Month: May 2009

Posted on

What’s Wrong with Jon and Kate

By Jim Spiegel

For several years I’ve been strong critic of the television show Jon and Kate Plus Eight.  This popular program follows the day-to-day challenges of Jon and Kate Gosselin as they raise their eight children, six of which were the product of the same pregnancy.  I objected to the premise because of what I suspected it would ultimately cause, if the show turned out to be “successful” (i.e. a big money-maker), namely the celebritizing and sensationalizing of the Gosselin family and all of the devastating pressures and temptations this would inevitably bring.  Well, now having just begun its fifth season, those pop culture chickens are coming home to roost, as the season premier (viewed by 9.8 million people) has revealed the depths of John and Kate’s marital problems.  As the Marxists used to say about capitalism, from the start the whole Jon and Kate television project contained within itself the seeds of its own destruction. 

jon_kate_eightLest we pity them too much, we must remember that this was a choice they made.  No one forced them to put their lives on display before millions.  For the Gosselins, the price was right.  Or so they thought.  And now, well, they’re paying the price for volunteering themselves and their children for the American celebrity machine—which is more like a soul-eating monster.  It’s just a shame that they have also served up their children as a meal.

This program is, as they say, wrong at so many levels.  It promotes many lies and vices, and here are just a few.

J&K+8 perpetuates lies about fame and wealth.  One of the enticing aspects of the show is its insinuation that the resources the program provides the Gosselins could help them in raising so many children.  “Look how they are able to take all of those trips and have so many wonderful experiences that they otherwise couldn’t have!” viewers remark.  Such an attitude naively overlooks the myriad problems caused by celebrity.  Here someone might retort, “Ah, but don’t the Gosselins’ problems actually remind us of the fact that fame and wealth don’t bring happiness?”  To which I reply, “At what price?  The mental health and moral well-being of their children?”  Furthermore, it is doubtful that viewers will see the implosion of their marriage as anything but mistakes made by the Gosselins independently of their fame and wealth.  Alas, the real lessons here are lost on most viewers, and the lies are only reinforced.

J&K+8 invites gossip.  When I hear people recount the salacious details of the Gosselins’ troubled marriage, I can’t help but conclude that something is terribly awry.  Would we talk openly about the marital problems of church friends or neighbors?  And in front of our kids?  Good grief, no!  Yet because J&K+8 plops it all right in our laps, we are invited to chat about it all in frank terms.  And if we can do so regarding the Gosselins, then why not about anyone else?  J&K+8—like so many reality-TV shows—makes the gossip mentality contagious.

J&K+8 is essentially child abuse.  Yes, those are strong words, but hear me out.  All of the research indicates that severe marital problems and divorce are harmful to children.  I need not count the ways here.  To create a situation in which a marriage is aggravated by the trappings of celebrity (e.g., constant intrusions and loss of privacy, temptations of self-importance, increased time away from one’s kids, etc.), thus compounding the already difficult challenges of raising so many children, is cruel and abusive.  And to justify this in the name of entertainment and advertising dollars (despite the euphemisms one might use to rationalize it) only makes the whole racket more pernicious.  The Gosselin kids are being harmed by all of this, as nearly ten million Americans glibly look on, too preoccupied by their own amusement to recognize the moral and psychological carnage they are witnessing.

Posted on

E.T., Oz, and the Gospel

By Jim Spiegel

Recently I watched the film E.T. with our kids.  It was the first time I’d seen the film in more than 25 years, and needless to say, my viewing experience was vastly different from that of my college days in the mid-80s.  Two and a half decades later, I was able to see things in the film that I didn’t notice before.  For one thing, I was struck by how the E.T. story is essentially a reworking of the Wizard of Oz narrative.  The Dorothy character is, of course, the extraterrestrial who has landed in a different world and needs to find his way home.  Three strangers befriend him, too—only here they are human:  Elliott and his two siblings.  And they forge strong emotional bonds, as together they fight inimical forces.  As the story unfolded, I expected someone to say, “E.T., you’re not in Andromeda anymore.”  The wicked witch is now the scientific arm of the federal government (rather ironic, given director Steven Spielberg’s politically leftist trust in the federal government, but I digress), and the magical hope of Oz is replaced by technology—E.T.’s clever homespun gadgetry which enables him to send an S.O.S. to his pals a few million light years away.  “E.T. phone home” replaces the Oz mantra “there’s no place like home.”

200px-e_t_the_extra_terrestrial_ver3The film’s sentimental farewell also parallels that of Dorothy bidding adieu to her three friends, but with a crucial difference.  The latter occurs after a technological failure—the balloon launch mishap which carries away the bumbling wizard to who knows where—while E.T.’s return home is the result technological success.  And, interestingly, as E.T.’s spaceship zooms away from Earth, it leaves a rainbow in the sky, which of course hearkens to the “somewhere over the rainbow” theme of The Wizard of Oz.  Coincidence?  Surely not, given Spielberg’s astute sense of narrative and film history.

My older two boys, Bailey and Sam, were riveted as they watched, just as they are riveted by The Wizard of Oz.  What makes these stories so compelling?  Some folks have suggested that their power lies in the “gospel arc,” as they turn abject failure and catastrophe into triumph and joy.  As my pastor likes to point out, E.T. has especially strong parallels to the gospel story:  From the heavens comes a stranger with miraculous powers.  He is befriended by a select few who really love him, while he is misunderstood by the many whose interest in him is anything but personal.  He forms a special, life-changing bond with some of his new friends, but his visit is cut short as he unexpectedly dies, leaving the faithful heartbroken and perplexed.  Then, to everyone’s surprise, he rises from the dead!  Shortly after this, the stranger ascends—back to the heavens from whence he came.  But before he goes, he assures his faithful that he will be with them—even in their own hearts.

Now is this parallel a coincidence?  Did Spielberg intend to use the Christian gospel narrative as the blueprint for the E.T. plot?  That is a much more provocative question, and although the similarities are at least as significant as those between E.T. and The Wizard of Oz, I am not inclined to believe that Spielberg consciously intended this.  Neither, however, do I think the parallels are mere coincidence.  It seems to me that the explanation lies in the fact that the gospel really is, as they say, the greatest story ever told and that it’s profound, eucatastrophic theme of redemption is as compelling as it gets.  So those who possess both a strong sense of narrative and redemption will almost necessarily find themselves returning to the gospel arc, even in their own creative works—even artists and storytellers, such as Spielberg, who explicitly reject the original Gospel.  They can’t help themselves.  It’s a narrative too good to ignore.  Which just goes to show— there’s no story like the Gospel.

Posted on

Sour Grapes and the Art of Forgiveness

By Amy Spiegel

Being a parent tends to bring out some rather unpleasant sides of one’s character that perhaps would be better left unseen, hidden beneath the slimy underbelly of one’s stone heart. It certainly would be easier for one’s self-esteem. It is surprising, too, the creative ways the human heart can find to be wicked. Most moms will confess to the occupational hazards of impatience, curtness and fits of annoyance but I have been gifted with an artistic flare for sinful behavior that goes far beyond the run of the mill “Oh dear, I raised my voice at dear Suzy.” Though this genius for immorality comes in all shapes and sizes, I have lately been contemplating the grudging way I forgive my children.

Given the offenses for which my kids must beg pardon, it might seem strange, perhaps even absurd to say that I often accept their apologies with great reluctance. Of course, I know that no justification is possible for denying them absolution but still I will attempt to do so and disguise it as explanation rather than excuse. (I told you I was wily.)

In the first place, I am rarely convinced that they actually mean it when they say they are sorry. Sure, they want Mommy to stop being upset or angry, but it isn’t as if they have taken a great deal of time to contemplate the wrongness of their actions. They could sit in timeout from here to eternity and still not understand the heart-sinking feeling I get when I hear the crash of toys on hardwood coming from the room I just straightened or the maddening paranoia I live in daily knowing they are hiding around every corner in order to scare Mommy out of her mind and then laugh at my fright. How can they know all the little sacrifices made on their behalf that go overlooked and underappreciated?

So when they offer up a pitiful attempt of an apology, the serpent in my heart rears its triangular head (that means it’s poisonous or so says Animal Planet). It hisses in my ear that I am not holding a grudge; I only want what is fair and just. I want them to fully appreciate the gravity of the situation and then I will happily forgive. But that other voice, if I choose to listen, will fill my ear with quite another point of view. It knows that I don’t really want to forgive. In fact, it knows that I swill my anger and resentment around like fine wine, savoring the taste and pleasure it gives me. (I’m not much of a wine girl, actually, but give me a Ghirardelli square and I hold it there from now till the cows come home). There is something intoxicating about the power you have in the moment when someone asks for pardon, when they stand humbled before you. But left too long and that feeling of power can quickly become more of a case of sour grapes than fermented bliss. My unwillingness to forgive reflects more my ungrateful heart than the grievous nature of their crime.

There are many stories in the Bible which make me shake my head in disbelief; those stubborn Israelites wandering around the desert, missing the point time and time again; the Prophet Elijah, boldly confronting the false prophets of Baal one minute and running for his life the next. But one that gets me every time is the story of the unmerciful servant (Matthew 18:23-35). What a jerk! Forgiven so much and yet so unwilling to forgive. I never get too far into my tirade against this poor fictional character before realizing, of course, that I am this man; that I have indeed been forgiven much and that I too am all to willing to hold a grudge tightly in the grip of my sweaty hand. But I must take heart for unlike the servant in the story who is thrown into prison to be tortured until the debt can be paid, I have been forgiven even of my unforgiveness. It isn’t God, my judge, who throws me in jail to rot. He has set me free, purchased my freedom at great cost to Himself and my deliverer Jesus Christ. No, I am the one that holds tight the bars and refuses to let go. “Forgive us our debts as we also have forgiven our debtors” (Matthew 6:12). I have always interpreted that verse to mean that God will forgive us in the same way we forgive other people. But that thought is a bit unsettling, isn’t it? If I can’t forgive my five-year-old when she steps on my foot, where does that leave me with regard to God’s account books. But I think that is missing the point. I comprehend my own forgiveness as I forgive others. My willingness to pardon is a reflection of the depth of my understanding of what has been done for me. And so I must choose to swallow my grievances or spit them out altogether. Then I will be free to imbibe the much sweeter wine of God’s grace.

Posted on

Together Through Life

By Jim Spiegel

A few months ago Bob Dylan surprised everyone—including his record company—with the announcement that he had recorded a new album, and last month Together Through Life was released, to the jubilance of Dylan cronies like me everywhere.  At nearly 68 years of age, the great rock bard is nearing the end of his extraordinary career.  So each new album is a yet more precious gift.  What is most remarkable is that late-period Dylan is arguably his very best.  The most recent trio of albums—including Love and Theft, Modern Times, and Together Through Life—form what I have begun calling Dylan’s Americana Trilogy, all having been produced by Jack Frost (Dylan’s pseudonym as record producer) and showcasing a rootsy, relaxed kind of energy to match consistently strong compositions.  However many more albums he records, the first decade of the 21st century will surely go down as a peak Dylan period.

200px-together_through_lifeDylan’s voice is now a gravelly rasp but still quite capable of delivering powerful emotions, startling metaphors, and home truths.  Dylan smartly surrounds his vocals with equally raw instrumentation, including David Hidalgo’s accordion which graces most of the songs on the album.  What no one seems to have noticed is the prominence of guitar work on this album, thanks especially to Mike Campbell (of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers fame).  No other Dylan album (among the 30+ he has recorded) features so many guitar solos.  In fact, there are multiple solos on most of the songs—gritty but melodic stuff that richly accents the lyrics.

Here’s a quick survey of the tracks, most of which Dylan co-wrote with Grateful Dead wordsmith, Robert Hunter:

“Beyond Here Lies Nothin'” – This minor-key tex-mex rocker is the ideal opener for this song cycle, setting the mood for the album which consistently makes the listener feel like he’s sitting in a smoke-filled border town café.  Think Carlos Santana meets Los Lobos, with a generous helping of 1950s Sun Records spontaneity:  “I’m movin’ after midnight down boulevard of broken cars; don’t know what I’d do with out it—without this love that we call ours.  Beyond here lies nothin’—nothin’ but the moon and stars.”

“Life is Hard” – This song was the seed crystal of the entire project, as Dylan and his band went into the studio to record to this tune for the upcoming film My Own Love Song and it ballooned into an album project.  This slow swinging romantic ballad is deceptively complex musically—one of Dylan’s most sophisticated ever.  An instant classic, really, that won’t be immediately recognized as such because Dylan’s voice isn’t strong or nimble enough to do it justice.  But in the hands of a capable jazz singer, the genius of this song would become apparent.  If only Nina Simone were still alive…

“My Wife’s Home Town” – This stark brooding tune works as an anthem for every husband who’s been tortured by his wife’s disapproval:  “She can make you steal, make you rob, give you the hives, make you lose your job.  She can make things bad; she can make things worse.  She’s got stuff more potent than a gypsy curse.”  In spite of this, he confesses, “my love for her is all I know.”  In many ways, this song’s black humor typifies the entire album.

“If You Ever Go to Houston” – An upbeat nostalgic piece featuring a tasty interplay of classical guitar, organ, accordion, and pedal-steel guitar.  “If you ever go to Houston, you better walk right.  Keep your hands in your pockets and hang your gun belt tight.  You’ll be asking for trouble, if you look for a fight.”  But, as with most of these songs, the lyric redounds to his own emotions:  “Put my tears in a bottle, screw the top on tight; if you ever go to Houston, you better walk right.”

“Forgetful Heart” – Another minor-key meditation, at turns sad and angry, featuring a dark swirl of quiet guitar distortion.  In the face of lost love, Dylan sings “the door has closed forevermore, if indeed there ever was a door”—one of those lines with potentially endless applications to life situations.  Is it regret?  Exasperation?  A sense of futility in the hands of cruel fate?  Perhaps all of the above.

“Jolene” – In the refrain to this rollicking bluesy number the singer declares to his lover, “I am the king and you are the queen.”  But the irony is that despite his pronouncements, it is he who is ruled by his lover.  Dueling guitar solos punctuate the song and drive home the theme.

“This Dream of You” – A mournful quasi-waltz draped with accordion, violin, and a plaintive refrain:  “All I have and all I know is this dream of you which keeps me living on.”  This is another song which, like “Life is Hard,” displays a surprising musical elegance.  While one of the greatest writers of blues music, Dylan’s reach as a composer extends into diverse genres, even parlor jazz and show tunes, as each album in the Americana Trilogy demonstrates.

“Shake Shake Mama” – A rocking blues tune with more gut-punching dueling guitars and humorous social commentary:  “Some of you women really know your stuff; but your clothes are all torn and your language is a little too rough.”  But, at bottom, it’s a blues song, as Dylan declares, “I’m fatherless, motherless, and almost friendless too.”

“I Feel a Change Comin’ On” – This is a bouncy tune with an optimistic musical vibe offset by a melancholic lyric.  “Life is for love, and they say that love is blind.  If you want to live easy, baby, pack your clothes with mine.”  Again, however, the happiness is derailed:  “Well, now what’s the use in dreaming.  You’ve got better things to do.  Dreams never did work for me anyway even when they did come true.”

“Its all Good” – If Together Through Life is essentially a musical dark comedy, then its signature song is this closer.  Some reviewers have actually called it upbeat and positive.  Chalk one up for superficial assessment.  This is a sardonic jest at the shallow optimism behind the idiom of the song title.  But this seems lost on some listeners, in spite of lines like these:  “People in the country, people on the land, some of them so sick they can hardly stand.  Everybody would move away, if they could.  It’s hard to believe, but its all good.”  And this:  “The widows cry.  The orphans bleed.  Everywhere you look, there’s more misery.  Come along with me.  I wish you would.  You know what I’m saying—it’s all good.”  Right.  The truth is things are very far from all good.  In fact, nothing in this world is all good, as Dylan has been reminding us for almost fifty years.  This world is a tragic place, and we’ll eventually lose our sanity if we don’t follow the implicit advice of the album’s title.

Posted on

Musings on Health Insurance

By Amy Spiegel

I don’t think that it too often occurs that President Obama and I are contemplating the same issues. While he sits in the Oval Office, mulling over the restructuring of the auto industry, I am in aisle seven doing a price comparison on laundry detergents. While he is contemplating the best methods for stimulating our economy, I am thoughtfully considering how to stimulate my children into cleaning their rooms. (I leave you to judge which is the more difficult task, but my money is on the room-cleaning stimulus plan.) However, this week the unexpected occurred. I heard that our commander-in-chief is preparing to take on the health care system. Though little of his behavior and policy in his first one hundred days has changed my opinion of Mr. Obama, I must admit, after having spent several hours (okay, what seemed like hours) trying to resolve a disputed medical bill, I had to feel sorry for the guy. Good luck, Mr. President, is all I have to say.

Actually that isn’t all I have to say (big surprise, right?). Having so often heard people speak of the woes of not having health insurance, without much reflection I have considered myself and my family lucky to be counted among the medically insured. But over the years, I have become increasingly frustrated with the system and have even begun to question the legitimacy of the whole enterprise. I first must distinguish between “My kid has cancer and will be spending the next three months in the hospital” kind of catastrophic health insurance and “I have an in-grown toenail and need to get it lanced” kind of coverage. Having had several friends go through the difficulties of dealing with children with significant health issues, I see the obvious benefits of the former. Having struggled for years to come to a minimal understanding of co-pays and deductibles, I distrust and secretly loathe the latter. Perhaps I display my ignorance here, but health insurance seems to somehow be a sickness-causing cure. My skepticism began when a friend shared with me that the only medical procedures to have decreased in price over time are cosmetic surgery and Lasik eye surgery—two things not covered by insurance. My basic understanding of economics (and John Stossel’s exhaustive research) would suggest that there is a connection between competition and lower prices. (Here is a link to the report my friend was quoting.) Having made this connection between restraints on the free market and the rising cost of health care, I have started to feel a bit dirty inside each time I present my insurance card at a doctor’s office. If health insurance drives up medical costs, then aren’t those of us with insurance essentially making it harder on those without? Rather than trying to help more people get insurance, shouldn’t we focus on positive alternatives that make health care more affordable? (For one such alternative, check out this story.)

Not only does health insurance make it more difficult for those who are uninsured, it also seems to reward those who neglect or abuse their bodies. While paying for the consequences of overeating, lack of exercise and innumerable other vices such as smoking and excessive drinking, insurance companies—at least ours—seem to punish you for being healthy. When was the last time your health insurance company cut you a break for working out regularly or eating fruits and vegetables?

Recently, Jim and I discussed possibly increasing our life insurance coverage. This is something that we had been encouraged to do and to seemed to make sense when couched in the language of “You don’t want your kids to be orphaned andhomeless, do you?” But after much discussion, Jim convinced me that the increase really wasn’t consistent with our philosophy of life. Yes, we want to have enough coverage to make sure our kids were cared for, but we don’t think it is necessary for them to be left with individual trust funds at their disposal. The same is true with health insurance. We want to make sure that they are able to get the care they need and goodness knows that insurance has been a great help with the cost of Bailey’s treatments for allergies, but when is enough, enough? We feel trapped into participating in a frustratingly illogical system for simple lack of an alternative. I realize the complexity of this issue and welcome your input. Maybe health insurance, like sickness, death, and overly-high speed bumps, is just another consequence of the fall. Another tear to be wiped from the face of humanity upon entrance into heaven. Or perhaps, this is an area where we as Christians can attempt to establish the Kingdom on earth. Either way, if reforms fail, at least we will all be able to enter the pearly gates with great eyesight and freshly liposuctioned thighs. What a relief, hey Mr. President?

Posted on

The Love of Wisdom

By Jim Spiegel

The word “philosophy” derives from two Greek words (philo and sophia) which together mean “the love of wisdom.”  For the founder of Western philosophy, Socrates, this meant a selfless pursuit of understanding which would translate into a good moral life.  How ironic, therefore, that the discipline of philosophy today is often viewed as (and often is in practice) anything but a quest to be wise.  Much of academic philosophy today is devoted to technical minutiae and ponderous analysis of issues only remotely related to right living.

A wise person is someone who has practical moral insight.  Moreover, s/he not only knows what courses of action are best but also conducts her/himself accordingly.  In other words, a wise person is not only morally insightful but personally virtuous.

book-cover-love-of-wisdomThis basic but overlooked fact about wisdom served as a guiding principle for my co-author, Steve Cowan, and I as we wrote our new textbook, The Love of Wisdom: A Christian Introduction to Philosophy.  We wanted to show how every major issue in philosophy is relevant to living well.  Moreover, we aimed to demonstrate how philosophical inquiry of all kinds is a boon to one’s relationship with God.  Good philosophy begets stronger faith. 

When Steve and I first hatched the idea of writing this book it became clear that we complemented one another in terms of our philosophical strengths.  So as we divided our labor, our tasks fell out evenly. I wrote the introduction and the chapters on ethics, political philosophy, aesthetics, and philosophy of science, while he wrote the chapters on logic, metaphysics, epistemology, and most of the content in the chapters on human nature and philosophy of religion. 

Given the surge of interest in philosophy among Christians over the past few decades, it is surprising that there aren’t many Christian introductory philosophy texts.  And the few that are available are not very accessible.  We wanted our text to be readable, even entertaining, for the novice.  So we use a lot of illustrations referencing popular culture and current events.  The book also contains an extensive glossary as well as study questions concluding every subsection in each chapter.  These features are aimed at making the book useful for personal study as well as classroom use.

Proverbs 4:7 says “Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom.  Though it cost all you have, get understanding.”  Those are strong words.  Our hope is that this book will be helpful to readers who are serious about this quest.

Posted on

A Case for Motherhood

By Amy Spiegel

There are some phrases that you are destined to hear countless times over the course of your life. I certainly have a few, and sadly none of them involve people pointing out my striking resemblance to Fiona Apple. My birthday is December 23rd, and I usually follow up this announcement with a quick, defensive “Yeah, it is really close to Christmas, but I don’t find sharing my birthday with the season in which we celebrate the birth of our Savior the least bit annoying. Thanks for asking.”

Being a stay-at-home mom of four kids has added a new set of rhetorical questions to the public’s repertoire:  “You’ve sure got your hands full, don’t you?” “You sure are busy, aren’t you?” (People sure are sure of things, aren’t they?) I usually smile wryly and answer with some platitude, depending on how well the kids are behaving. But there is one phrase lately that has begun to rub me the wrong way. I will be standing in line at the grocery store, trying to act like I don’t know those children who are methodically destroying the carefully crafted displays meant to turn them into avid materialists by age two (not that I’m bitter), and the cashier will strike up a conversation in hopes that I won’t notice the overpriced total for my groceries (not that I’m bitter) and then ask if I am a stay-at-home mom. I swallow my scathing reply that “No, my children are off at daycare. I just like to pick up children at random and let them slowly torture me through the aisles of this lovely establishment.” Instead, I say “yes,” smiling and trying to look fulfilled and content. The cashier will then smile condescendingly and shake her head, saying “I could never do what you do.”

Perhaps I am not the most rational creature at this point in the day, after having traversed myriad aisles chanting, “Don’t touch that. Put that back. No, it’s not on the list. Don’t touch that. Put that back. No, it’s not on the list.” But nonetheless, this seemingly complimentary phrase acknowledging the difficulty of my vocation feels more like a backhanded insult than a compliment. What I hear sounds more like “I would never want to do what you do.” And frankly there are plenty of days I would share this sentiment. But there are a lot of other days when I think my job is pretty cool and has more than a few fringe benefits not offered in other professions. For example I can show up for duty in my pajamas and remain that way for most of the day. I am the dictator of my workplace; our entire schedule is determined by me including our activities and menu. I spend the day with four very interesting people who think I am really great (except when I am making them brush their teeth, clean up their room, or do their long division).

Beyond these obvious advantages, motherhood is highly spiritually profitable, though more for myself than for my kids, I fear. There is method in the madness of the daily grind of sharing of yourself, your time and your energy (not to mention anything that might look good on your plate or any drink you were really looking forward to consuming). What I find frustrating about being a mom is that often people seem to put you in the category of saint, just below Mother Theresa and Saint Francis but definitely on the road to perfection. I don’t do this because I am some unearthly creature without selfish ambition or pride. To put mothers in that category demeans the sacrifices they are making. We aren’t called to be mothers because we are without fault; we become less flawed because we are moms. We aren’t the making of motherhood; it is motherhood that makes us.

When I started out in this whole mother business some nine and half years ago, I must confess that I thought Jim and I had a great deal to offer anyone fortunate enough to be our offspring. I had all the theories of discipline and nurture worked out and was frankly quite surprised that others hadn’t been able to figure out the mysteries of producing perfect children long before now. I am not sure when all that pride fell away in shriveled heaps, but somewhere between that first blessed smile and that first toddler tantrum I had my first lesson in humility. I have had many since and am sure more are to follow. So with Mother’s Day approaching, be sure to appreciate your mom and her hard work; not because she does her job perfectly but because she does the job despite her imperfections.

Posted on

Mine That Underdog

By Jim Spiegel

I just saw the video of today’s Kentucky Derby.  Wow.

If you’re a fan of the underdog (or the underhorse, in this case), then this is a story for you.  Heck, if you just appreciate anything spectacular, you need to check this out.  Coming into the race at 51-1 odds, no one predicted that Mine that Bird would even be in contention at the Derby, much less take home the roses.  The horse’s trainer, Chip Woolley, confessed afterwards, “To be honest, I didn’t have any real feeling that I could win the Derby.”  And co-owner Mark Allen said, “I would’ve been happy just to have lit the board with this horse.”

mine-that-bird1As you watch the video, note the horse lagging at the rear for the first half of the race, some twenty lengths behind the leader.  Well, that’s Mine that Bird, mounted by jockey Calvin Borel.  His strategy was to lay back, hug the rail, and push hard at the end.  By hugging the rail, of course, the horse has a shorter distance to run overall.  But the challenge is finding a path through the tangle of horses in the homestretch.  Well, Borel brilliantly guided his diminutive colt through the equine mass and finished first.  Not only that, but he won handily—by almost seven lengths, the largest margin of victory in the Kentucky Derby in over sixty years! 

So many lessons here—even for us humans.