Technically Incorrect

In these troubled days for journalism, it was, for some, uplifting to read that Angelina Jolie is able to control her image to a pre-Botox level of startle.

The New York Times reported this week that Jolie allegedly offers exclusive pictures of her latest offspring in exchange for guaranteed positive coverage in venerable publications such as People magazine.

This surely leads one to thinking about Yahoo.

Here's a company that seems to enjoy more barbs than British teeth. Allegations of indecision, myopia, and even collusion with the Chinese government are tossed like pungent confetti at the company on a far too frequent basis.

And yet it's not as if Yahoo is the worst company in the world. It's not as if it doesn't make money. It's not as if its brand doesn't have some residual positive associations. And it's not as if it took a major role in Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow or the entirely seminal Gone in Sixty Seconds.

Yet while Jolie appears to have contrived an image for herself that has now allowed her to participate in half-decent works of entertainment such as Changeling and The Good Shepherd, Yahoo struggles for respect.

It's relatively easy to point to strategies Yahoo might have adopted or management changes it might have made, but it is also easy to point to Jolie's interesting declaration at the 2000 Academy Awards that: "I'm so in love with my brother right now."

One might argue that entertainment journalists are less rigorous than those in the business sphere. One might also argue that some other companies--does Apple come to mind, anyone?--manage to control their images in a far more productive way than Yahoo.

Perhaps Apple executives study the way Jolie's expert publicist steers her public persona.

Might it therefore be an idea for Yahoo to get some guidance from the extraordinary publicist who appears to be solely and uniquely responsible for the Jolie Image Enterprise?

She's called Angelina Jolie.

When the rebel becomes king, it doesn't mean the people will suddenly be smiling.

Nike, once the brand that championed all who challenged authority, seems to have suddenly taken on the mantle, as well as the athletic supporter, of a regime not known for its fondness for allowing people to just do it.

The story begins with tears and might end in many more.

Many Chinese faces were moist when Liu Xiang, a very pretty 110-meter hurdler, suddenly withdrew from the preliminary heats of the Olympic competition.

It all looked a little odd. He was apparently seen kicking an iron door in an aggressive manner shortly before the race. He went out onto the track and suddenly declared his ankle wasn't up to the task. He limped off in apparent agony.

Shortly afterward, someone who claimed to be a member of Nike's inside lane, wrote a post on a Yahoo message board that accused the company of being complicit in Liu Xiang's sudden exit.

The suggestion was that Nike knew Liu Xiang couldn't win, so they told him not to run, as a disappointing performance would harm their investment in him far more than a heart-tugging withdrawal.

Now the odd thing is that this isn't the first time someone has accused Nike of having more than a digit in live sporting decisions.

When a curiously subdued, possibly drugged, and entirely sleep-walking Ronaldo played for Brazil in the 1998 World Cup Final, there were more than a few commentators willing to debate whether the only reason he had been on the field at all was because Nike, the team's sponsor, had insisted.

So how do you think Nike reacted to this Yahoo posting? Ignored it, perhaps? Launched a PR campaign featuring Liu Xiang hopping on his good ankle? Not quite.

"We have immediately asked relevant government departments to investigate those that started the rumor," said Nike spokesman Charlie Brooks.

I will pause now to allow you to perform your best double take.

OK?

Yes, Nike, the brand that prides itself on the iconoclastic and fantastic, has asked the not fantastically democratic Chinese government to root out this rogue and, well, shake him by the sleeves of his t-shirt, perhaps.

Mr. Brooks told The Guardian newspaper: "This isn't about a debate on freedom of speech. It's simply helping us to identify the person who posted it."

Which suggests that Nike either has a good suspicion as to the person's identity. Or not. It might also suggest to some that Nike has temporarily lost the part of its inner brain that judges when to stir things up and when to move right along.

What can Nike gain from behaving like a granny who's just had her handbag stolen by a tiny teenager and asked a big, burly policeman to find the man who took it? The company's actions serve only to highlight the issue more, when letting a sleeping blog lie might have allowed for this little conspiracy theory to waft its way into the annals of obscurity.

Unless, of course, it isn't a conspiracy theory at all, and they fear that this one little rumor might give credence to a quite staggeringly cynical story.

It all just feels so very, very unNike. Think about it. A brand that so many still admire thanks to Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, Spike Lee, and remixes of old Elvis tracks, working together with "government departments." In China.

I wonder if they called Jerry Yang first to see how this blogger nonsense works over there. (Web debate on this subject in China is already being, how can one put it, edited.)

And I wonder what the "government departments" will do to the person who posted this tale.

Community service in a sweatshop, perhaps?

Facebook might be neutral on the subject, but it is fair to say that Scrabulous was an enormous success for its business. And, while Wordscraper may have a chance of some success, the company has found something it believes could be even bigger.

"When your goal is to get long-term usage and engagement, it's hard to find new and imaginative ways to secure people's attention," said an insider.

In short, you can't just copy something that's been around for a while and has illuminated lifeless dinner parties since people started experimenting with pre-marital sex.

I am, therefore, very fortunate to have been given a preview of Facebook's incredible new game by its Seattle-based designers.

So let me be the first to reveal the name of the new game.

Monopolous.

An excellent and memorable name, I am sure you will agree.

The concept is utterly revolutionary. You have a certain amount of money given to you to start the game. And you have to make more and more money as you go along. You can buy, trade or rent properties that sit in a quite delightful color scheme along the edges of the Monopolous board.

The properties have really crazy names that must have been made up by some very, very clever people.

Here's just a few: Orion. Adscape. Trendalyzer. Marratech. (I thought they meant Marrakesh, but, believe me, I was wrong.)

Then I saw one I really did recognize. GrandCentral. But still I felt confused. This game appeared so terribly random. None of these names seemed to have any relationship with each other. It was all so obviously made up to avoid any issues of intellectual property.

Yet, when I kept looking down the list, I wasn't so sure.

Because there was FeedBurner. And DoubleClick. Those names seemed vaguely familiar, but I just couldn't place them.

And you should have seen the prices of some of these things. $3.1 billion for the DoubleClick property.

Monopolous's designers, however, promised that there was more than enough money to go around for anybody who wanted to play. Which was a relief. Apparently, the game has its own sort of bank that prints more money when you need it. It's called Wall Street. I thought that was quite funny. I mean, there's no intellectual property on Wall Street, is there?

Of course, Monopolous has a few pitfalls for players.

In one corner is a square that says "Go to Jail for Anti-Trust Violations". Which seemed a bit of a mouthful, but it didn't look too bad on screen. And then there's a mysterious square that's just a really big question mark and the word SEARCH.

I'm not such a good player of these board games, myself, so I didn't really figure out what that one might be about.

Also, at one corner was a square that said FREE PARKING. And at the other corner was one that said FREE CRECHE (for some). I don't really know how these affect the game either.

Then I saw one property called YouTube, which I thought was also funny, given that there's no way YouTube would sue for intellectual property infringement.

And I began to realize that all these 'properties' were companies owned by Google now. I was beginning to really warm to the concept. Monopolous. Clever.

But then I noticed that there was one property that was one of the purple set of properties. It was also the most expensive at $300billion. It was called Yahoo.

This, I thought, was a bit much. I mean, what were the designers trying to do here? There were surely going to be copyright problems with using the word 'Yahoo'. So I immediately put in a call to the game designers.

I'll let you know what they say when they call back.

The game design company is one that Facebook says they haven't worked with before. It's called Microhard.

Those nice people at ESPN reported this week that Mark Cuban, who I am told, was given a lot of money by Yahoo for some gizmoid or other, is one of the finalists in the bidding to buy baseball's most charming, unlucky, losersome team, the Chicago Cubs.

There will be those on the waggy side of humorous who will claim that he is the perfect person to own the Cubs as his Dallas Mavericks team is one of the most charming, unlucky, losersome teams in the NBA.

(My prejudices. One, I have Golden State Warriors hats and shirts and have still not ceased to giggle at the thought of my lowly Warriors embarrassing the favored Mavericks in the playoffs in 2007. Two, I have publicly declared my admiration for Mr. Cuban's commitment to the televised jig.)

However, if there was anyone who was chemically and congenitally capable of taking Major League Baseball out to the 21st century ballgame, it is surely Mr. Cuban.

As an NBA owner, he is reputed to treat his players and staff extremely well. Despite those who believe him to be more mercurial than Courtney Love, he has shown Colin Powell-like loyalty to coaches.

And he has raised topics, such as the NBA's, um, mercurial refereeing standards, when others didn't have the courage.

Of course, his biggest obstacle may lie in persuading 75% of the strangely crustacean-like men who are MLB owners to accept him as one of their number.

Which would be a little like a Yale secret society accepting Fitty Cent.

First, though, Mr. Cuban must persuade the Tribune Group to sell. And at the moment he is said to be the highest bidder at $1.3billion.

I'm trying to imagine Mr. Cuban's interview with the Tribunal.

Somewhere, deep in my sporting areas, I am thinking the newspaper group knows that it should sell to someone who will grab Chicago's imagination, stroke it in the palm of his hand, and then ask it what it wants for Christmas.

Which is why they should only ask Mr. Cuban one question:

What will you do about Steve Bartman?

For those of you unfamiliar with Mr. Bartman's plight of fancy, he is blamed for costing Chicago a place in the 2003 World Series. His sin was that, with the natural reactions of a human resources consultant, he attempted to save a flying ball from his seat in the stands, when it was thought that the Chicago left fielder, Moises Alou, would catch it. Fans claimed this, and not the players' mistakes, cost Chicago the game and the series. He has been a vilified figure in Chicago ever since.

Unlike the other bidders, who would probably offer the confused look of moneyfolk, I imagine that Mr. Cuban might give two possible answers to the Bartman question:

1. "I would go to Mr. Bartman's house, knock on his door and ask him to come with me. I would put him in the back of my limousine, give him some brand new Dallas Mavericks gear to wear- I'm big on marketing, you see- and make sure that he is taken to the very fine and efficient O'Hare airport of Chicago. I would ensure his plane was not delayed. And I would send him to the Canary Islands to live out the rest of his days. They say his curse has passed, my friends. But with curses, as with relief pitchers, you can never be too safe."

2. "I would make him a Senior Vice-President of the Chicago Cubs. One thing I have learned in my long life, gentlemen, is that you have to stand up to adversity, not hobble away from it on your artificial hips. Progress is inevitable and cures all ills. Soon YouTube will be little more than a pictogram in the history of art. Please remember that I was the one who said that the NBA's manager of officials wouldn't be able to manage a Dairy Queen. And then I went out and proved that I could. So by making Mr. Bartman a Senior Vice-President I would be declaring that the past is there not to frighten us, but to strengthen us and to make the glory that will be ours all the more sweet. Two things you need to remember, gentlemen. One, the Red Sox finally got Bill Buckner back to Fenway and they haven't stopped winning. And two, Steve Bartman used to be a part-time coach for a 13-year-olds' baseball team in Niles, Illinois. That team, and I wish I'd owned them then, but I will buy them now and make them a Cubs Little League farm team, was called the Renegades."

Management is all about the decisions you make, the attitude you take, and the good fortune you fake.

And one decision Mr. Cuban has made is not to be neutral.

That is why I am convinced his choice of response to this one question would tell the Tribune Tribunal everything it needs to know about his qualifications as a potential owner of the team that the American Association of Psychiatrists has always longed to sponsor, but never had the wherewithal. (Please, just imagine Wrigley being renamed Freud Field.)

I, for one, wish Mr. Cuban the very best of luck. He is one of the finest ambassadors for the tech world's humanity.

And it is unquestionably time that some relatively alive human being showed baseball that sitting on your old-world assets is not what the future should look like.

Today's GYM (that's Google, Yahoo, Microsoft) Congressional hearing, in which many lawyers told many truths in front of many excited Congressfolk, was very revealing.

Perhaps accidentally.

Although I missed the actual event, choosing to breathe slightly fresher air, I have been rapt in scrutinizing the words of the respective lawyers from the three companies.

If I might summarize for busy and self-respecting readers:

Google said: "Anti-competitive? Us? That's like saying the New York Yankees will win every year. And they don't. Which entirely proves our point, so we really don't know why we should be here at all.

But if we have to be here, then please remember that our owners are nice people who neither step on flies nor unzip them in public, whereas the New York Yankees owner once hired a private detective to spy on one of his players. So there."

Microsoft said: "Hah. You're not going to buy this baloney, are you? You're politicians. You live by baloney. You die by baloney. You can see baloney coming before the 'baaa' sound even begins to migrate to the 'loney'.

This isn't even good baloney. It's low grade. It's balowney. Come on, people. Google wants to know what every human being is doing all the time. So that they can make more money than everyone has ever made in the world. Yes, more than Bill Gates.

My dear Congresspeople, they want to have the power to tell your loved ones if you have ever searched for the Emperor's Club. Yes, this is THAT dangerous."

And Yahoo said: "Gee, who'd be us in this Godzilla meets The Blob?"

However, if you're looking for one crucial statement, the one that ESPN would slap onto SportsCenter ahead of the game highlights if there was a sports star in court accused of chemical or carnal infractions, it is this.

In reply to Microsoft's claim that Google wants to control the world, Google's legal beagle (eagles do evil, beagles are cuddly), David Drummond, said:

"Microsoft has a long history of abusing and extending its dominant positions through anticompetitive practices."

Was that such a wise thing to say?

Because here's how it might have been interpreted:

"Look, yes, you'd have to be as blind as a realtor is dishonest to think that we're not trying to dominate the world. But Microsoft tried in a not-nice way and it didn't work out for them. We, the unusually nice people, are prepared to take on that mantle.

Of course, we want to be at least as dominant as they were. Well, alright, a little bit more dominant. But we want to do it in an unusually nice way. So why don't you let us try? It's good for the country. It's good for the world. Coincidentally, it's also good for any of your mutual funds that have Google shares.

It'll be like the Dream Team winning at the Olympics. For a change. Oh, and would we really tell your loved ones if you have searched for the Emperor's Club? Gosh, no. Us? Never."

It's very, very tough being a lawyer. There's just so much deceit you have to fight.

Gerri Yang had known Stephen Ballmer for a long time.

They used to go to the same parties. They would watch the same, lesser people smoke substances on terraces facing the golden sunset.

But neither of them ever thought they would end up together.

Gerri thought she would marry someone younger, someone with the body of a builder and the mind of an astrophysicist.

The reverse had never crossed her mind.

Now, here she was, in her later years, knowing in her heart that Mr. Right had passed her by and all that was left was a selection of Mr. Ohnos. And not one of them Apollo.

All of them, in fact, were not quite as buff as they used to be, which was a little disturbing.

Gerri and Stephen knew that, at least in some ways, they made a good, sensible match.

But when they were alone together, they argued a lot.

They didn't argue about whether they loved each other, or how many kids they should have.

They had, after all, been around the block so many times that the block was now a freeway.

No, the only times they raised their voices was when the subject was money.

"But, Stephen, I am used to certain standards. If you left me, I would need to know that those standards would be maintained," said Gerri.

"I'm not going to leave you," said Stephen in an unusual whisper. "Our families are coming together to create a new dynasty, one that will rise up against the Brin-Pages and make the Ballmer-Yangs the First Family of Tech."

"You mean the Yang-Ballmers, don't you, buttercup?" said Gerri, furiously batting her eyelids.

"Whatever you say, sweetums," said Stephen.

"Well, why can't you give me $37 a second for the rest of my life? Or even $38?" griped Gerri gently. "I am a loyal and faithful partner. And you, well, you do have a bit of a history, don't you?"

"I've been young. I've been impetuous. But that is all behind me. All I have in front of me is you and our marriage," declared Stephen. "You know I am giving you everything I have. And if you don't agree to this pre-nup, I will talk to your parents."

"To my parents?" shrieked a shocked Gerri.

"In fact, I already have," blurted Stephen, his impetuousness having not quite left the building. "They agree that I am being more than fair, given your age and, you know, your, um, internal problems."

"I am as fit as a fiddle," said Gerri, her bottom lip hanging dangerously low.

"Fiddle-dee-dee is what my inner circle tells me. And your inner circle appears to be steadily deserting you," said a suddenly calm Stephen.

"They are not deserting me. They simply don't think I will need them as much any more. Because I will be spending all of my time with you," explained Gerri.

"That's not what your Uncle Carl says," said Stephen, evenly. "He says some of your family, especially your cousins and nephews, are turning against you. He says you need new mentors to help you conclude a successful marriage. And a successful marriage starts with a successful pre-nup. Uncle Carl wants what's best for you."

"HE'S NOT MY UNCLE!" shouted Gerri. "That's just what my parents told me to call him."

"Because your parents trust him. And he has told them that the Trust Fund I have prepared especially for you, my precious, is a fund that can be trusted."

"Oh, I am lost," sniffled a forlorn Gerri. "I never thought that love would be like this."

Stephen allowed a silence to fall gently, like a dusk at summer solstice.

Then he whispered: "Perhaps I could add free vet visits, all expenses paid plastic surgery, including any scientific advancements in facial, bodily or cryogenic preservation. And a new Maserati every year."

"And a Tesla and a hybrid Smart car?" said Gerri with renewed excitement.

"A Smart car? Of course, my ever-clever petal. Of course," said Stephen.

Gerri took Stephen's hand in hers.

They both smiled.

"Now, then," said Gerri. "How many guests? I was thinking something small and intimate. Say, 30,000 people?"

So now even the New York Times is telling Yahoo's Jerry Yang that he has done wrong.

He has, apparently, shafted his shareholders, shown them nothing other than contempt.

But it was one line in the article that diverted me from my coffee and thoughts of Tiger Woods' irrational passion: "Your feelings aren't supposed to divert you from your fiduciary duty."

I don't know about you, but I'm quite big on feelings. They seem, somehow, to make humans a little more, well, human. And a little less like several of the more suspect participants at the Singularity Summit, where one speaker offered that "immoral behavior is really just irrational behavior".

It isn't just Mr. Nocera, but the majority of commenters on the myriad tech sites that my handlers are now encouraging me to read, who declare that Mr. Yang's behavior has been nothing short of scandalous.

Because it is irrational.

Shareholders like to think they are owners. A rational concept.

In fact, they are gamblers. The invitation to buy a share is an invitation to gamble on every single decision taken by a company's board. And every single mental skip taken by that company's customers, competitors, world economic conditions and, hey, what do you know, critics.

Some of those shareholders enjoy exalted positions at their own companies.

Where they make rational decisions such as hiring those who they know will be no threat to their hegemony, even if they know these people will not advance the company's prospects.

Such as hiring their friends, even though they know them to be professionally deficient.

Such as reducing their headcount in order to make this quarter's figures look good, even if they know customer service will slide over the following twelve months as a result.

Perhaps they will have moved on to their next jobs by then, leaving someone else to clean up the mess.

Everyone can (and does) theorize about Jerry Yang's motivations. About his feelings, indeed. And I'm sure he has plenty.

But if feelings have no place in fiduciary duty, then every corporate decision should only be judged according to its score on the Rationality Meter.

And any number of apparently rational decisions have proved to be utterly misguided. The Ford Edsel, the Fashion Cafe and BenGay aspirin all seemed very rational at the time.

Rigorous rationality policing would mean no one would ever write books about how decisions based on feelings, sometimes said to be generated in the intestinal area, created great and lasting organizations. Yes, even public entities.

The truth is that gamblers are very accepting of others' feelings, if the results of those feelings are that the gamblers make more money.

The other important ingredient in the 'make more money' segment is the question "When?"

Perhaps the results of Mr. Yang's feelings will be that shareholders will have less value for the next six months, the next nine.

Perhaps, if shareholders hold on to their shares, an unexpected outcome will suddenly make them very rich. And, no doubt, very silent.

Rationality really doesn't have such a great sway on human development.

If you haven't already, I recommend a day spent with "The Black Swan" by Nassim Nicholas Taleb, a man who knows a thing or two about investing (and also has the ugliest home page on the web.)

At the very least, he suggests that the randomness of humanity has a far greater effect on our financial system than many would care to admit. (He is particularly loving towards economists.)

Shareholders knew something of Mr. Yang's feelings when they invested in Yahoo in the first place. Many of these shareholders are large, monied institutions.

They were surely very well-versed by the time Mr. Yang came back to lead the company again.

They were certainly entitled to remove their money at any time and put it into more rational places.

They didn't. And now they complain because Mr. Yang takes decisions that are reflective of his own personality, his own dastardly human feelings. Didn't he always?

And didn't some of these same people feel that Rupert Murdoch was mad to pay all those millions for MySpace? Wasn't he being irrational with his shareholders' money?

Now, they all admire his gut feeling.

How rational.

The Chief Yahooey, Jerry Yang, has had enough.

Enough of journalists, bloggers, analysts, and all those who claim to know more about running his business than he does.

The simple fact is that he should have slipped down to Shutters on the Beach last weekend and met with two of the world's most important people, people who themselves have endured criticism from Lesser Beings.

Actor Tom Cruise and President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela.

Is there any question that these two could help Mr. Yang solve the Yahoo crisis? Here's how it might have gone.

"I am glad you called me," begins Mr. Cruise. "As I've said before, when you see a car crash, only a Scientologist can help."

"I'm don't know what Ballmer believes," replies Yang, "so that explains a lot.... Hold on, Yahoo is NOT a wreck. We're very profitable."

"Have you ever had an audit?" asks Cruise.

"Of course. Our numbers are great," protests Yang.

"I mean an audit from the great firm of L, Ron and Hubbard," says Cruise.

"Who?"

"In the Church of Scientology, we give you an audit that looks at your purity, your morals, your ethics. You know, the big stuff," explains Cruise.

"Everyone knows I am completely ethical," insists Yang.

"That severance plan, though," says Cruise. "I mean, come on, Jerry. That wasn't exactly helping your would-be Thetans, er, I mean, shareholders."

Before Yang can answer, President Chavez, who has been smiling beatifically in his direction, leans forward, gesticulating wildly: "Man, I LOVED that severance thing you did. Now that was socialism at its finest. Just when the Great Satan wants to take you over, you give your people an extra incentive to leave. I tried that with my enemies in Venezuela. But you're doing it with your friends. Incredible."

"Oh, thank you," says a touched Yang.

"Now you need to rise above all those capitalists," continues Chavez.

"How do you mean?" asks Yang, chewing on his second strawberry shortcake.

"Well, I have a brother who's education minister, a cousin who is in charge at our oil company and my Dad is a state governor. You must have SOME family you can put in charge of everything.."

"There's my wife," says Yang.

"Ah, I've had two of them. I prefer blood relations. Just remove your Board of Directors and keep it all in the family. You know, cousins, uncles, that sort of thing."

At this point, Mr. Cruise chimes in again: "I love that family part. Can you go on Oprah, jump up and down on her sofa and tell the world how much you love your wife?"

"Won't people think I'm crazy?" wonders Yang.

"There's no such thing as crazy, Jerry. Just don't take any anti-depressants."

"Well, I've been a little stressed lately," admits Mr. Yang.

"Jerry, you are an immortal, spiritual being," says Mr. Cruise, firmly.

"Unless the Great Satan tries to eliminate you," gruffs Chavez, looking a little tired of Cruise's science fiction.

"You can survive elimination, Jerry. Go to scientology.org. Life is eight dynamics. You just get all eight to work in harmony and you will survive anything."

"How do I do that?" asked Yang, temporarily mesmerized.

"By selling Yahoo to the Church of Scientology, Jerry," says Cruise. "We can help your searchers find. We can help your groups discover everlasting union. And we can show you how to make a lot more money. I mean, do you know how much Travolta gives the Church every time he makes a movie?"

"Callate, hijo!" exclaims a suddenly heated Chavez. "I came here to make an offer myself. I want to buy Yahoo on behalf of my country. I would make it compulsory for everyone in Venezuela to become a Yahoo member. That's 26 million new customers. And each would have a share in the company. Naturally, my family would have all the voting shares."

"But that's corrupt."

"No, business is corrupt, my friend. I am talking the Ideal Paternalistic Socialism. Like your original Yahoo. Think about it. No more Wall Street. No more bigmouth shareholders. No more uncertainty. And we can find out what Jenna Bush is writing to her friends," concludes Chavez, a sweet smile imposing a military coup on his lips.

As Jerry looks on, wondering how it is that these are his two remaining white knights, Mr. Cruise gets up on the hotel sofa and screams: "YES, ICAHN!!!! NO, HE CAHN'T!!!"

The Venezuelan President joins in the chant. But at this very moment, Jerry Yang decides to go with Tom Cruise. The man was in Mission Impossible, after all.