Meeting the Million Question Challenge

On Tuesday, I returned home from yet another AP Statistics Reading.  Hard to believe that I've been doing this for nine years and at four different venues.  After previous stops in Lincoln, NE, Louisville, and Daytona Beach, the AP Stats caravan moved to Kansas City last year, but I was unable to attend.  This year was a different story.

I've never written much about my AP experiences on this blog, or anywhere else for that matter, so I've decided to write a little bit regarding what this operation is all about.  The AP Stats exam was first offered in 1997, and 57 good folk and true (true Stats junkies, that is) from high schools, prep schools, and colleges across the land graded about 8000 test booklets that first year.  To give you an idea of how the enterprise has grown, there were many more first-time AP Readers ("Acorns," as we call them, based on the College Board logo) in K.C. this June than there were readers at that first go-round.  For the first time, we were faced with the Million Question Challenge: with 640 Readers and about 170,000 students taking the exam this past May, our task was quite literally to grade over 1,000,000 questions.  No, I didn't have to grade each and every one of the six free-response questions.  A Reader typically is assigned two questions, cycling back to finish grading the first once the second is done.  The Reading day runs from 8 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. with two breaks for... well, a break, and one hour for lunch.

Gone are the days when Readings could be held on college campuses such as the University of Nebraska (actually, we stayed in NU dorms and graded on the neighboring former site of the Nebraska State Fair).   Not even Daytona is big enough to hold us now.  Instead, it's large cities, chain hotels, and large convention centers all the way.  We worked at the Kansas City Convention Center (at right in above picture) along with the Readers for AP Calculus, AP Biology, and AP Government and Politics.  Did I mention that the KCCC was large?  Actually, we Stats folks stayed pretty much to ourselves, even when we joined the huddled masses in the dining hall (aka the Grand Ballroom) at lunchtime.  The food service at past Readings has ranged from delectable (Lincoln) to dubious (Louisville and Daytona), and I'd rate the KC experience somewhere between those two poles.  We definitely got mass-catered food, but it was good mass-catered food, and I made it a point to tell one of the caterers as much on the last day.  The logistics were definitely better than they were in either Louisville or Daytona, with 10 serving lines and plenty of seating space.

At lunchtime, I typically found it the better part of valor to head outside and eat on a patio adjacent to the Grand Ballroom.  Not because I'm claustrophobic, but because I needed the chance to thaw out.  The Reading rooms (actually, open spaces separated by curtain partitions) are COLD, especially late in the day when they crank down the thermostat to help keep us awake (at least, such is my entirely reasonable theory).  I was obliged to wear long pants and my "Kit Cloudkicker Collection" green sweatshirt most of the time.

Cold temps aside, the KCCC was fairly comfortable apart from one somewhat scary moment on Saturday the 15th.  An afternoon thunderstorm blew through town and knocked out the lights.  Luckily, the auxiliary lights quickly came on, so we could continue grading.  The rain got heavy enough that a literal cataract of water could be seen leaking down one of the walls of the hall.  Kansas City is known as a "City of Fountains," but it didn't have to arrange an extra display for my benefit.  No real damage done, thank goodness.

We didn't have many opportunities to see the local sights (and, yes, KC does have sights) so I contented myself with the next best thing: visiting local restaurants.  I was already planning to get breakfast outside the convention center and was lucky enough to hit upon a branch of a local supermarket chain, Cosentino's, that appears to be the KC-area version of the East Coast's Wegmans and the Richmond area's late, lamented Ukrop's.  This self-billed "Unique Food Experience" (not strictly true, but I'm not complaining) offered a wide variety of prepared foods in addition to the standard supermarket items.  The chain was founded by an Italian immigrant, and the wall behind the customer service desk featured a picture of him next to a (gasp!) crucifix.  What would Al Khan of 4Kids make of that, Greg? 

Of course, I simply had to try some of that legendary KC barbecue while in town.  Unfortunately, most of the really legendary places were too far away to be easily accessible without taking a long and expensive cab ride.  I "settled" for the somewhat less famous Jack Stack BBQ, which was within walking distance.  I had been given a tip that this was a good place to go, and the food was good, but eating there wasn't... well, momentous.  To be perfectly honest, Extra Billy's, my favorite BBQ place in the Richmond area, was just as good.  Perhaps I failed to appreciate the piquancy and finish of the sauce, or something.

I had a better dining experience at Grunauer, a German-Austrian place next to Jack Stack in what is called the Freight House District.  I suppose that I was swayed by memories of all that great eating in Vienna and Budapest during our trip to Europe several years ago.  If so, then I should let such memories be my guide more often, for the food was excellent.  I had Hungarian beef goulash mit spaetzle und kraut, and, though the portions didn't seem all that large, they filled me up right quick.  I had a good table at the bar to watch Phil Mickelson let it get away in the final round of the US Open.  And, yes, beer was present, as well.  In fact, I had more beer during this KC sojourn than I've probably had in any such concentrated time period in my life.  Only after Reading hours, naturally...

As long as they'll have me, I intend to continue active participation in the AP Readings.  It's a tiring but fun experience.

Book Review: SHOWDOWN AT SHEPHERD'S BUSH by David Davis (St. Martin's Press, 2012)

Here's a quick, enjoyable read to pass the time between events at the upcoming Olympics -- or, if you've soured on the commercialism, rampant doping, and overall "too-much-ness" of the modern version of the Games, a more than acceptable substitute for viewing same.  Not that controversy is absent from this discussion of the 1908 London Olympics marathon; quite the opposite, in fact.  Davis makes the argument that the half-dramatic, half-farcical conclusion of the '08 race ranks as the first "globally famous" sporting event.  Surely, the combination of new technology (film), aggressive media coverage, and the holding of the Games in the seat of what was then the world's preeminent empire helped publicize this notable moment at a critical time when the future of the modern Olympic movement seemed in some doubt.  But consider the fact that the intense interest in what transpired at the White City Stadium on that baking-hot July day firmly established the then-exotic marathon as a truly legitimate sporting event, and Davis' argument seems reasonably legitimate.  Even if you are not particularly interested in running or the Olympics, SHOWDOWN AT SHEPHERD'S BUSH comes highly recommended as an interesting slice of early 20th century cultural history. 

SHOWDOWN AT SHEPHERD'S BUSH takes a parallel-lives approach in its early stages, sketching out the lives and times of three of the major figures in the '08 marathon: Dorando Pietri of Italy, Johnny Hayes of the U.S., and Onondaga Indian Tom Longboat of Canada.  All three came from very humble beginnings and used long-distance running as a means of improving their lot -- though, with "simon-pure" amateurism still the announced and (generally) practiced Olympic ideal, they could not truly reap the financial benefits of their efforts until after the Games, when a series of match races between them and other leading marathoners launched a brief "running craze" that captivated America seven decades before Jim Fixx appeared on the scene.  This was the "heroic age" of long-distance running, paralleling that of Polar exploration.  Given the era's minimal understanding of race tactics and training procedures, inadequate footwear, and lack of recuperation time between races, not to mention the frequent holding of races in smoke-filled indoor arenas (such as the old Madison Square Garden), it's hard not to wince while reading about these early pie-a-pie encounters.  In the course of his narrative, Davis gives us a useful potted history of early marathoning, brushing away some of the myths that have accreted around the race (e.g. the oft-repeated tale that the race was based on a courier's run to Athens following the battle of Marathon), describing the development of such early efforts at organization as the Boston Marathon, and relating the frequently shambolic details of the Olympic marathons of 1896, 1900, and 1904.  The marathon at the 1906 "Intercalated Games," held in Athens in an effort to regain a bit of the prestige that had been lost as a result of the '00 and '04 Games being dominated by ongoing expositions in Paris and St. Louis, was only a bit more successful.  Entering the '08 London Olympics, the future of the marathon as an Olympic event, to say nothing of the Games themselves, seemed anything but secure.  But competent local organization (also well detailed by Davis) and the sparks from a bitter rivalry between the host British and the upstart Americans helped to refuel the flickering torch, and the sensational conclusion of the marathon finished the job.  Save for forced breaks caused by world war, the continuation of the Olympics would never be seriously questioned again.

Dorando's heroic failure and disqualification have come to mark him as "the most famous loser in Olympic history."  Certainly, Hayes, who was declared the winner, is a forgotten man by comparison.  Davis performs his most useful services by reminding the reader of Hayes' accomplishment (which the British, no surprise, did not much appreciate) and in rescuing the role of Longboat, the pre-race favorite, from obscurity.  Longboat failed to complete the race, partially because he had sustained an injury while training in Ireland beforehand.  The extent of said training -- with Longboat's trainer-promoter putting his charge through a series of lengthy runs before curious crowds -- further points up the exploitative, almost ad hoc nature of the culture of early long-distance running.

Davis' writing gets a little too purple in places, but he accomplishes quite a lot in such a small package, providing a Cook's tour of early Olympic and long-distance history in addition to sketching out the details (in present tense, for some peculiar reason) of the headlined race.  Much like THE GREATEST GAME EVER PLAYED or SEABISCUIT, this is a "sports history book" that the wider public should be able to fully appreciate.

Movie Review: HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE (Warner Bros., 2009)

Actually, given the lack of true excitement in the sixth book in the HARRY POTTER series, the movie-makers could have been excused if they'd seen fit to rename this film ...The Bloodless Prince. Though the running length of 2 1/2 hours is on the seriously unconscionable side, the movie version turns out to be not that bad. One could argue that too much time is spent on the vital matter of "who's snogging whom and why," but then, the book chewed on that particular bone for a good long while. The identity of the "Half-Blood Prince" is dispensed with in toss-off fashion -- even more so than in the book -- but it's really fairly irrelevant to the story. The movie does deliver nicely during the climactic scenes in the seaside cave and at the top of the Hogwarts tower, and British actor Jim Broadbent makes a wholly believable Professor Horace Slughorn, the ultimate "Charlie Mingle" type (and if you can identify to whom I'm referring in quotes, you're GOOD, I'll say that much!!). Needless to say, it would be madness to see the movie without being familiar with the Harry Potter universe.

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Speaking of magic, Tom Watson's finally ran out at the worst possible moment yesterday. Still, it was a great run and will probably be remembered for far longer than will the identity of the British Open's eventual winner.

French Dip

So Tom Watson -- who was winning major golf championships when I was in junior high and high school and "Fruit Stripe Gum" pants were all the rage on the links -- is leading the British Open with 18 holes to play. If he manages to pull it off, it would definitely be one of the all-time great stories in sports.

Ten years ago today, a very different sort of story was written in the remote hills and dales of Scotland. This is the tenth anniversary of the worst individual (as opposed to team) collapse I've ever personally witnessed in sports, that of the French golfer Jean Van de Velde at the 1999 British Open in Carnoustie. The completely obscure Van de Velde had come from out of nowhere to lead the tournament by three shots with one hole to play. That hole, however, was one of the hardest holes on an exceptionally difficult course that had been made even rougher by what can only be described as a sadistic groundskeeper.  Granted, Van de Velde was unlucky on where that second shot bounced and landed, but the silliness in the water is still comical today.  No wonder several commentators lambasted him for it right there on the spot.

Though Van de Velde was given high marks by press and fans for the grace with which he took his defeat, he has not been heard from since.

I certainly hope that Watson can avoid such a fate tomorrow and defy the pull of time's gravity for one more day. If he falls apart, however, it's unlikely to be in so extravagantly melodramatic a fashion as this.