Random Thoughts

• Props to Newt Gingrich for infusing his stance on illegal immigration with some common sense.  At last night's debate, Gingrich said (and I'm paraphrasing) that while he'd deport those illegal immigrants who had recently arrived in the Land of Opportunity, he'd allow those who had put down roots (e.g., starting a family in America) to stay.  Newt has taken some dumb positions in the past, but he showed some courage in straying from the party line--especially as he's currently leading the polls and therefore had less incentive to rock the boat.
• I'm disappointed the Bears didn't land Kyle Orton.  He would have been valuable in a variety of ways: he could've provided some insight into the Broncos' offense (the Bears play the Fightin' Tebows in a few weeks), he would be great insurance in case Hanie went down, and, by signing Orton, the Bears would have prevented the Chiefs--another upcoming opponent--from upgrading their quarterback situation.  Let's not blame the Bears for Orton winding up in KC instead of Chi-Town, though.  After all, the Chiefs have waiver priority; consequently, when both teams claimed Orton, Kansas City won out.
• I'm predicting that the Bears will make the playoffs, even despite Cutler's injury.  This isn't a tremendously bold statement, considering the relative softness of their schedule when compared to other NFC wild-card contenders, but I wanted to put it in (virtual) print anyways.  I had been predicting playoffs for my hometown heroes for a while now, but you'd have to search my gchats to find any corroborating evidence.  (Do take my word for it, though.)
• Sticking with the forecasting, I'm here to tell you that my Northwestern Wildcats will snap their 62 year bowl-victory drought this year.  Unlike the typical Wildcat team of the last decade or so, which has overachieved in the regular season and received a tough postseason opponent as a result, this year's squad struggled early and have more talent than their record would indicate.
• I think Robert Griffin III is a better college football player than Andrew Luck, but I'd put Luck over RG3 on my Heisman ballot.  I am one of those guys who thinks that a team's record should be considered by voters.  I took this stance a few years back when I railed against Toby Gerhart's Heisman credentials--with so many players playing so many positions on so many college football teams, it's impossible to determine the best college football player in all the land.  (If it were possible, surely a lineman would have won more often.)  Therefore, some component of the Heisman should instead be geared towards voting for the most valuable player on a very successful team.  (Note: getting to bowl eligibility is not "very successful.")  Even though the 2011 Cardinal have been described as a team "that seemed good enough to play in the national title game until it ran into a team that really is good enough to play in a national title game," reaching a BCS game is certainly a very successful campaign.
• All that said, does Luck deserve a Heisman over Trent Richardson, Bama's star running back?  Impossible to say with regular season games left to be played, but if both shades of red* win out, well, it's still damned tough to say.  (I'm sure Luck will end up winning, but will it be a deserved victory?)

*If I got too cute there, I'm referring to the Cardinal and the Crimson Tide.

Irrefutable Proof that the Republicans will win Ohio (and thus the White House) in 2012

ESPN.com always has a poll question featured prominently on its home page.  The results of the poll are displayed on a state-by-state basis.  This morning's poll question asks, "Which side should receive a larger share of the revenue in the NBA?" and gives us three options from which to choose: Owners, Players, or Let's Split the Baby and Divide Things 50-50.

You probably didn't realize it (seeing as how I'm reading into this for comedic effect), but in more generic terms, ESPN has just asked you, "are you on the side of the employer or the employees?"  If you're a fan of the Captains of Industry, you vote for the owners; if you're a champion of the working man, you vote for the players or--since the players just rejected a deal and you're kinda mad at them for depriving you of basketball but not mad enough to side with those parasitic billionaires--the 50-50 chop.

The map, which is pictured below and likely has already caught your eye with its vibrant colors and distracted you from reading these paragraphs of text, shows a fairly even divide between owners and 50-50 loyalty.  (Again, I'm assuming--sort of unfairly--that the 50-50 option is a pro-player stance.)  Look at the individual states.  The classic GOP strongholds (Texas, Utah, the Deep South) are pro-owner, whereas the traditionally Democratic states (California, Illinois, the Northeast) stand with the players.  In fact, this map comes pretty close to mirroring the 2008 electoral college results, except for the obnoxious fact that ESPN inverted the colors.

Ohio, however, has failed to cooperate.  Obama captured the state in 2008, so we'd expect it to be pro-union, pro-employee, etc, but it's aligned with the owners!  Clearly, we can fairly extrapolate from this sports poll that Obama has already lost Ohio and, as Ohio goes, so goes the nation, or something.  Long story short: the real election for our nation's next leader comes in the GOP primary.  The general election has already been decided.  You heard it here first.

Life in Texas means...

...even our junk mail loves the Second Amendment.

It also means that we have bizarre priorities when it comes to sports.

A separate tab just for high school football?  Check.  Another separate tab just to cover the recruitment of said high school footballers?  Check.  No acknowledgement that the NHL exists?  Check.  ("Wait," you say, "doesn't that 'Stars' heading stand for the Dallas Stars?"  Nope--that would be the Texas Stars of the American Hockey League.  I wonder what the Statesman thinks happens to those supremely-talented Texas Stars players who mysteriously vanish from the rosters.  Where do they go?!)

Stop the Flopping

European soccer players are notorious for faking injuries in order to kill time or get a beneficial call.  I have tons of examples at the ready, but Rivaldo's "simulation" (official term for taking a dive in order to earn a free kick) in the 2002 World Cup may be the best example.  (Note: if this link breaks, go to YouTube and search "Rivaldo fake injury" or something like that.)



If you couldn't tell exactly what went on, a player from Turkey kicked the ball towards/at Rivaldo because Brazil had a corner kick.  The ball hit Rivaldo's upper leg on the fly, but Rivaldo pretended that he had been hit in the face and went down holding his nose.  The referee inexplicably bought it, and gave the player from Turkey a red card.  (Not sure whether that was a straight red or the second yellow card, but either way it's an unjust result.)  How did the linesman not see what happened?!  This is a World Cup match!!  Terrible.

As a soccer player, these faked injuries embarrass me.  Why would Americans want to watch a game where the players act so cowardly?  Hell, these players' dives have turned me off from "the beautiful game," as soccer is known--I can't imagine a typical person wanting to tune in.  What's worse is that American sports have caught the simulation disease.  Basketball may be the best example.  Take a look at a clip from yesterday's Bulls-Heat playoff game:



Let me make this clear: that's the league's best player blatantly pretending to have been fouled.  He even winks at his bench shortly thereafter.  Pathetic.  It's not one isolated instance, either--and it's certainly not limited to LeBron James.  Superstars across the league (Pau Gasol, Manu Ginobili, etc.) fall to the ground in agony without the slightest touch.  It makes the NBA even less watchable.  It's bad enough that the faces of the league whine to the referees at every opportunity (Kobe, Dwyane Wade, and Duncan are the most egregious offenders, though every team has at least one crybaby)...now we have to watch them topple like a house of cards?

I wish David Stern (the Commissioner of the league) would put a stop to this nonsense.  Simply give the referees the authority to hit the flopper with a technical foul.  The refs wouldn't dole out too many, because it's difficult to tell whether a player is taking a dive or not, but the mere threat of the punishment should deter the players from acting.  You know who would love this rule?  Players like LeBron, who suffers from this plague of simulation way more often than they benefit.  I guarantee the superstars would love to get rid of flopping, but they can't just lead by example.  It's akin to the Prisoner's Dilemma--why cooperate when you have no guarantees your partner in crime will do the same?  If you have an outside authority step in and force the prisoners to cooperate, everyone wins.  The Commish can be that strong hand to ensure that no one flops.  The game will be better as a result.  After all, do we really want the NBA to devolve into stuff like this?





Hell, no.

Title IX

 
Most everyone has heard of Title IX (read: Title Nine) and could give a brief description of its purpose: to promote gender equality in the world of collegiate sports.  When a university cuts wrestling or another male varsity sport, Title IX often bears the blame.  In these next few paragraphs, we'll examine just what Title IX requires of universities and the various ways these schools comply with the federal law.



In 1972, Congress passed and President Nixon signed into law Title IX, which reads in part that "[n]o person . . . shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in . . . any education program or activity receiving federal financial assistance."  Since virtually every university gets some federal funding, Title IX applies to virtually every college in America.

In 1979, the Carter Administration's Office of Civil Rights issued a Policy Interpretation that elaborated on the requirements of Title IX. The OCR created three ways for a university to conform with the law, which I will paraphrase:

1. The school must have equal athletic opportunities for men and women.
2. If the school doesn't have equal athletic opportunities, it must have a continuous record of expanding its programs to meet the needs of the underrepresented sex (women).
3. If the university can't meet #1 or #2, it must demonstrate that women's interests are fully accommodated by its current programs.

A quick example will clarify these regulations.  Let's say Northwestern has an enrollment of 3,000 men and 2,000 women.  Let's also say that 500 men are interested in collegiate athletics, and 250 women are interested in collegiate athletics.  Northwestern could comply with Title IX by doing any of the following:

• Provide varsity slots for men and women at a 3-to-2 ratio.  (For every 3 slots for men, there must be 2 for women.)  This would satisfy Requirement #1.
• Be able to show that it's continually adding women's sports to its offerings.  This would satisfy Requirement #2.
• Provide 250 slots for women.  This satisfies Requirement #3.  According to our example, 250 women want to play sports.  To fully accommodate women, NU must have 250 slots for women.

The following options would not be in compliance with Title IX:

• Provide varsity slots for men and women at a 2-to-1 ratio, which corresponds with the number of men and women interested in sports.  Courts think this is myopic; just because women aren't that interested in sports at the moment doesn't mean they won't become more interested in the future.
• Have an equal amount of men's and women's teams.  This might work, but it doesn't necessarily satisfy Title IX, which concerns itself with the number of roster slots.  A college football team has 110 or so slots, depending on the school, whereas a women's tennis team will have 15 or so.  You can see how an equal number of sports, by itself, doesn't suffice.  [Aside: this is partly why schools have such huge women's crew teams.  At least at NU, I believe every girl who tried out for varsity crew made the team--not that stopped those girls from acting cool for being a varsity "athlete."]
• Say to the court, "yeah, our women aren't fully represented, but so what?  Neither are our men.  500 want to play sports, and we only have room for 300.  It's a tough economic climate and we can't afford enough teams for everyone."  The courts don't care.  Title IX concerns itself with the underrepresented gender; how the men are doing is irrelevant (unless they're the ones who are underrepresented).

Hope this shed some light on a fairly well-known topic of law.  For further reading, here's an NYT article on the subject.  Btw, my sports law final is tomorrow, so if you're getting sick of these sports-law themed posts, you're in luck.

A Quick Discussion of Contracts

As I may have mentioned, I'm taking Sports Law this semester.  It's far from the hardest law school course I've encountered, but I'm learning a good deal--mainly because the course draws on many different areas of law.  In my previous post, we saw how antitrust and labor law can feature prominently in the world of professional leagues.  Today, I'd like to provide use sports to explain a bit of contract law.

The main issue I'll be focusing on today is this: how does Player get out of his contract with Team A in order to go play for Team B?  What can Team A do to stop Player?

Hypothetical: Player, a star in both basketball and baseball, signs a contract with Baseball Team.  Unfortunately, a few months in to this contract, Player realizes that he can't hit a major league curveball.  He wants to go back to the hardwood, but he's under contract with Baseball Team.  What happens now?

Well, Player could simply refuse to perform.  He could leave Baseball Team and go sign a contract with Basketball Team.  That would leave it up to Baseball Team to go to the courts.  Baseball Team could simply sue for a breach of contract, a lawsuit it would almost certainly win.  The remedy for a breach of contract is typically monetary damages (I use "typically" because I don't want to sound too authoritative--it's been a while since I took contract law).  So, Player would have to pay Baseball Team a sum of money that the judge believes would make Baseball Team whole.  Easy enough, right?

Well, sure, but imagine you're Baseball Team.  You believe that Player, despite his troubles, has great potential.  You don't want monetary compensation--you want Player to stick to his contract.  Thus, you ask the court not for damages but for an injunction.  You want the court to enjoin Player from playing anywhere but for your team.  In essence, you want the court to step in and hold Player to his contract.

An injunction is a tougher remedy to obtain.  Courts are happy to award damages, but they're reluctant to force a party to adhere to his contract.  Understandably so: breaching a contract occasionally leads to a more efficient allocation of resources.  If Player is a mediocre slugger but a star cager,* it makes more sense for him to go play basketball.

Here's a non-sports example of efficient breach that you could totally skip over and not miss a beat (I even changed the font to show you how unessential it is!):

"Suppose I sign a contract to deliver 100,000 custom-ground widgets at $.10 apiece to A, for use in his boiler factory. After I have delivered 10,000, B comes to me, explains that he desperately needs 25,000 custom-ground widgets at once since otherwise he will be forced to close his pianola factory at great cost, and offers me $.15 apiece for 25,000 widgets. I sell him the widgets and as a result do not complete timely delivery to A, who sustains $1000 in damages from my breach. Having obtained an additional profit of $1250 on the sale to B, I am better off even after reimbursing A for his loss. Society is also better off. Since B was willing to pay me $.15 per widget, it must mean that each widget was worth at least $.15 to him. But it was worth only $.14 to A – $.10, what he paid, plus $.04 ($1000 divided by 25,000), his expected profit. Thus the breach resulted in a transfer of the 25,000 widgets from a lower valued to a higher valued use."  Richard Posner, Economic Analysis of the Law (got it from here).

Thus, Player would argue to the judge, "look, I know I'm breaching my contract.  I'm not denying that; in fact, tell me how much to pay and I'll pay.  But don't hold me to this contract--it would result in an inefficient allocation of resources."  Baseball Team would respond, "Judge, contracts should be seen as something more than an economic instrument.  They should be seen as moral obligations worthy of as much 'legal teeth' as the law can reasonably provide."

In addition to this broad principle, Baseball Team could make the following arguments (I'll leave it to you to evaluate their merits):

• Money isn't enough of a remedy.  Player is so uniquely skilled that losing him would cause our team irreparable injury that you can't put a price on.
• Player is of such unique talents that we wouldn't be able to replace him.  (Imagine if Derrick Rose went to go play hockey.  The Bulls would have a helluva time finding a new Derrick Rose.)

So, now you've gotten a taste of both sides of the issue.  Player doesn't have tons to say, but keep in mind that many courts look favorably on the concept of efficient breach and similarly are quite reluctant to grant a remedy as extraordinary as an injunction.  This issue of players jumping from one team/league to another is uncommon these days, as two-sport athletes are rare and the big four sports leagues have no real competition.  (These cases were more common back when the AFL and the NFL were on approximately equal footing and you'd see someone want to leave one of these football leagues for the other.)  Even though we don't see this type of case much in sports law, it still is an important aspect of contract law.  I just framed the concept in a sports law context to make it more interesting and readable.






*cager is a great crossword clue, btw.

My Attempt to Explain the NFL Labor Dispute

In this post, I'm going to do my best to chronicle and explain the tangled mess that is the 2011 NFL labor dispute.  I'll try to clarify some of the legal jargon being thrown around, but, as always, I'm not giving definitive legal advice.  With that, off we go...

Way back in 1956, the NFL players formed a union known as the National Football League Players Association (NFLPA).  Once a union is formed, the employer can no longer bargain individually with his employees.  Rather, the union becomes the exclusive bargaining representative for all the employees (even those who didn't want to unionize). This is known as "collective bargaining."  When the employer and the union finally come to terms on wages, hours, working conditions, etc., the resulting contract is known as a "collective bargaining agreement" (CBA).

At this point, you may be wondering, "wait, if the Owners bargain with the union, how come we hear all this talk about players negotiating contracts for themselves?"  Great question.  The union is entitled to eliminate all individual bargaining, but the union may also (and typically does) bargain with the employer to permit an individual to negotiate whatever extra compensation the market will bear.  While this strategy wouldn't make much sense to an autoworkers union, it works very well for athletes (and actors).

So, now let's jump ahead to 2006.  The Owners and the NFLPA reached an agreement that, among other things, agreed to a deal whereby the Owners would take the first $1b in league revenue (much of which would fund new stadiums) and, of the remaining revenue (approximately $7b), the players would receive approximately 60% and the owners would take 40%.  Each side had the opportunity in 2008 to opt out of the CBA, which would cause the CBA to expire after the 2010 season.  The Owners unanimously chose to exercise this opt-out clause.  In simple terms, they believed that the NFLPA had ripped 'em off (which, of course, the NFLPA has every right to do).

So, on March 11, 2011, the collective bargaining agreement officially expired.  (It was originally scheduled to expire on March 3 but the sides extended it for a week to give themselves more time to bargain.)  At this point, the NFLPA had a choice to make.

The players had to decide whether to strike or not.  Striking is simply a collective refusal to work by the employees in hopes that holding out from working will force the employer to make concessions.  (Typically, a CBA includes a "no-strike" clause where the union gives up its right to strike while the CBA is in effect; that's why the players would have to wait until the CBA expired to decide whether to strike, I presume.)  Would it make sense for the players to strike in March?  Nope.  Why not?  Because the strike wouldn't have much of an effect.  You strike when doing so hurts your employer--in the NFLPA's case, it would only make sense to strike during the regular season or playoffs, when a strike would cause the Owners to lose gobs and gobs of money.  Also, striking is typically bad publicity, and there's no reason for the NFLPA to wear the black hat yet.

[There's a bunch of law concerning the rights that employees and employers have once a strike takes place.  Can an employer hire replacements?  Can the employer fire employees for striking?  These questions are tempting but are outside this entry's scope.]

The Owners similarly had a choice once the CBA expired.  They could decide to lock out the players or do nothing.  Had they done nothing, the CBA would have continued on, as labor law dictates.  The Owners certainly didn't want that, so they instead decided to lock out the players.  A lockout prevents the employees from working and essentially shuts down the league.  Thus, the Owners don't have to play the players.

In anticipation of the lockout, the NFLPA voted to decertify just before the Owners locked out the players.  Decertification simply means that the union dissolved itself.  (The Owners, btw, have filed a grievance with the National Labor Relations Board, claiming that by decertifying, the NFLPA isn't bargaining in good faith.)  Now, why on earth would the NFLPA voluntarily dissolve itself?  I'm glad you asked...

Our country has antitrust laws and labor laws.  Antitrust laws prohibit (some types of) anticompetitive conduct, and labor laws protect certain forms of anticompetitive conduct.  A group of workers getting together and agreeing to fix the prices of their product is anticompetitive, whether that product is a shirt, a car, or--in the case of a union--labor.  Yet, the NLRA and other federal labor laws explicitly protect the right to unionize. Clearly, we have a conflict between the two areas.  Which one wins out?  Well, I'll spare you the boring case law and get right to the answer: labor law trumps.  In fact, there's an explicit statutory exemption to the antitrust laws for labor.

The fact that labor law trumps antitrust law sounds like bad news for the Owners, but it's actually a good thing.  You see, the NFL does some things that are quite anticompetitive.  For example, think about the upcoming NFL Draft.  By the end of Thursday night, one team, and one team only, is going to have the right to sign Cam Newton.  Don't you think Cam could make more money if he stayed in college if he had 32 potential suitors?  Don't you think you'd get a bigger salary if you had 32 law firms, or elementary schools, or software companies chasing after you instead of only one?  (Cam may not be the best example because the high draft picks get paid a ton of money, but keep in mind that most picks don't.)  So, if the NFL is violating the antitrust laws, how come no one has sued 'em?

Well, there have been lawsuits, of course, but here's the thing: there's a labor exemption to antitrust law.  The NFL and the NFLPA bargained for the current draft system, and since the draft arose from a CBA, it's exempt from antitrust litigation.  The Owners love that the NFLPA exists, because without it, they'd be subject to antitrust litigation; losing an antitrust suit would probably force the Owners to alter the way it does business and pay damages to the injured plaintiffs.  (Also, losing in antitrust law sucks because the winning party's damages get tripled.  If it's found that the plaintiff suffered $1m in damages, the defendant has to pay $3m.)

Now you're beginning to understand why the NFLPA decertified.  By doing so, NFL players can sue the Owners in antitrust law--and wouldn't you know it, some already have.  According to the L.A. Times, "[t]he players allege that the NFL conspired to deny their ability to market their services."  This is typical antitrust language--the players are contending that the NFL's policies (regarding free agency and the like) have prevented the players from getting paid their fair market value.  If true, this is obviously anticompetitive (you can't get together with fellow employers for the purpose of holding down salaries) and likely in violation of the antitrust laws.

In addition, the players asked for an injunction that would stop the lockout.  An injunction is a court order that forces a party to do--or refrain from doing--something.  In this case, the NFL would be forced to refrain from continuing the lockout.  Yesterday, the federal district judge granted that request and ordered the lockout lifted.  In essence, the judge told the NFL to start its season.  The NFL has already appealed this order.  In the interim, it asked that same district judge to stay (to put off or delay) the injunction until the appeal has been heard.  Just this evening, the judge denied that request.  That means that we could be in for some interesting developments in the next few weeks, as the league will be operating without a collective bargaining agreement.

As you can see, the NFLPA has adopted a strategy of litigation, as opposed to bargaining.  It could have stuck together and continued to negotiate with the Owners until a CBA was reached.  Clearly, the NFLPA thought it could gain more by going to court instead.  Similarly, the Owners haven't hesitated to use their legal weapons.  They locked out the players and brought an Unfair Labor Practice claim to the NLRB.  The moral of the story?  In bigtime disputes like this, with lots of money on the table, the lawyers always win.

The labor dispute largely comes down to how to divvy up the revenue.  There are other issues as well--possibly lengthening the season, changing how much rookies get paid, etc.--but the revenue question is the main one.  As both sides are making tremendous amounts of money, it seems unlikely that they'll fail to reach an agreement before the regular season begins.  There's simply too much money to be had to justify killing off a season.  (The NBA, however, faces a similar battle only this time some of the Owners are losing money and will likely dig in and force major concessions from the players.  That's a post for another day, however.)

All in the Game

Phil Ivey is the consummate professional gambler.  He plays for money, not fame.  He understands that in poker, the best player is the one who makes the most money.  Bracelets, "world championships," and all those other titles mean very little to him--at least when you compare him with many of his peers.  Ivey simply goes about his business and gets his money in good, whether he's playing poker or prop-betting.*

Ivey is very good friends with a lot of the people he plays poker against, even though they all battle each other for tens of thousands of dollars on a daily basis.  I never really understood how this could be.  I mean, I realize that theoretically it's possible not to take losses personally.  After all, we all play basketball or tennis against our buddies and remain friends afterwards.  But, in tennis, a house or two isn't at stake.  Moreover, you and I are not nearly as competitive as someone like Ivey, who clearly has something in him that drove him to the top of the poker mountain. As a result, we can probably stomach a loss more easily than Ivey.

Obligatory picture of Ivey chilling with maybe $10k in cash at his feet.

* * * * *

I'm enrolled in a clinic (real-world work for course credit) this semester, and I'm getting a lot of great experience representing clients.  The place where I work has a lot of client turnover, so I'm in front of a judge and across the aisle from an opposing lawyer frequently.  I'm typically in court on the same day each week, which means that I'm often in front of the same judge (and matched up against the same lawyer or two) every time.

My job as a lawyer is to advocate for my client zealously (within the ethical constraints promulgated by the ABA, of course).  This is theoretically quite simple: prepare diligently beforehand, make all your tenable arguments to the judge, fight hard for your client, etc.  I've found, however, that there's a tendency to pull punches when you're dealing with the same players over and over.  Why waste the court's time with a weak argument when you know the judge has almost certainly already made up her mind?  Why grill a probation officer in cross-examination when you know you'll have to deal with him next week?  Wouldn't you be better served preserving some good will for your next client, whose case's outcome is still up in the air?  In my limited experience, I think it's a virtual certainty that you would indeed be better served by "saving your ammunition" for those battles that could go either way.  This will keep you on good terms with the other attorney, who will maybe be more willing to agree to a favorable settlement in the future.

Of course, any reputed attorney will quickly point out that it's not a lawyer's job to serve himself.  He must serve his client, and it's clearly unethical to sacrifice Client A in order to help Client B.  Pulling punches will likely help a lawyer in the long run--if we understand "help" to mean "allow him to achieve a desired outcome as often as possible"--but doing so hurts the client, and that's what really matters.


If Ivey (the role model for poker players) can play poker against his best friends--doing everything in his power to cut their throats, take their money, and leave them talking to themselves**--then surely an attorney can similarly advocate zealously for his clients without worrying about the effect his fight will have on his relationships with judges, attorneys, and other repeat players.




*Favorite lines from that article, just in case you didn't click on the link: "From the 'something only a multi-millionaire could say' file, Ivey casually asked how much the first-place prize paid out moments after the win, genuinely unaware of how much he had earned."  Also, "[T]here's no telling how much Ivey will net from prop bets as a result of his bracelet win.  'It was over twenty dollars,' he said in typical understated fashion."

**paraphrasing a Stu Ungar quote (cite)

How to Fly, part 2

Okay, so you've made it through that obnoxious body-scanner without trouble.  Now, what? Read on...

10. Head straight to your gate to ensure that you have the right information, then go straight to the bar or restaurant of your choice.  Passengers act like in order to be admitted onto the plane, they need to anchor themselves to a chair in that uncomfortable vestibule.  Insider's tip: it's the ticket that gets you aboard, not how long you spent watching CNN Headline News!

11.  Use the bathroom right before you get on the plane, so that you likely won't have to go mid-flight.  That just saves everyone some trouble.  Make sure to wash your hands.  Why?  Cuz if you don't, it's gross--what kind of question is that?

12. Get back to the gate five to ten minutes after you're supposed to begin boarding; that way, you don't have to wait with the rest of the cattle.  Trust me, you'll see them plenty once you're in the air.

13. Assuming you couldn't find someone to gamble with at the kiosk, you're stuck in coach.  No big deal.  First, put your suitcase in the earliest available overhead storage bin.  Show me the amendment to the U.S. Constitution that requires your bag to be directly over your seat.  You can't!  You just can't.  The closer to the front your bag is, the less you have to carry it.  Boom.

14. Find your seat.  If your neighbor has already arrived, size him/her up.  Assign a number 1-10 to both his/her conversation skills and looks.  (If your neighbor is of a sex to which you're not attracted, the maximum rating for looks is a 3.)  Add the two numbers: if the sum is more than 10, make small talk with your neighbor and jump to Step 16.  Else, feign an inability to speak English and proceed to Step 15.

15. Still got that hoodie?  Nice.  Put the hood up, lean against the window, and snake your mp3 player underneath your sweatshirt so that you can listen to music while the plane is taking off.  Yes, it's illegal and probably violates federal law, but this is America and no one's gonna tell me when I can't listen to music!  That's censorship!

16. Don't lean your seat back.  (I'm talking to you, KK.)  The .02 units of utility you gain don't justify the 10 units of disutility you've just imposed on the guy behind you.*  In the unlikely event that the person in the seat in front of you doesn't read this blog, put your knees firmly into his seat when you see him moving for the button.  Hopefully, he'll feel the bump and realize that you're not the typical tractable traveler.  If he presses the button anyways, use your knees to resist his lean.  That's the best you can do short of threatening him, unfortunately.

17. Threaten him.

18. Do your best to sleep on the plane, but don't plan on it.  If you can't, grab the in-flight magazine and attend to the crossword/Sudoku.  Celebrate loudly upon completion, to signal to the plane that you're their intellectual superior.  (Never too early to begin angling for the role of "Jack" should your plane crash onto a mysterious island.)  If that doesn't pass enough time, head to the Mensa quiz and, only as a last resort, peruse the magazine's articles.  Memorize the "Top 5 Plastic Surgeons in ," in case you ever decide to pull the trigger on those calf implants.

19. When it's time for beverage service, make sure you ask for a can of whatever soda you're choosing.  That way, they don't stiff you and you get the full twelve ounces.  If you feigned English earlier, stammer, "un can of Dr. Pepper, por favor."  Try to throw a bit of an accent on it, too.  You'll likely get a suspicious glance from your unattractive/uninteresting seat-mate, but pay him no mind: it's your world; he's just living in it.

20. By now, you should be descending.  Clutch your armrests, look frantically around the cabin, and scream, "we're going dowwwwn!"  It's technically true, so you can't go to prison or anything.

21. All right, we've made it! We touched down, and the pilot just turned off the seatbelt light.  Resist the urge to pop out of your seat--you ain't going anywhere, and odds are you'll have to hunch over to stand.  When the traffic in front of you finally clears up, stroll comfortably to your carry-on bag, which should be somewhere near the first-class section, and snatch it without breaking stride.  Throw a peace sign to the stewardesses, compliment (or criticize) the pilot on the smoothness of his landing, and continue into the terminal, thus ending your journey.

Thanks for reading--I know you had a choice in blogs, and I'm happy that you chose this one.

*ugh, did I just support my argument with utilitarianism?  Aniuta would kill me.  RIP, Aniuta...gone but not forgotten.

How to Fly

Being 1100 miles from home has its advantages.  For one, I've pretty much mastered the art of air travel.  (Unfortunately, much of my mastery has come from trial and error, but no matter.)  Here's my foolproof method for making the most out of an airplane flight:

1. Learn how to flip a coin such that you can tell in advance which side it'll land on.  Trust me, this is doable.

2. Use kayak.com to find a flight.  It compares the fares of multiple airlines (though it omits some, like Southwest), and there aren't any fees to use it.  Plus, it has a handy matrix feature that's available once you register (again, for free) that lets you see various prices within a seven-day window.

You take the blue pill, the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.

3. Make sure you have the correct dates.  I once booked a flight home for Thanksgiving, only to discover that Thanksgiving was actually a week after I'd be headed back to the Chi.  Embarrassing and costly, yes.  Surprising, no.

4. Go online and choose your seat.  Sit as close to the front as possible.  It's 10x better to be one of the first ones off the plane than one of the first ones on the plane.  I'll leave the "window vs. aisle" question up to you, as it's been discussed many times before.  I prefer the window because (1) I don't mind asking the person next to me to stand up when I have to use the bathroom, and (2) it's tough for me to sleep in an aisle seat because I have a constant fear of getting my knee bashed by the drink cart.

5. Pack everything into a carry-on.  You get one legitimate suitcase and one backpack/purse to put under your seat.  If you can't get fit your stuff into these two items, stay home and hold a fucking garage sale.

Make sure to bring food for the plane--and don't be the guy who buys a malodorous sandwich at the airport and carries it on with him.  Have some respect for the people around you.  Similarly, avoid foods that can cause a mess or spill easily.  You may enjoy a bowl of soup, but while you're eating it, your neighbor will alternate between staring daggers at you and praying that the plane doesn't hit any turbulence.  Insider's tip: if you're that unfortunate person seated next to a man who decided to pack a three-course meal, a few well-placed sneezes will deter him from continuing with his dinner.

6. Don't check in beforehand.

7. If it's cold--or if it will be cold in the city you're visiting--wear a hooded sweatshirt to the airport.  Planes are often much colder than you'd expect.  Make sure to wear one of those surgical masks, as well.  That way, people will know how lame and un-American you are.

This guy definitely got all the girls in high school.

7. Get to the airport forty-five minutes before boarding time, more or less.  You have at least ten minutes from the start of boarding to make it to your flight, so you're giving yourself almost an hour to make it to the gate.  If it's gonna take you more than an hour to navigate security, it's not worth flying.  Just eat the airfare, text the person expecting your arrival that you won't be making it after all, and be happy that you didn't waste more than an hour at the airport.

8. When you get to the airport, check in there.  Use a self-help kiosk.  (General rule: avoid human contact whenever possible.)  It shouldn't take more than 5 minutes, and by checking in at the airport, you give yourself an opportunity to switch your seat even closer to the front of the plane.  Try your best to snare an exit-row seat.  If the kiosk asks you whether you'd like to upgrade to first class, turn to the nearest person and size him up.  If he looks like the gambling type *cough Asian cough*, ask him if he wants to flip a coin for upgrades--whereby if you lose, you pay for both upgrades and if he loses, first class is on him.  He'll agree, and here's where you work your coin magic.  Have him call it before you flip it, then obviously flip it in a way that is beneficial to you.  If he reneges, wave over TSA and tell 'em you heard he mentioned something about a bomb or a hijacking.  That way, at least he'll miss his flight.  (You'll likely miss yours, too, but it's part of the Gambler's Code to punish welshers.)

9. While in line to go through security, take the following items off or out of your pockets and put them into your backpack/purse: wallet, keys, cell phone, belt, jacket/sweater.  Empty your pockets completely so that you don't have loose items going on the conveyor belt.  (You'll need your ID, so extract that from your wallet beforehand but put it back in there immediately after getting the check-off from the post-man.)  Put the shoes on the belt directly, unless instructed otherwise, but keep them on until it's time to be x-rayed.  Why walk across the floor in your socks when you don't have to?

If you're traveling with a laptop, take it out of your backpack and put it in a tray by itself.  If you're without a notebook computer, you're likely going to be asked by TSA whether you have one, anyways--apparently, people forget to remove them from their bags all the time.  This is your time to shine.  After TSA asks you, "sir/ma'am, do you have a laptop?" say something like, "no, thanks, I'm not really in the market for one right now."  Make sure you say it loudly enough for everyone to hear, as this retort is sure to draw a chuckle and an approving smile from every passenger and security agent within earshot.  If you don't get the desired reaction, repeat your line word for word because they must not have heard you.  If you hit the jackpot and get asked, "sir/ma'am, do you have a P.C.," scoff and respond as condescendingly as possible, "no, I have a Mac....and it's at home."


Hurray, you've made it through security!  Part II to follow...

From J.D. to Lawyer (Texas)

I've had this happen to me multiple times in the past few years when meeting new people:

Stranger 1: "So, what do you do for a living?"
Me: "Oh, I'm actually in law school."
Stranger 1: "Wow, that's cool!  You must be smart."

The responses vary, of course, but they generally have undertones of respect and admiration.  But, when I have conversations like this one...

Stranger 2: "So, what do you do for a living?"
Me: "Well, I'm becoming a lawyer."

...the reaction is more typically this:

Stranger 2: "Oh, a lawyer--I'd better watch my wallet." or "Are you gonna be one of those guys who defends big corporations?" or "Great, just what this world needs--another lawyer."

I understand the differences in response: law school conjures up images of a venerable and esteemed institution where students work hard to master the intricacies of the legal system, whereas a lawyer is a pedantic, argumentative drain on society's resources.  Still, I think it's amusing that the closer you get to joining the profession, the less respect afforded to you.*


So, with that long-winded hook behind us, let's proceed to the matter at hand.  What does it take to become an actual lawyer in Texas?  In short: a lot of paperwork and a healthy bank account.  But, as my Crim Law prof. once said, "let's put some meat on those bones."

First, I had to file a Declaration of Intent to study law in Texas.  That'll cost you $190--if you file that before October 1 of your 1L year.  Who does that?!  On September 30, 2008, I had no idea whether I wanted to practice in Texas, or Illinois, or California, or Alabama.**  So, I paid the $150 "late" fee as well.

The Declaration of Intent asked me for my employment history, whether I had ever failed to file a tax return, etc.  It also wanted 6 character references from people who were neither family (too biased, I suppose) nor law students (too predisposed to lie, maybe??).  The Board of Law Examiners (the organization who decides whether I get to join the Bar or not) then proceeds to run a background check on me.  It makes sure that I have the proper character and fitness to become a lawyer--not a problem for most of us but could be a difficult hurdle to clear if you've, say, filed for bankruptcy or committed a serious crime.

Next, I had to sign up to take the Bar itself.  That cost me $450, which, believe it or not, is actually fairly reasonable.  (That money includes a late fee of $150 as well; this time, however, I had more than enough time to file and the blame falls on me for being untimely.)

I also paid a mere $60 to take the Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam (MPRE).  That's the only test, other than the Bar, that Texans have to pass in order to become licensed attorneys.  Virtually every state requires that its would-be members of the Bar pass this test (although the passing score varies from state to state).  It's administered three times a year; in fact, I just took the MPRE this Saturday.  It's only a 2-hour test with 60 multiple-choice questions, so it's certainly not an onerous exam.  It does require a few days of studying, of course, but that's certainly to be expected.

Then, last but certainly not least, you take the Bar Exam itself.  That's a three-day test that is administered in February and July--people typically take the test in July after they've graduated.  It's a combination of multiple choice and essay questions.  Topics that the Bar Exam covers include torts, contracts, property, wills, and much more.  You could rely on your old notes and your intrinsic motivation to prepare, but most just cave and purchase a private bar review class for a very healthy sum ($3000, approximately).  The review class for Texas begins in mid-May and lasts until July, and people typically spend 40 hours a week engaged in some sort of preparation for the Bar.

In November, you get your results.  Hopefully, you've passed!  Everyone who passes gets his name listed on a website somewhere, apparently, so if you fail it you're name may be conspicuously absent from the list.  Not to fear, though: over 90% of UT Law grads pass the Texas Bar, so you'd probably have to blow it off in order to fail.***

So, grand totals: $3850; weeks of studying; days of test-taking.  But, on the plus side, I, uh, get to become a lawyer and have years of those awkward "what do you do" conversations at dinner parties.



*If you're looking to split hairs, you could argue that it's not a sliding scale of respect but rather a consistent amount of respect until one discrete point in your law career.  I have two responses: (1) not always true, in my experience--for example, when it becomes known that I'm in my final year of school, it becomes more evident to the stranger that I'll soon be completing my metamorphosis from Productive Member of Society to Lawyer and I in turn engender less respect; (2) you'd make an excellent law student.


**Okay, I'll admit that I knew from Day 1 that I didn't want to practice law in Alabama.

***In November, I may regret typing that sentence.

Inducing the Spaz

(For my non-poker-playing readers, I've included a glossary of terms at the end of this post.  The words in bold in the body of the post are those that are defined at its end.)

This lesson deals with what I call the "spaz-induction" play.  Poker players use the term "spaz" to describe when a player attempts a high-risk, fairly ludicrous bluff that comes out of nowhere.  (You know how sometimes your opponent's play is a little suspicious, and a little voice pops into your head, saying, "you know what, I could probably just go all in and knock him off his hand"?  Most of us ignore that voice like 95% of the time, because the risk is too great that you'll be caught red-handed.  That other 5% of the time exemplifies spazzing.  Spazzing is such a great word for this phenomenon, because it illustrates the situation perfectly: you realize that the smart play is to fold and pick a better spot, but out of nowhere--and virtually uncontrollably--you ignore your superego and push all in with such spontaneity that it almost seems like a spasm.)  Spazzing is a form of tilt, and much like there are ways to provoke a player into tilting, there are methods for inducing a spaz.

Of course, before you decide to induce spaz, you have to make sure that you're willing to snap off your opponent.  After you induce spaz, your opponent is going to make an overbet for most of your chips--if you're not willing to call this big bet with a marginal hand (say, TPTK), it logically follows that you shouldn't provoke the spaz in the first place.

Okay, so now you know (1) what spaz is and (2) when you should or should not induce it.  Now we need to know how exactly we can provoke a spaz.  Obviously, there's no scientific formula, but the general way to do it is to play so bizarrely that your opponent gets flustered and, well, spazzes out.  Furthermore, your bizarre play should be an underbet as opposed to an overbet, so you can trick your opponent into believing that he can make a successful bluff.  Playing bizarrely, however, obviously means deviating from your standard (and theoretically perfect) play.  Thus, the bizarre deviation will necessarily be a less than optimal play in the long run.  As a result, you should only attempt to induce spaz when your hand is a virtual lock.

In the below example, my hand is very safe--the opponent has something along the lines of JJ or AJ, and thus has only a few outs.  We can afford to make a "bizarre" underbet here because even if he fails to spaz out and calls, he'll still be calling with improper pot odds.  If the board were wetter or if our opponent had a wider range, he'd have more outs and a bizarre bet would be ill-advised because it'd likely give our opponent favorable odds to call.

Poker Stars $2/$4 No Limit Hold'em - 9 players

BB: $86.00

UTG: $74.00

UTG+1: $112.65 [VPIP 10 PFR 7 through 30 hands]

UTG+2: $84.00

MP1: $80.00

MP2: $243.70 ***[VPIP 45 PFR 9 through 11 hands]***

CO: $74.00

Hero (BTN): $435.00

SB: $97.10

Pre Flop: ($6.00) Hero is BTN with AdKc

1 fold, UTG+1 calls $4, 2 folds, MP2 raises to $20, 1 fold, Hero raises to $60, 3 folds, MP2 calls $40

The preflop play is fairly standard.  Admittedly, MP2's preflop raise after a limper suggests some strength, but it's a -EV play to fold here when, as here, MP2 is likely a fish.  Some players may advocate for a smooth-call here on the premise that you should keep the pot small preflop so that you have more chips (and "weapons") at your disposal for the postflop play.  That argument is for a different day.

Flop: ($130.00) Ah 9s 7c

MP2 checks, Hero bets $52, MP2 raises to $183.70 all in, Hero calls $131.70

Here we see the spaz at work.  We underbet the pot, tempting our opponent to try a bluff.  To this point, the opponent probably had no plan but to check-fold this A-high flop (unless he has something like AJ, in which case it doesn't matter what we bet because he's never folding a pair of aces).  The funky bet probably gives him pause, though, and something like this goes through his head: "Hmm, what a small bet.  He would've bet much bigger if he had AK.  Hey, maybe he hates the ace on the flop as much as I do.  I've already got so much in this pot, and I hate just to throw away a hand like QQ.  I've been playing for an hour and haven't gotten a hand this good, and now I'm supposed to fold it?  Hell, no.  I'm gonna check/raise this donkey and show my hand when he folds.  ALL IN!"

SNAP-CALL-FIST-PUMP.

Turn: ($497.40) Tc

River: ($497.40) 8c

Final Pot: $497.40

MP2 shows QdQh

Hero shows AdKc

Hero wins $494.40

(Rake: $3.00)

Glossary:

-EV: Shorthand for less than optimal (origin: "negative expected value")

Check-fold (abbreviated "c/f"): To check, and then, if facing a bet from an opponent, to fold.  Ex: if you had 87 on a AK9 board, you'd probably be check-folding.

Check-raise (abbreviated "c/r"): To check, and then, if facing a bet from an opponent, to raise that bet.

Limper: One who calls the big blind (as opposed to raising it) preflop

Outs: cards that will win the player the pot.

Overbet: To bet a bigger percentage of the pot than what is common/expected.  Typically, a competent player bets about 70% the size of the pot on each street, so an example of an overbet would be when a player bets 125% the size of the pot.

Range: all possible hands an opponent could reasonably have.  Ex: if your opponent is fairly tight and has just reraised you before the flop, you can reasonably assign him a range of {TT, JJ, QQ, KK, AA, AQ, AK}, abbreviated as TT+, AQ+.

Snap Off: To call an opponent's bluff quickly and confidently.  In a sentence: "I put him on a missed flush draw and, being out of position, I checked to him, hoping that he'd try to bluff at the pot.  He did, and I snapped him off with bottom pair to drag the pot."

(Related: the phrase "snap-call-fist-pump", which means that you snap call (ie, call quickly) and celebrate (via fist pump) before the cards are flipped because you know your opponent is weak and that you have him crushed.)

Tilt: to allow an emotion (anger, frustration, boredom) to make you play less than optimally

TPTK: top pair, top kicker.  Ex's: AJ on a J32 board; AK on an A62 board.

Underbet: To bet a smaller percentage of the pot than what is common/expected.

VPIP/PFR:  Percentage of times that a player Voluntarily Puts Money into the Pot or makes a Pre-Flop Raise, respectively.  A tight player has a low VPIP, a loose player has a high VPIP, an aggressive player has a near 1-to-1 ratio of VPIP to PFR, and a passive (fishy) player typically has a much higher VPIP than PFR.

Wet: replete with draws.  For example, a board of Qd 9h 8h is wet because there are both straight draws and a flush draw out there.  A wet board means a few things: if you have a made hand, you typically want to bet to protect it.  Also, if you have a made hand, you're willing to get all-in with less of a hand than you'd be on a dry board because it's more likely that your opponent is semi-bluffing (pushing a draw in hopes that you fold).

Robbing a Casino for Dummies

On December 14, 2010, the Bellagio got robbed.  The thief's modus operandi wasn't exactly reminiscent of Danny Ocean, however--more like Snake from The Simpsons.  He drove his motorcycle up to the front door, dashed in, and swiped $1.5m in chips at gunpoint from a craps table.  He bolted out, hopped on his bike, and drove off into the Vegas night.

Of course, if the story ended there, it wouldn't be newsworthy (or even blog-worthy).  The man had stolen both $5k chips and $25k chips known as "cranberries" for their distinct color.  (See the accompanying image.) 

While the $5k chips were easy enough to dispose of, the cranberries were too unique to simply bring them to a cage (the slang term for the cashier's window in a casino) and get them cashed.  As such, our friend the Biker Bandit went about trying to sell the cranberries at a discount.  (Note: a lot of other amusing stuff accompanied this robbery, as the police report indicates.  I recommend reading the report in full if you have some time to do so.)

Around the same time, the robbery was a bit of a hot topic on twoplustwo.com ("2p2"), a popular gambling forum.  Members wondered how easily a person could cash in a stolen chip, and one poster wondered, "over/under 20 times a day the robber views threads like these?"  Here's where the story gets good...

A poster who joined the forum in January of 2011 and went by the name "oceanspray25" and indicated his location is "Cranada" quoted this post and responded, "Under 20 but more than 3 brother. Know anyone lookin for a bargain on a few pieces of fruit? Great for the liver and kidney and they make great stocking stuffers" (emphasis added).  I know y'all have figured it out by now, but let's break it down anyways, just for hilarity's sake.

•  First off, "oceanspray25?" "Cranada?"  I guess one reference to a cranberry didn't suffice--he needed three.
• Believe it or not, people don't sell fruit on 2p2--let alone for bargains.
• I like the reference to the body's internal organs, but I would've preferred a "what, you on your period or something?" allusion a la The Departed.  Alas.

Our buddy oceanspray25 clearly was so desperate to move this hot "fruit" that he put himself in plain sight on a popular forum.  In fact, he actually messaged another member to inquire about his interest in buying the cranberries.  Unsurprisingly, he got caught shortly thereafter.

The Biker Bandit clearly isn't playing with a full deck, but you've gotta admire his willingness to lay his chips on the table (so to speak).