Champions. Huh. (2)

In my very first post on this blog, I commented (disparagingly, of course) on the silliness of calling a fourth-place team "Champions" while the clear class of a league is lumped in with the losers. That seems to be the theme of the year in football (meaning, of course, real football, not that N.F.L. variety where you run for a few seconds and then discuss things).

I refer, of course, to last night's MLS Cup Final match between the Los Angeles Galaxy (a team that finished tied for first in the West, with 48 points -- 12 wins, 12 draws, 6 losses) and Real Salt Lake (which finished fifth out of eight, with 40 points -- 11 wins, 7 draws, and 12 losses). Because RSL managed to score a single goal during the match, and did a trifle better in the inevitable penalty shootout, they get to pretend they are actual champions of something; while the Galaxy, which did pretty well all season long, and better than all but one of the teams it's grouped with, are also-rans, no better than the other teams in the minds of those who care about football.

The MLS result isn't quite as egregious as the WPS playoff system; at least MLS is divided -- needlessly, in my opinion -- into two conferences, and teams from one conference don't play teams in the other conference as often as they do teams in their own conference; so the team that wins the conference may or may not be the best team in the league that year. Having two conferences necessitates a single playoff match, between the two winners, to determine a champion. Greed necessitates a prolonged playoff season, making the regular season almost meaningless. A team can struggle all season long, as RSL did, squeak into the playoffs by the skin of their soccer balls, and get themselves together mentally just in time to beat a few teams that were marginally better through the regular season. And if they are the last team standing after this unnecessary exercise, then they get to be referred to as 2009 Champions for all time.

Apologists for this income-oriented determination of rankings will point out that surviving the regular season in sufficient shape to qualify for the playoffs, however low their status at that point, is a triumph sufficient unto itself. Well, that's fine. Let them comfort themselves with the thought that they survived and, eventually, triumphed, while other teams, who actually won more games than they lost, fell by the way. Let them put a little embroidered star or trophy on their uniforms next season, and let them charge a heftier fee for sponsorships. Let them put their trophy in their brand-new glass case out in whatever Salt Lake suburb they call home. Let them call themselves Champions.

Those of us who know, know better.

Just One More Bit of Evidence of the Decline of Our Civilization

I like to take long road trips in a convertible. My little mid-life-crisis car now has over 100,000 miles on it (it had about 30,000 when I got it, maybe four years ago), and although I suspect that, with a little care, it will go another hundred thousand, I've started thinking about what to get as a replacement. Since I've no intention of buying a new car, I figure that any car that's brand-new now will be about the right vintage when I do go to buy; so new convertibles are what I've been looking at.

And I've noticed that almost all convertibles fall into two categories: (1) those that are too small, or ugly, or commonplace, or unreliable -- in short, those that are too wrong for me; and (2) those that have convertible tops that recede into the trunk for that smooth flush line look.

My car's top, when it's down, rests in a well behind the useless back seat. It sticks up above the line of the body, and I have a leather cover that snaps into place to protect it from the elements. A minor inconvenience, having to get out of the car to cover or uncover the top, but it forms a traditional convertible hump and looks, I think, pretty damn sharp. (The picture above is of a friend of mine in a similar car; mine's the one next to, but this is the best picture I have to illustrate how the top looks when down.)

Similar new models, though, have tops that fold completely into the body. The result is a straight, smooth line from front to back. The body of the car is pudgier than mine, and looks heavier, like it will soon need fat pants. It's purely a stylistic choice by the designers, done because the convertibles made by Jaguar's competitors have all gone to that look.

I've looked at those competitors' convertibles, thinking maybe one of them would be my next road car. In all of them, what remains of the trunk is useless. It's so small, a single medium suitcase may not fit.

This is fatal, as far as I'm concerned. I don't travel particularly heavy, but I do take a small suitcase, my computer, my speed bag and tripod, audiobooks, maps and guidebooks, plus a cooler in the back seat. If anyone travels with me, more stuff goes along as well. Almost none of that stuff would fit in the residual trunk of a new Jaguar, BMW, or Mercedes convertible. And no matter how sharp the thing looks zipping down the road, it does me no good if I have to leave everything at home or pull a trailer.

So: the upshot of this is that market forces, as read by automotive designers, value appearance over practicality to excess. We are one small step closer to barbarian invasions and the Apocalypse. I can only hope that, by then, the new Camaro will be available in a convertible.