Classic lit for soldiers, football players and journalists

British boys schools and American military academies assign Homer as must-reading for plebs.
Soft young minds need the bloody joint-crunching of the Trojan War to juice up the impulse to wage war for queen and country or for flag and country.
Classical literature stands as the best military field manual ever written. How violent is the species human. Always has been.
Hand-to-hand combat starts in the mind that transforms what otherwise would be the anti-romantic, organized maiming of enemies into socially acceptable pretense of civility.
War is what Carl von Clausewitz called diplomacy by other means. How politically correct-sounding.
The NFL is gladiator society that will do until we next demonize another foreign enemy and set upon him with spear or pike or bayonet.
We have to be taught to hate, says a line in Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific.
Nah.
We have to be taught to transform hatred into battle and to settle between wars for their somewhat milder alternative, American football.
All the tactics and strategy and attempts to intellectualize the game -- or the battlefield -- cover up the effort to hurt the other guy before he can hurt you.
So I'd simply give freshmen and cadets chapter one of The Blind Side by narrative journalist Michael Lewis.
Journalists should read the passage to see the less banal side of sports and to envy the style of the writer. His timing and controlled release of information condenses the violence of pay-for-view bone-breaking into 12 white-knuckle pages.
They begin: "From the snap of the ball to the snap of of the first bone is closer to four seconds than to five."
And the opening is prelude only -- a back story of how the left tackle position evolved to fend off the  bonecrusher Lawrence Taylor and his imitators coming after quarterbacks. By extension the account  explains how Michael Oher rose from impoverished obscurity to protect the blind side of his own Achilles every Sunday.
Everyone knows the book, because they saw Oscar-winning Sandra Bullock in the soft and sweet movie.
The flick is good. But the more serious, blood-spurting book is great narrative journalism (W. W. Norton & Co., 2009, ppb., 339 pages, $13.95), the kind that explains what you didn't know enough to ask about.
Oh, the ancient Homer is stick-to-the-ribs more filling as a writer.
But for bustin' up those ribs and teaching soldiers to soldier and players to play and writers to narrate, Michael Lewis produces a modern classic in war, uh, ahem, sports journalism

Bias behind the gusher in the Gulf is the people's call

Look out for the language. The spoken tongue ends in a sharp point.
Listen to what we call the environmental catastrophe of our time.
We might have had "The Gulf Oil Spill."
Or we could have named it "The Deepwater Horizon Spill."
I'm wistful about "The Dick Cheney Oil De-reg Spill."
Based on a recent book, there's the "Why We Hate Oil Companies Spill."
But the judge-and-jury vernacular favors "The BP Oil Spill" over alternative, generalized, non-directed names.
Why raise the issue? Because with the name goes the liability. All of it.
Other terms recede. Increasingly the company that bears the blame also bears the label like a smear of crude.
You can't merely and evenhandedly suggest BP "may" be the responsible party, because British Petroleum lends its name to reckless ir-responsibility. That pointedly is as mild as descriptions get.
So "BP Oil Spill" pronounces accusation like an indictment from a grand jury composed of the whole country.
Lawyers will coat those waters like a five-state oil slick the BP Spill has become.
Court cases aplenty will try to escape spending the last farthing on clean-up.
PR image manipulators will try to convince reporters to find an alternative to the virtual trademark with its informal corporate logo, the oil-covered pelican.
Media will profess lack of bias.
But there is a prejudice, undeniably. The public made up its mind and rendered a verdict journalism conveys in what we call this disaster: "The BP Oil Spill."
It's not merely a plain and simple accident. Not an industry mishap. Not a failure by the consortium at the wellhead. Not the fault of negligent regulators -- although ironically it's all those things too.
 "The BP Oil Spill." That's what it is.
The people speak.

The untold story of this GD economy

The first rough-draft of history can't read the picture of our times.
You didn't have to live through the Great Depression to write a chronicle of repetition.
First there was the financial crisis as President Obama entered office. And by "crisis" I don't mean a market downturn. The system failed. Completely.
As in 1929 we were so-o-o-o close to losing the nation.
The Hoover-like Bush-Cheney administration set us up: Regulation went big bye-bye, tax policy transformed surplus into deficit with the rich getting richer and the rest getting poorer and the oil industry, the most subsidized business in America, received corporate freedom to slash and burn for profit -- greed in the name of capitalism.
Hoover lives!
The new administration strives mightily in the Spirit of FDR. But the White House is up against the same throwback forces that made the GD (Great Depression) economy worse than it had to be.
Republican Party and Libertarian ideology prevail to prevent stimulus spending.
The one time a government should spend money it doesn't have is during an economy as slow to move as a politician in an election year.
But the conservatives who want Obama and Democrats out for partisan reasons are saving our way into deeper financial disaster.
It all happened before. We never learn.
No wonder this emotional nation feels a world class downer of frustration trending to grief -- the blues, a second, essential, psychological part of an economic depression.
Element three is the reflection in nature.
The 1930s had the Dust Bowl.
We have the BP Oil Spill.
Don't you dare dismiss the Gulf crisis as a regional problem. The biblical plague of our times trashes lives, finances and well-being directly or indirectly in a threat to life as we know it from sea to shining.
The impact may be less obvious in circles farther from the epicenter. But energy policy, environmental policy, economic policy, public policy, political palaver will all reflect the humanitarian catastrophe.
Americans who don't have out-of-pocket losses nevertheless will experience a looser grip on nationhood.
Black humor, itself an oil pun, may chortle about high-test seafood but is really a cry from the heart.
That's Great Depression material.
How amazing journalism hasn't pieced the picture together.
Too busy covering press conferences, placing anchors on oily beaches and covering the trivia of a BP executive's yacht race and other PR gaffes.
Charter boat captains, coastal politicians and washaterias for pelicans get some coverage.
Yet no one covering the Fed in Washington, the markets in New York or the boom shortage in Biloxi has taken the holistic view of economic life from shore to board room to living room.
Maybe when the out-migration of Gulfies matches the Grapes of Wrath era of Okies we'll see the Dorothea Lange images and the John Steinbeck narratives and the Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr.  reminders of the cycles of history in endless repetition.
Artists and historians again will have to compensate for journalism's failure. Another missed opportunity.
And that's too GD bad.

Bitter pills and magazine journalism

Maybe it's not the most popular thing to say. Heck, I'll say it anyway.
I actually like The Economist.
I emerge bleary from its Brit grayness -- or is it greyness?  -- as though from a Treasury, State Department, White House, Downing Street briefing.
Not every college course entertained me. That doesn't mean I didn't learn.
Oh, it's a slog between witticisms that are British journalism.
But The Economist falls into a class of media with PBS's The News Hour, world's most boring broadcast.
Yeah, I'm hopeless. I watch Jim Lehrer and his gang for the same reason I read The Economist. After the superficial news treatment on the commercial networks, I need some depth to balance the froth.
I don't need any more of the News Hour-Economist's sugarless medicine, however.
So when Newsweek went to a quasi-Economist makeover, I missed the fun, the elan, the immediacy of the old book I had read and enjoyed since before Ben Bradlee left it to run The Washington Post.
The magazine reformulation didn't work for me nor apparently for a lot of others.
And more bad luck: The recent remake of Newsweek hit newsstands along with the economic downturn.
I hate that.
Yet I love a national newspaper that comes out once a week -- one description of Newsweek's former personality.
It's a tough formula. Years ago a weekly, newsprint, full-size National Observer went broke trying the prescription.
See here, though: Features editors at lots of daily newspapers reverse the method successfully all the time -- publishing a magazine-style section on a daily basis.
What I'm describing is originality, a good fit with the audience and balance between news as info and news as fun.
Media sort themselves out according to the right set of ingredients all the time.
The apothecaries at Newsweek simply didn't get the mix right. I think it was too imitative of The Economist. One of those is enough.
So now Newsweek's bitter pill to swallow is named Doomsday. The magazine will be sold or closed.
No publication wants a dose of imitating that.