Are you crying? Are you crying? ARE YOU CRYING? There’s no crying, there’s no crying in baseball. Rogers Hornsby was my manager, and he called me a talking pile of pigshit. And that was when my parents drove all the way down from Michigan to see me play the game. And did I cry? NO. NO. And do you know why? Because there’s no crying in baseball.
A League of Their Own
OK, so I’m dipping yet again into an over-drained quotation well, and, worse yet, opining upon a brutally over-reported topic. The quote is one of the best written, best delivered lines in sports-based cinema. I especially love the part about Hornsby, who batted .428 in 1922 – a threshold that has not been reached since, and who led the 1926 St. Louis Cards to World Series glory as a Player/Manager. No doubt he was a tough ol’ cuss, who could have easily hurled the above-referenced insult at an errant player.
But I don’t much like baseball these days. Lost interest maybe 25 years ago. Besides, this here note is about football. As the NFL season winds to dramatic finish, with the following taint hovering o’er it.
Someone, anyone please stop the Kansas City Chiefs. Pronto. Before it’s too late to do so.
On balance, I got nothin’ against the Chiefs. Apart from my passionate rooting interests (Da Bears), I tend to empathize with teams that display humility rather than arrogance, ideally from metropolises that bear the same qualities. Never been to Kansas City. But it seems like a nice town, where folks tend to mind their own beeswax, stoking up their Webers, filling their bellies, and going home.
So, over the years, I have had nothin bad to say about the organization. But they began to jump the shark with those Allstate commercials, running on endless loop, featuring Mahomes, the Walrus-like Coach Reid, and the actor they hired as straight man. Them and (the undeniably fetching) Lilly from Verizon have made football almost unwatchable. After all, a guy can only take so many bathroom/beer/food breaks to avoid commercials.
But matters devolved from there, when you know who started dating you know who. The world lost its mind. Suddenly Kelce and Swifty were everywhere, and it didn’t make for good football. I suspected, and continue to suspect, that both these ubiquitous icons will suffer professionally from their globallybroadcast, never-ending coochie coochie coo. Again, I got no specific beef with either of them. Kelce is a helluva Tight End, who has, by all accounts, earned everything he’s got. Swifty doesn’t bug me much either. No, she’s not my jam, but I sort of view her as a latter-day Brian Eno.
But God Oh Mighty, this past Sunday, they took it too far. The Chiefs were playing a tough contest against the Buffalo Bills, with a ticket to the AFC Championship Game on the line. Sometime in the first half, Mahomes found Kelce for 6.
Then everything I consider holy dissolved before my wondering eyes. For what did they witness but Travis flashing the old hand heart sign up to the fancy luxury box occupied by his Lady Love?
I saw it flicker mostly in disbelief, but there it was on the replay, and, in case you missed it:
I do have to admit that the red gloves are a nice touch, and perhaps, as this is the color motif of Chiefs merch, Trav can be forgiven here. But the gesture was otherwise so thoroughly scripted that I nearly retched.
Call me cynical, unsentimental, whatever you’d like, but all I can think of is the TK/TS pre-game canoodle, with the former, awaiting the full fury of a formidable and desperate-to-win opponent (now thrice denied in similar contests this decade alone), saying to his beloved: “listen baby, when I score, Ima gonna flash you the hand heart”.
One can then imagine Tay Tay (as us legit Swifties are fond of calling her) squealing in delight, not only at the romantic panache of the concept, but also (recalling that Tay-girl has sort of co-opted the pose) at the incremental Benjaminz certain to flow their way in result.
Somebody, ideally Von Miller, should’ve taken TK’s head off right then. But it didn’t happen. Kelce led the Chiefs in receiving and scored not one but two touchdowns. Meantime, Miller had all of two tackles. KC won a nail-biter: 27-24, and moves on to face the vicious Baltimore Ravens, where, if there is a God in Heaven, my ex-Bear Roquan Smith will end the madness.
It probably won’t happen, because, apparently, now, all our efforts, all our tears, all our blood and treasure, are reserved and poured over branding opportunities. And it’s a great deal to ask of Ro to go rogue with the narrative.
So, I should hardly be surprised that investors reacted to the gesture that so outraged me by promptly and enthusiastically taking our benchmark indices to yet another set of all-time highs.
And it’s not as if they don’t have other reasons for their giddiness. Q4 GDP clocked in at an astonishing 3.3% — particularly relative to expectations of ~2%. The PCE Deflator is at 2.6%, gratifyingly proximate to Fed target Inflation levels. Consumer spending is a rocket ride.
True enough, earnings are a bit poky thus far in the cycle, and the rally is decidedly narrow. But the Mag 7 is about to weigh in, with investors panting and moaning in anticipation. META, NVDA and MSFT initiate the proceedings, each with an amazing tale to tell. META is up an astonishing 177% in precisely one year. NVDA continues its AI/Crypto/Quantum charge to world domination.
MSFT has joined AAPL as the only company ever to have achieved a $3T valuation. And AAPL, which also reports midweek and is having a bumpy rolling quarter, has suffered the indignity of witnessing its valuation slip to a beggarly $2.98T
And market participants are showing their hand heart love by more than just buying risk assets – issuing a record amount of January debt, with Corporate Spreads tighter than they have been in 8 quarters:
One can hardly blame corporations and governments for borrowing while the borrowing’s good. Yes, rates are up, but though barely conceivable at this juncture, it’s just possible that at some point, in some parallel universe, monetary conditions may tighten, transforming the open heart-hands of bankers into closed fists.
But not yet, and, in a troubled world, I’m not sure market conditions can improve much from their current benign and serene configuration. And, as such, but only for the moment, you have my full blessing to go forth and buy up some shit.
It may even be time for me to embrace the hand heart, loading up also on friendship bracelets and other tokens of Swift-mania. Certainly, it might reduce my aggravation and maybe even improve my mood.
Because let’s face it. Everyone else is doing it. And if you doubt this, consider that the eternally menacing Hillary Clinton just registered her own form of capitulation, taking the form of her “X”ing out a hand heart tweet under the handle #HillaryBarbie.
Many of you may not remember this, but I seem to recall a time when the mention of the First Lady/Senator/Secretary of State/Democratic Presidential Nominee in the same sentence as Barbie – particularly in the former’s regal presence, would have caused the utterer to be fried in hog fat.
But times change, and we must evolve. So, in closing, I offer each and every one of you my enthusiastic hand heart.
Still and all, if someone on the Ravens clobbers Kelce as his fingers form this trademark configuration, they’ll get no complaints from me. However, I’d settle for a Baltimore win of any kind, because I don’t think I can endure another year of counterintuitive, ubiquitous, commercially ionized hand hear football love.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Y’all saw what happened. TK has 11 catches on 11 targets and 1 TD. Ro had 16 tackles, but never saw him lay a glove on Kelce. Looks like a long haul thru the Super Bowl and beyond.
TIMSHEL