We’ve had presidents like Trump – twice

 

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Events shape U.S. presidencies. Presidential character defines them. History portrays America at its strongest under presidents who took great political and personal risk by putting the nation’s interests ahead of their own and at its weakest under presidents who allowed animus and prejudice into their decision-making.

Abraham Lincoln recognized the moral and civil imperatives in ending slavery despite his own longstanding consent for it. Gerald Ford restored public trust in the presidency, but cost himself re-election, by denying the country his predecessor’s impeachment. Ronald Reagan’s easygoing comportment reassured an anxious, fearful public following an assassination attempt just weeks after his inauguration.

At the opposite end, presidents such as James Buchanan and Franklin Pierce are ridiculed for prolonging slavery, and Woodrow Wilson for defeating his own goal of world peace by yielding to cynicism, arrogance, and vindictiveness.

Character – the sum of individual honesty, courage, and integrity; the aggregate of traits that shape a persona and reputation – frames our responses to other people and contours our world view. It seeds our thinking, cultivates our emotions, and informs our beliefs. It is innate but can change if we are open to that change.

One hopes the man leading in the race to become America’s 45th president possesses that openness in some measure equal to the petulance he has displayed since starting his campaign to occupy the White House. History shows that petulance weakens and undermines presidencies, and none of the 44 people who served before Donald Trump have matched his propensity for, and willingness to display, infantile, foolish behavior.

We have come close to seeing it in two presidents: Andrew Jackson, and Richard Nixon, and their character crises left lasting scars on the country.

Jackson catapulted into public view by defeating the British in the War of 1812 at the Battle of New Orleans then hiring biographers to exaggerate his life story. But his reputation for outrageousness preceded the war: part of his wealth came from selling land promised to Native Americans for resettlement; another part from volume sales of slaves. In politics, Jackson preferred threats and violence to compromise and hired people to victimize and even beat his opponents. He relished identifying with rabble instead of the refined society that produced the six presidents before him.

As president, Jackson juggled cabinet secretaries on a whim, preferred patronage hires that wound up planting corruption deep into his administration, and purged federal office holders by devising false charges against them. His poor upbringing, rough demeanor, and populist views endeared him to the lower classes like no previous president, but his distrust of business and banks dragged the country toward an economic panic in 1837 that was America’s worst until the Great Depression.

Nixon also rose from meager beginnings, yet unlike Jackson lacked the will to tamp down any stigma attached to them. His father’s mantra of victimization, spurred by an early exit from schooling and an argumentative disposition, trickled down to the son, who thereafter in law school and politics envisioned more enemies than opportunities. Nixon reserved special scorn for Jews, blacks, immigrants, Ivy Leaguers, and the media, but his wider animus encompassed anyone on the opposite side of his perspective.

“One day we will get them – we’ll get them on the ground where we want them. And we’ll stick our heels in, step on them hard and twist … crush them, show them no mercy,” he told one of his White House advisors.

This put Nixon on a collision course with the national interest. He strived to shield the presidency from the public not for policy reasons but to cloud judgment on the extra-legal and illegal activities unfolding within – activities spilled first by Watergate and later the Oval Office recording system Nixon installed initially to help with his memoirs. The recordings underscored Watergate and subsequent efforts to hush or pay off conspirators and sped Nixon toward resignation in August 1974.

In 1977, during a televised interview, journalist David Frost asked Nixon whether he had obstructed justice while in office. He answered that “when the president does it that means that it is not illegal,” somehow forgetting that when presidents begin their service they swear an oath not to individual fealty but to protect the U.S. Constitution, America’s supreme body of law.

We walk daily amid the debris Jackson’s and Nixon’s character flaws left behind. Jackson legitimized the confrontational presidency. He bent the constitutionally higher power of Congress to his will at the expense of the public’s trust and the presidency’s integrity. Nixon pulled the nation into an unprecedented constitutional dilemma and emerged defiant, unrepentant, and confident that the title “president” equated with “Caesar.”

What will be the wreckage from Trump? Historians and ethicists point to his constant self-promotion and outsized egotism as symptomatic of deeper psychological trouble. They grapple with how Trump’s biases and Twitter tirades will translate into effective policy considering he has to work with Congress and the American people, not in competition with them, to produce measurable results. They see a man who blusters like Jackson, rages like Nixon, and who has instilled anxiety even among supporters over the country’s course these next four years.

History informs our experiences. Character informs our judgment. We can still see the long, injurious shadows cast by our seventh and 37th presidents. Trump’s behavior alludes to the worst qualities of both.

Mizzou researchers figure out how to rescue the newspaper industry

Murali-Mantrala

Professor Murali Mantrala showed how one newspaper could raise profits through data analysis. (Photo courtesy of the University of Missouri News Bureau)

If you’re wondering whether the newspaper industry can avoid colliding with irrelevance, there may be a way to change course, according to two University of Missouri researchers.

Murali Mantrala, the Sam M. Walton Distinguished Professor of Marketing and chair of the Department of Marketing at MU, and Vamsi Kanuri, a former doctoral student at MU’s Trulaske College of Business, surveyed more than 1,000 readers of a West Coast daily paper to determine not what news they read, but how they got the paper in the first place. The researchers presented the survey participants with a range of purchase options much wider than what the newspaper already offered.

These options ranged from print-only subscriptions to combinations of print, online and mobile subscriptions. The options also varied in price based on the mix of channels, the frequency of distribution, and whether or not they were advertisement-free.

Mantrala and Kanuri combined that information with data on advertiser spending across the variety of channels to create an algorithm that determines what precise menu of subscription options a newspaper should offer to maximize total revenues from subscriptions and advertising.

Given the customizable options for readers and advertisers, the potential benefit of a subscription menu to the West Coast newspaper equaled a 17 percent increase in the publication’s profits.

“Newspapers are in a quandary; they need to find ways to increase revenues without raising prices or creating barriers that will cause them to lose readers,” Kanuri said in an MU news release. “In developing this algorithm, it was important to determine readers’ preferences for how they wanted to receive their news, as well as to determine readers’ willingness to pay for different types of subscription plans. Once we gathered that data, we were able to streamline a process for making decisions about which subscription and advertising plans to offer in order to maximize profits without losing readers.”

And readers will buy news as long as they know the content they receive is unique, convenient, and relevant to their needs. For proof, look at the way members of the Millennial Generation – ages 18 to 34 – consume content. As a group, almost 90 percent of them purchase music, movies, television, and video games. Other research has determined that people willing to pay for entertainment are also willing to pay for news.

Mantrala and Kanuri said their model works for any newspaper or subscription service, including Hulu, Pandora, or Spotify. Publishers and broadcasters must first conduct audience and advertiser surveys, then organize the collected data by audience segment to determine the optimal subscription menu algorithm.

“Any subscription-based service can use this model if they do the requisite research to determine subscriber interest and willingness to pay for various tiers of service,” Mantrala said. “Using this model, as opposed to years of costly trial and error, can help newspapers and other online businesses greatly improve their profits.”

The study by Mantrala and Kanuri is titled, “Optimizing a Menu of Multi-format Subscription Plans for Ad-Supported Media Platforms,” and is scheduled for publication in the Journal of Marketing.

Kanuri is now an assistant professor at the University of Miami. Esther Thorson, a former professor at the MU School of Journalism now at Michigan State University, also coauthored the study.

4 indicators worth watching in quarterly earnings reports

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Four times a year, a downpour of quarterly earnings reports drops from the executive boards and financial offices of public companies around the country.

So, grab an umbrella, because the latest storm has started.

Earnings reports announce the revenue, income, and profit or losses of publicly held companies. The companies are obligated to issue them quarterly to current and potential investors and as a 10-Q filing with the Securities and Exchange Commission, the federal agency responsible for enforcing federal securities laws. Second-quarter summaries for the three-month period ending June 30 are going out from tens of thousands of companies right now.

Most of those will contain good news as the Dow, Nasdaq, and S&P have reported consistent gains over the past month, fears of a big Brexit backlash are subsiding, and prospects for the next business quarter are guardedly optimistic – November’s general election outcome notwithstanding.

But finding the important information in a quarterly report amid line after line of corporate vernacular can be dizzying. Having tackled these reports from two sides – first as a newspaper journalist, then at the corporate level – I can tell you that some of the mystery can be difficult for even experienced eyes to unravel. In some instances, only the reports’ authors have the clearest sense of what’s written. That’s because these people must put polish on what could be a dull or dreary three months, while still meeting an obligation to set the record straight.

You can strain your patience and eyesight pouring through these documents. So, skip past the disorienting argot to focus on these key performance indicators:

Cash flow – As in “free cash flow,” or the cash generated from operations minus capital expenditures and dividend payments. This is distinct from EBITDA – earnings before interest, taxes, depreciation, and amortization – which often appears in the bottom third of the report. From a company’s standpoint, EBITDA is fascinating reading, but the real news lies in the cash flow. If it’s positive, that’s a good sign the company can cover its debts and operating expenses.

Earnings per share, net income, and revenue – Combined, these reflect the overall financial health of a company. The EPS reflects how much of a company’s profit is allocated to each outstanding share of stock, net income reflects total earnings, and revenue refers to total earnings from normal business activities. Of course, positive numbers are preferred, but it’s telling whether these numbers fluctuate widely between quarters. The gap between these numbers attests to variations in the …

Margins – These show how much out of every dollar a company keeps. In formula form, two of the most important ones look like this:

  • Gross profit margin = (Sales – Cost of goods sold) / Sales
  • Operating profit margin = Earnings before interest and taxes (EBIT) / Sales

Size matters for both. If the gross margin is high, a company has extra cash to spend on product development and building the business. Rapid decreases from one quarter to the next, caused by such things as higher labor or material costs, may indicate trouble, which the company can mitigate by raising its prices. As for operating profits, a decrease here suggests the company is struggling to control costs.

Earnings per share vs. expectations – Earnings reports reveal not just how a company performed the previous business quarter. Corporate leadership also devotes space to prospects for the next quarter and punctuates them with a quote or comment usually from the chief executive officer or top financial officer. These prospects shape market and media expectations. If the expectations fall short, the company needs to explain why. A deal closing late or a missed order delivery rarely warrant concern. But revenues that buckle under the weight of changing trends, technology, lawsuits, market turmoil, or new technology can prompt investors to scamper away.

What’s wrong with CNN? Ask these women

cnn-logoThe two women sat at the end of a long hallway complaining about sitting at the end of a long hallway.

“I can’t hear them when they call us,” the one in a cable-knit sweater said to the other. “I don’t know why the waiting room has to be so long, anyway.”

“And, good lord, do they ever keep the AC turned up way too high!” said the woman with a slate-colored shawl draped over her bare shoulders. “You want to sit there in the draft under the vents, fine by me. I’m staying here.”

“No,” the first woman muttered. “This is better, I agree.”

To their left stretched rows of sling chairs, arm to arm like soldiers awaiting inspection. Down the white, sun-drenched hall, five other people waited with their faces tilted toward their smartphones. Six or seven chairs between each silent visitor assured privacy. The guests stirred only when a nurse in periwinkle medical scrubs and carrying a clipboard emerged from the far end of the hall to announce a name three times. Two people looked up. She left before anyone responded.

The second woman kept adjusting her shawl. While doing this, she discovered a second complaint.

“But whoever heard of a waiting room without a TV?” she said toward a point on the wall where she presumed one should be. “This one could have two or three.”

“Mmm,” her friend replied. “CNN or something.”

“Uh, gawd, no.” The woman in the shawl crimped her nose as if she had tasted sour milk. “I’ve tried, but I can’t watch CNN anymore.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Oh, you know, I’ll watch for like five, ten minutes, but it’s just so darn depressing.”

“… Mmm, yes, I know what you mean.”

The sweater woman picked at her sweater. The shawl woman removed and replaced her shawl.

“Price Is Right!” the sweater woman announced.

“Or Today. Or Kelly. Or whatever, yes. Just something not so, oh you know, not so depressing …”

“… But with Bob Barker instead, you know, ‘cause he was much better, much better. ‘Price’ was better then, I think.”

“Yes, it was. Or Ellen. I really like Ellen.”

“Yes, yes …”

“… But if CNN’s on somewhere, you know, I’ll watch that. I’ll watch the crawl, anyway. For a little while …”

“… If it’s on, it’s on.”

“Yes.”

The clipboard woman re-emerged and announced another name, half of which disappeared beneath a whoosh of air as the cooling system restarted. She left without looking up from the board.

“Did you hear that?” the sweater woman asked.

“Nope. Wasn’t us. They’ll come down here and get us if they really want us.”

More picking at the sweater. More sliding and adjusting of the shawl.

“Now, if I’m at the airport, I’ll watch the CNN they have on the TVs there.”

“Yes, me too. But that’s all they have on there.”

“That or The Weather Channel …”

“… Uh huh …”

“… But it’s all travel stories on CNN, places you should go or see. I saw one on France and the places you should go for good wine. Now, that was a good story.”

“Yes. I like those.”

“The rest is all so depressing. Bad news after bad news.”

“It’s all bad news.”

“I’m telling you.”

A second nurse in identical scrubs came around a corner by the women. She whispered to them, they acknowledged the same way in the affirmative, then they resumed staring at the spot where they believed a TV should be on the wall.

“But, you know, news is news. It’s all bad anyway. They wouldn’t say anything if it wasn’t.”

“News is news. Maybe. I’m not sure if it’s all news …”

“… Mmm …”

“… I mean, how can all those things be going on at the same time, all those awful things? I just get sick and tired of it.”

“Well, it’s CNN. They’ve been around forever. It’s what they do, they find the news. You remember the way CNN was? Everybody watched it. You just kind of had it on at home.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Remember John Lennon? That’s where I heard about John Lennon. And Princess Di?”

“Yeah, Princess Di. I do remember that. So sad, so sad. But now you hear stuff like that everywhere all the time – Marnie telling me things she sees on Facebook before you ever see them on TV, on CNN …”

“… Yes, yes. Everywhere. Everywhere …”

“… And I can’t keep up, you know. It’s just too much.”

“Uh huh. Un huh.”

“But, you know, if it’s on I’ll watch. If there’s, like, nothing else.”

“Yes, mmm. Yes. Me, too.”

The second nurse returned to bend and whisper to the women who rose and reached to collect their handbags. The shawl slipped off the second woman’s shoulders and into the open mouth of her bag, then the women followed the nurse around the corner.

As the sweater woman went out of view, I heard her ask:

“Excuse me, but is there a reason you don’t have a TV in this place?”

Tossing away another family’s memories

Trash CanLeaving Las Vegas for the final time, I tossed two large boxes of family memories into a motel’s trash bin.

The double-ply cardboard boxes had “U-Haul” stamped on the side and several thick, black words in my late mother’s handwriting. A single red line ran through each after the boxes’ previous purposes were served. Except for the last one: “T’s and P’s Things.”

They were boxes intended for protecting books or dishes, not memories. But for the four days they were mine, I guessed that is what they contained judging by a third item leaning against the boxes when I discovered them.

It was an oil painting of my step-grandfather.

In it, his necktie and eyeglasses recalled an era on the fringe of my memory. The eyes were piercing, more so than in life, and focused on a spot above and behind the viewer’s right shoulder. His own shoulders were forward as if he were leaning in to hear a whisper.

Appropriate, considering his profession. When people came to him, they carried crushing weight in their minds or in their hearts. His medical background informed how to remove the burden and stitch close the holes that had allowed them in. His practice served leaders and followers, criminals and saints, vibrant personalities one wished to either know or avoid. Whole hospitals sought his counsel. Learned men outside medicine valued his insight.

He was imbued with intractable urgency. He finished high school at 15, college at 18, and medical school at 20. By age 22, a medical center had formed around my grandfather’s practice, and he was venerated by colleagues and contemporaries three times older.

But when he reached their age, his prodigious gift trailed a loose ribbon that wrapped around a liquor bottle. As it dragged, it tripped one family – T’s and P’s – and nearly another, all the while his reputation remained sterling. The impatient visionary and civic wunderkind conceded the high ground at home. His heirs, however, remained amicable until another ribbon, my step-grandfather’s wealth, frayed as they tugged on it.

I was enjoined from much of the drama until the responsibility for those boxes and the portrait passed from my late mother to me. They were the last, lonely inventory of a rented storage space I discovered through a store of keys in her bank safe. The boxes were hard against a dusty corner of the space as far from concern as possible.

My calls and emails to T and P elicited no responses. A review of my late mother’s emails as I closed her accounts showed first, second, and third attempts before mine did no better. The disagreements over money had closed the connection. At that moment, T and P, whom I once called uncle and aunt out of familial courtesy, were as alive to me as my mother.

“We don’t have trash cans or dumpsters here,” the storage center manager said. “You want the deposit back on the room, we require it empty.”

The road into McCarran International Airport’s departures terminal furnishes visitors with last-chance stops for cheap memories: dollar gift shops, grab-and-go grocers, postal and package-shipping services, filling stations for topping off rental car gas tanks, and a brace of rental car drop-off lots for tourists too tardy to reach the main return center. Sprinkled between these enterprises are low-budget inns and motels that do their best business by the hour. I grew up in this town watching streets like this one rise and fall. It was suitable that I was leaving Las Vegas for the last time on one of them – a boulevard of dented and deferred dreams.

I had reached the next-to-last rental car drop-off lot before finding a trash bin close to the curb.

As I turned off and parked, the boxes’ contents clanked and clicked. As I removed the boxes from the trunk and pitched them toward the bin, those contents popped and cracked. A flash of regret followed them in. But I had done a favor for T and P: delivered their things to where they must have thought they belonged.

The portrait landed atop the boxes with a splintering crack. My step-grandfather’s empty eyes were gazing toward the airport.

The three R’s of Twitter literacy

 

twitter-iconLook around. It’s easy to see. From home to school, from work to play, we’re witnessing a disturbing change in America, 140 characters at a time.

That change, heralded by microblogs and trumpeted by our president, demands immediate satisfaction with digital communications, such that we’re compelled to tell networks of virtual “friends” what we’re doing minute by minute and expect the same in return.

Evidence of this abounds as people meander down busy sidewalks with heads bent and eyes focused on their smartphones. Even in groups, we prefer meeting each other through our digital devices instead of face to face.

Twitter alone has attracted an audience of well over 300 million people tapping out an estimated 6,000 tweets per second. Americans are tops at tweeting, constituting 30 percent of all Twitter users.

We could write off this behavior as endemic to a social species requiring engagement to survive and thrive. Instead, such time-consuming, attention-diverting devotion to information that is at once pertinent and pedantic softens society, inserts more space between ourselves and the world, and achieves the opposite of what we had hoped to accomplish through our amazing digital devices.

What would it take to disrupt this spreading inattentiveness before we’re reduced to letting technology do all the talking for us? Analysts say a refined Twitter temperament that fosters mature social networking is essential to sounding literate online, and the core curricula of that literacy can be boiled down to three R’s:

Restraint — We perceive our portals to the internet to be one-way mirrors when in fact there are hundreds of thousands of eyes peering back at us. Couple that with social media enticing users to give up details about themselves in the name of “brand awareness,” and little about us will remain private. This is why so many Twitter users tweet every thought they have every minute they have them. They wax lengthy on food and fashion choices, spill secrets and tell lies, and they do these things either unaware of or indifferent to their network’s varied interests.

The result: Instead of growing their networks, they lose followers, and their networks shrink.

The best tweeters are not so random or careless. Sree Sreenivasan, New York’s chief digital officer, says he will wait a full six minutes between tweets to ponder what he’s saying, how he’s saying it, and the possible reception from his followers. The alternative is a message that misses the mark and bruises his brand.

“I delete much more than I tweet,” he told the Society of Professional Journalists.

Research — Poet and civil rights activist Maya Angelou once said, “When you know better, you do better.”

If only the Twitterverse were as insightful.

Instead, Twitter’s mix of immediacy and intimacy often blunts good sense. The tweets can circulate widely outside through hashtags and retweets, which entices users to announce rather than report on the notion that an authoritative-sounding tweet can grow their networks.

Proven knowledge — the kind based on unimpeachable evidence — gives each tweet more chirp because it demonstrates the sender’s diligence in pursuit of authenticity. Like quotes and facts in a newspaper article, embedded links pointing to legitimate, apolitical sources shore up the authority of tweets and improve the credibility of whoever sends them.

“It’s not just about knowing how,” says noted social critic and modern media analyst Howard Rheingold. “It’s about knowing how and knowing who knows who knows what. … Know-how is where the difference lies.”

Reciprocity — Social media’s best quality appears in its name. We’re drawn to tools such as Twitter because they’re both personal and public; some part of us and our followers threads its way through every exchange, intended or not. Moreover, Twitter’s easy accessibility encourages users to reach beyond their circles of close friends to network with anyone harboring vast reserves of knowledge and experience.

But to get real value from Twitter, that value must be exchanged.

“I think successful use of Twitter means knowing how to tune the network of people you follow, and how to feed the network of people you follow,” Rheingold says. “… If you don’t put out, you don’t get back.”

Of course, one of the greatest benefits of being part of a social network is staying up to date on current events and updates and providing social followers with information that is relevant and popular. Better still is sharing unique information – original, authentic content no one else has generated. Twitter users who do that are certain to attract a flock of loyal followers.

(Editor’s note: A version of this post first appeared on the Gateway Media Literacy Partners website.)

Angry St. Louis Rams fans should become Packers fans

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I never became a Rams fan despite the opportunities presented to me.

When I was in grade school, the Rams were the closest NFL team to my hometown. On the first weekday of each pro football season, most boys came to class wearing blue and white – the team’s colors back then – to signal their fandom, or to blend with the “in” crowd.

Years later in St. Louis, I bought a home within walking distance of the Rams’ stadium and was at Ground Zero for the huge showing of civic pride as the team won its only Super Bowl.

Around the same time, I became a sports editor at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and had a hand in gathering the information that thrilled the Rams’ fan base. I worked closely with the reporters and columnists who sifted team minutiae for tidbits about Rams players and plays. I learned how to spell Oshiomogho Atogwe before Rams fans did.

A few years after that, I joined a company that had a professional and public partnership with the Rams. On occasion, I worked beside Rams staff, players, and cheerleaders at community-outreach events.

All those chances to emboss the curly horn on my psyche – and still, nothing. The Rams remained as distant to me as New England, or for that matter, Newfoundland.

Why?

Well, for one thing, the qualities of pro sports that most fascinate me, going back to my youth, are best described by dollar amounts, not player numbers. I prefer watching what goes on behind the scenes – the business deals, the machinations, the politics. Perhaps because I am not a player-sized person and lack player-sized athletic talent, my attention gravitated toward the average-sized guys working off-field to make a winner, or struggling to maintain one.

For another thing, I never believe that any team on any field, court, or rink plays for “me.” Pro sports in America started without spectators; the crowds came later because the games were entertaining distractions from the workaday routine much like movies and circuses were. Soon enough, the players and team organizers realized they could charge for attendance, and a revenue stream was born to justify continuing the games for reasons other than sport.

Today, pro sports – football, in particular – rely on TV revenue to build wealth. The same basic principle of recreational diversion applies, only now an NFL team can profit without a single fan showing up in person at the stadium (although, if that were to happen, the team would lose out on huge income from sales of concessions).

Team owners understand and relish this stark reality, and that is why every pro football city outside of Green Bay, Wis., is at risk of suffering the same way as St. Louis. If an owner can be persuaded to think that better TV revenue exists in another city, that same owner can be persuaded just as easily to relocate his team to that city.

Green Bay will never suffer that indignity. The smallest city in the NFL, at just over 104,000 residents, also has the sweetest ownership agreement. Its Packers franchise is publicly owned by more than 300,000 stockholders, none of whom are allowed to possess more than 4 percent of outstanding shares. The Packers are also a registered nonprofit corporation – the only one in U.S. professional sports.

This happened because back in the 1920s, before the NFL as we know it was born, the team’s owners elected to hold a stock sale as a means of escape from beneath crushing debt. Since then, the Packers have had four other stock sales, the most recent in 2011-2012 to upgrade its home stadium, Lambeau Field.

No other NFL team can attempt that business model now. The league outlawed it three decades ago but grandfathered in the Packers’ arrangement.

I should disclose here that I am among those 300,000-plus Packers shareholders. Given my pro-sports proclivities, the notion of owning a couple shares of stock appealed to me more than owning a Brett Favre jersey.

This means I am in league, figuratively and literally, with Rams owner Stan Kroenke, except nobody will ever ask me for input on how to pay for three levels of depth at inside linebacker, let alone try to sell me on moving the Packers to a new stadium in suburban Los Angeles.

Another key difference between us is that I feel the pain St. Louisans suffer now from their wounded pride. I see that pain in many of the faces I pass in downtown St. Louis, and I read it in social media comments. This city embraces its pro sports profile much the way Green Bay does; its love for baseball’s Cardinals and hockey’s Blues verges on passion, and that is why St. Louis routinely ranks high on lists of best sports cities in America.

A thoughtful, committed NFL team owner would have paid to produce a franchise worthy of comparable passion. But as St. Louis learns for the second time, pro sports run on money, not love. Kroenke took his team to where he thought the TV money was better and the love was negotiable. If Kroenke truly thinks that is central to producing a successful team, however, Los Angeles will suffer a worse indignity than St. Louis by losing the same pro franchise twice.

Despondent Rams supporters should switch their allegiance to the Packers. The fans own the team, not the other way around. And because of that, the Packers aren’t packing to leave Green Bay anytime soon.