Greek Prime Minister Resigns, Likely Moving to Quieter Profession Like Lion Taming

Dimitrios Maximos Discovers Governing Greece More Difficult Than Previously Advertised

By Winston P. Gallagher, Foreign Affairs Desk

Dimitrios Maximos has resigned as Prime Minister of Greece after discovering what every previous Greek leader eventually learns: governing Greece makes governing anywhere else look like organizing a church picnic. Maximos reportedly told colleagues he looks forward to his next career, which he hopes will be less stressful—possibly defusing unexploded ordnance or mediating marital disputes.

Greece, for those keeping score, is currently experiencing: a civil war between communists and monarchists, economic devastation from World War II, British troops withdrawing because they can no longer afford to referee Greek politics, American troops arriving because someone must referee Greek politics, massive displacement of populations, food shortages, and the usual Balkan tendency toward holding grudges that predate the Ottoman Empire.

Maximos took office in January, presumably believing that nine months would be sufficient to solve problems that have festered for decades. He has now discovered that nine months is barely enough time to learn everyone’s name, let alone resolve ancient feuds between factions who consider compromise a form of surrender.

The position of Greek Prime Minister combines all the worst aspects of leadership: enormous responsibility, minimal authority, constant danger, and the certainty that whatever you do, half the country will hate you for it while the other half merely despises you. It’s rather like being asked to referee a knife fight while standing in a pit of vipers, except the vipers are also fighting each other and several foreign powers are placing bets on the outcome.

Maximos’ resignation brings to three the number of Greek prime ministers this year alone, suggesting either that Greeks are very particular about leadership or that the job is essentially impossible. Evidence leans toward the latter. Greece has had more governments in the past two years than most countries have in a decade, and none have solved anything—they’ve merely presided over deteriorating situations with varying degrees of incompetence.

The communists, led by General Markos Vafiadis, control significant territory and receive support from Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union. The government forces, backed by Britain and America, control the cities and receive weapons they barely know how to use. Neither side can win decisively, so they continue fighting, destroying what little infrastructure the Germans didn’t already destroy during occupation.

American money flows into Greece like water from a fire hose—$400 million through the Truman Doctrine alone. Where this money goes is anyone’s guess. Some reaches the Greek army. Some reaches government officials. Some probably reaches communist forces through corruption and black markets. It’s the miracle of foreign aid: you send money, and everyone except the intended recipients gets rich.

The Greek people, meanwhile, suffer through all of this with admirable stoicism. They’ve been occupied by Romans, Byzantines, Venetians, Ottomans, and Germans. They’ve survived invasions, occupations, famines, and civil wars. They’ll survive this too, though probably not because of anything politicians in Athens or Washington accomplish.

What Greece needs isn’t another prime minister—they have plenty of qualified candidates eager to fail spectacularly. What Greece needs is for foreign powers to stop using it as a chess board and for Greeks themselves to decide their future without Moscow, Washington, or London providing helpful suggestions at gunpoint.

But that would require restraint from the great powers, and restraint is notably absent from Cold War diplomacy. So Greece will continue churning through prime ministers, each one discovering that the position offers all the headaches of leadership with none of the satisfaction of actually accomplishing anything.

One wishes Maximos well in his retirement. He lasted longer than some, which in Greek politics constitutes success. His replacement—whoever the unlucky fellow turns out to be—will discover the same thing Maximos did: being Prime Minister of Greece is less a job than a form of punishment, presumably for crimes committed in a previous life.

At least lion taming has clear objectives: keep the lions from eating you. Greek politics offers no such clarity.

Children Play Organized Baseball, Adults Ruin It by Calling It “World Series”

First Little League Championship Proves Kids Can’t Have Anything Without Grown-Ups Making It Complicated

By Theodore K. Winchester, Sports Correspondent

The Maynard Midgets defeated Lock Haven 16-7 in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, yesterday to win what organizers are calling the “Little League World Series.” This columnist has several questions, starting with: how is it a World Series when both teams are from Pennsylvania?

The game itself was apparently delightful—children playing baseball, parents cheering, nobody taking anything too seriously. Then adults got involved with organization, rules, championships, and the decision to call a tournament involving twelve teams from one state a “World Series.” This is the American way: take something fun and simple, then complicate it until it requires committees and official letterhead.

Little League was founded in 1939 by Carl Stotz, who wanted to give children an opportunity to play organized baseball. This was a fine idea. Children enjoy baseball. They also enjoy throwing rocks at trees and seeing who can spit the farthest, but baseball at least has rules and doesn’t break windows. Stotz created teams, uniforms, and a structure that allowed kids to play regularly instead of organizing pickup games in empty lots.

Eight years later, we have a “World Series” with sponsors, spectators, and presumably someone keeping meticulous statistics. The children, who should be playing for enjoyment, are now playing for championships. Their parents, who should be encouraging them to have fun, are now sitting in stands keeping score. And adults, who should know better, are treating a children’s baseball game as if it matters.

The game attracted 2,500 spectators. Twenty-five hundred adults watched children play baseball. Some of these adults probably took time off work. They definitely paid for tickets. They sat for hours watching kids who can barely tie their own shoes try to hit a ball with a stick. This suggests either that entertainment options in Williamsport are extremely limited or that Americans have lost their minds.

Children playing baseball is wholesome. Children playing organized baseball with uniforms and coaches is still wholesome, barely. Children playing baseball in a championship tournament with spectators, officials, and trophies is the beginning of madness. Give it another decade and we’ll have scholarships, recruitment, and parents screaming at umpires over calls in games played by ten-year-olds.

The final score was 16-7, which suggests at least that the children are still learning baseball fundamentals. Professional games rarely reach those scores, implying that Little League pitching and fielding need work. This is as it should be—they’re children, not professionals. But how long until someone decides they need professional coaching, training camps, and specialized instruction in base-running technique?

Carl Stotz deserves credit for creating something that gives children structure and activity. Baseball keeps kids busy, teaches teamwork, and prevents them from spending all summer loitering at drug stores. These are genuine benefits. But the expansion from local teams to regional tournaments to a “World Series” suggests that adults cannot leave well enough alone.

The real problem is what this represents: the increasing organization and commercialization of childhood. Children used to play games because they wanted to. Now they play games because adults have organized them into leagues with schedules, playoffs, and championships. Soon we’ll have professional youth sports, scouts evaluating twelve-year-olds, and children burning out on baseball before they’re old enough to shave.

This isn’t progress. Progress would be giving children more unstructured time to play however they want, with whoever they want, without adults managing every moment. Progress would be teaching them that games are for enjoyment, not for winning trophies. Progress would be letting them be children instead of training them to be athletes.

But we won’t do that, because Americans love organization, competition, and keeping score. We’ve turned childhood into training for adulthood, complete with pressure, expectations, and disappointment. The Little League World Series is just the beginning.

Congratulations to the Maynard Midgets. May they enjoy their championship before someone ruins baseball for them by making it serious.

The Infuriating Genius of Children’s Questions

Why “Why?” Is the Most Powerful Word in the English Language

By Margaret E. Holloway

Children possess a remarkable talent: they can reduce adults to gibbering frustration with a single word repeated endlessly. That word is “why,” and it’s responsible for more parental gray hairs than all the childhood illnesses and broken windows combined.

“Time for bed.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s eight o’clock.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s your bedtime.”

“Why?”

“Because you need sleep to grow strong.”

“Why?”

And so it continues, the child asking “why” until you’ve traced bedtime back to the Big Bang and still can’t provide a satisfactory answer. The child wins through attrition—you eventually give up and say “because I said so,” which is admitting defeat but preserving sanity.

The frustrating part isn’t that children ask questions—curiosity is healthy. The frustrating part is that they ask questions about things adults stopped questioning decades ago. Why do we eat three meals a day? Why is grass green? Why do we wear shoes? Adults have accepted these things as simple facts of existence. Children treat them as profound mysteries requiring investigation.

Sometimes their questions reveal that we don’t actually know the answers to things we pretend to understand. “Why is the sky blue?” asks the child. You could explain Rayleigh scattering and wavelength absorption, assuming you remember your physics lessons. More likely, you’ll say “it just is” and hope they accept this non-answer and move on to something easier, like asking why dogs bark or why Aunt Helen smells funny.

Children also have a knack for asking questions at the worst possible moments. You’re cooking dinner, the pot is boiling over, the telephone is ringing, and suddenly: “Mommy, where do babies come from?” You cannot give this question the attention it deserves while also preventing the kitchen from burning down, so you say “ask your father” and hope he handles it better than you would. He won’t.

The “why” questions become particularly challenging when they’re philosophical. “Why do people die?” is not a question anyone enjoys answering, especially when asked by a six-year-old at bedtime. You want to provide comfort and truth simultaneously, which is impossible because the truth isn’t particularly comforting and comfort requires gentle lies. You end up saying something about heaven and angels, then lying awake wondering if you’ve failed as both a parent and a theologian.

Some questions are impossible to answer honestly. “Why is that man so fat?” asked loudly in a grocery store cannot be addressed truthfully without causing social catastrophe. You must quickly pivot to “we don’t comment on other people’s appearances” while the fat man pretends not to hear and you pretend your child isn’t yours.

Other questions are too complex for children to understand. “Why is there a war?” requires explaining nationalism, ideology, economics, and human nature—topics that most adults barely grasp. You simplify to the point of dishonesty: “Sometimes countries disagree.” This is technically true but misses approximately 90% of relevant context.

The remarkable thing about children’s questions is that they’re often better questions than adults ask. Adults have learned not to question things that don’t matter or can’t be changed. Children haven’t learned this yet, so they question everything. Why do we work five days and rest two? Why do we live in houses instead of outside? Why do we need money? These are actually profound questions about how society organizes itself, but adults stopped asking them somewhere around age twelve.

Children haven’t learned that some things simply are, and questioning them accomplishes nothing except annoying people. They also haven’t learned that “why” can be a weapon—or perhaps they have learned this, and they’re using it deliberately to delay bedtime, avoid homework, or simply irritate their parents for entertainment.

The correct response to endless “why” questions is patience, which is easier to recommend than to practice. You should encourage curiosity. You should answer thoughtfully. You should admit when you don’t know something. You should teach them to find answers through books and observation.

What you’ll actually do is answer patiently for the first three “whys,” less patiently for the next three, and eventually resort to “because I said so, now go to your room.” This is not exemplary parenting, but it is honest parenting.

The good news is that eventually, children stop asking “why” quite so often. The bad news is that by then, they’ve moved on to more complicated questions about dating, driving, and whether they can borrow money. You’ll look back fondly on the days when the hardest question was “why is the sky blue?”

At least that one had an answer, even if you couldn’t remember it.

The Neighborhood Gossip Network

How News Travels Faster Than Telegraph Without Anyone Actually Knowing Anything

By Chester R. Blackwood

Every neighborhood has one: the woman who knows everything about everyone, despite never leaving her house and having no apparent source of information. She knows who’s fighting with whom, whose daughter is dating an unsuitable young man, and why the Hendersons are selling their house before you know you’re selling your house.

This woman—let’s call her Mrs. Patterson, because every neighborhood has a Mrs. Patterson—operates the most efficient intelligence network since Roman spies infiltrated Carthage. The CIA should study her methods. She knows things that haven’t happened yet and remembers things people wish she’d forget.