mind) it's very funny. I ran across it a few weeks ago by doing a Google search, and am saving it here for posterity.

I LIKE MONKEYS

I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead. Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.

I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them away but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.

The Forever War

Pennsylvania has voted, and we are no closer to knowing who the Democrats will field in November than we were two months ago.

The pundits are saying that this is a big win for Clinton, and while it may be, a 55-45 win doesn't net her enough delegates to make much of a dent. What this does set up, though, is a situation where it is mathematically impossible for either candidate to have a sufficient majority of pledged delegates to claim the nomination going into the convention.

In short, when it comes to the question of whether Clinton or Obama should be the party's nominee, the party rank-and-file has basically said, "Beats me." Both poll strongly within their core constituencies, both pull enough support from other sources to stay viable. Odds are, they split the remaining pledged delegates right down the middle, meaning that this particular knife fight in a phone booth keeps rolling on with no signs of stopping. That is, until the blood-letting finally ends on the convention floor in Denver.

Denver. Where the unthinkable will happen: the Democratic party's super-delegates will actually have to take sides on the record and say who they're supporting. The prospect scares them spitless.

Look, I have no beef with the party's big-wigs and elected officials picking their candidate. The Democratic Party, just like the Republican Party, isn't a public instutition, it's a private club. Like any other private organization, from the Ulaanbataar Yacht Club to the local Moose Lodge, they can make, amend, or ignore any damn-fool rules they wish. I do happen to think that they have too many super-delegates to make for a manageable meeting, but that's just personal opinion. I did vote for Obama over Clinton, but otherwise, I ain't got a dog in this hunt. I'm not really emotionally invested.

But the prospect of a contested convention does pique my interest. Coronation conventions bore me. They're dull as dust. You already know what everyone's gonna say. You already know what everyone's gonna do. The only spark of interest is when they announce the VP pick. Otherwise? Yawn city. But a contested convention, on the other hand ... Rage, recriminations, and fist-fights on the convention floor make for damn good TV.

The only drawback, really, is that there are four freakin' months to go until that particular convention. Kyrie Eleaison, can we please have a shorter primary season? Please? To save what's left of my poor, tattered sanity? But no. That won't happen. The super-delegates won't come off the fence until they have to. Megan McArdle has an ongoing discussion of this issue, and I think it's a combination of her reasons (1) through (4) inclusive. Committing now is all risk and no reward.

Criminy. At this rate, we'll know who won the Tour de frickin' France before we know who won the Democratic Presidential Primary. Oh well. Nothing for it but to hunker down and wait, I suppose.

Huh?

OK, this item has me perplexed.

Here's a summary of the situation: The Soyuz TMA-11 capsule was returning from the International Space Station with a crew of three. The pilot -- the CNN article calls him "flight engineer", but he's a rated pilot, and besides, somebody's gotta work the stick -- was Yuri Malenchenko, along with returning ISS commander Peggy Whitson and South Korean astronaut Yi So-Yeon. But "something" went wrong during re-entry. According to the report, the capsule landed 260 miles off-target, and twenty minutes late.

Say what?

Initially, that was all I knew, and it made absolutely no sense me. Off-course I can understand, but how the purple roaring hell do you land twenty minutes late? If you're twenty minutes late firing your retros, you're not missing by 200 miles, sport, you won't even hit the right continent. And if you're only 200 miles off, it's an overshoot or undershoot, and dammit, I just couldn't figure out where you eat up twenty minutes during descent.

Until some other information came out in this report, that is. That made everything clear. No one's saying for sure, but I'm fairly certain what had to have happened. It turns out that (1) there was some heat damage to the front hatch, and (2) they experienced 8 Gs during re-entry.

"Oho," says I, "This sort of thing has happened before..." Well, sort of.

The Soyuz 5 re-entry also landed way off-course, and also experienced large re-entry forces, as a result of an unusual re-entry attitude. No mention about timing, though, which is to be expected. But, given this precedent, this is what I think happened.

One of the few flies in the ointment of an otherwise well-honed design is that the Soyuz capsule is perfectly happy flying forward during re-entry. It's an aerodynamically stable configuration. With Apollo, weight distribution trumps aerodynamics, essentially forcing it to fly butt-first during re-entry. And once you get established butt-first, the Soyuz will stay that way once it's properly spin-stabilized. But if something screws that up...

Kudos are due to Yuri Malenchenko, because he probably saved their lives. He had the training and experience to recognize the situation, and was able to act quickly enough to achieve a survivable re-entry and landing. That's fine stick-and-rudder work by anyone's standard. You, sir, are one steely-eyed missile man.

In any case, getting unstuck from their nose-first posture probably caused them to skip off the upper atmosphere briefly, altering their final descent to a much steeper profile than they had originally planned. And while eight gees aren't fun, they're easily tolerable to a fit person, even one debilitated by a long stretch of free-fall. And yeah, I can see that kind of path taking some extra time, accounting for the twenty minute delay in descent.

All in all, I'm somewhat less than shocked. Re-entry, as I've said before, is always a hand of Texas Hold-'Em with the Grim Reaper. When you do everything perfectly, you can stack your hand with aces. When you don't, well, you pays your money and you takes your chances. I'm just glad they all made it back home this time.