Dan Shafer

And therein lies the rub.

Because Macintoshes are not part of the mainstream of corporate and home computing, they need something marketing people call a Unique Selling Proposition (USP). People need a justifiable reason for stepping outside the comfortable box of Microsoft and Windows, particularly in corporate America. Until fairly recently, the Macintosh’s primary selling point was ease of use, not just at the system level but also at the application level.

From the beginning, the true genius of the Mac has been its wonderful standardization. A study done a few years ago found that after you’d learned your first reasonably robust Macintosh program, you knew at least 75 percent of what you’d need to know to run any Macintosh program. On Windows 3.x, the figure was more like 40 percent.

In recent years, particularly with the emergence of Windows 95 (which largely copied the system-level interface of the Macintosh), that advantage has diminished. But it has not yet vanished.

Apple’s next-generation operating system, which would appear to be capable of increasing its usability advantage once again, is so far behind schedule that the company no longer talks about it as a new OS but rather as a series of new technologies dribbled out over time — like a recalcitrant child’s inheritance controlled by a stingy parent. Reducing R&D spending will exacerbate that situation.

Without a unique selling point, the Macintosh will have to compete on even terms with Windows machines — and that will inevitably further blur the lines of demarcation between things Macintosh and things Windows. The net result, given Apple’s relatively inept manufacturing and marketing ability and the Mac clone market’s concentration on the high end, will be tremendous pressure towards the homogenization of computers.

That will be an unfortunate outcome for everyone.

Consumers will find themselves with lots of vanilla and no chocolate. Prices will be attractive, but the general market for personal computers will be in the gray flannel portion of the color spectrum.

Shareholders and employees will find that Apple cannot continue to compete in the price-conscious, blood-letting personal computer wars without still more price cuts, leading to stock value reduction and further job loss.

Developers, who have been abandoning the Mac in droves anyway, will no longer do so grudgingly (if indeed they still are feeling that way as they embrace Windows) but gleefully. The consequence: new programs not only won’t appear first on the Mac, we’ll be lucky if they appear there at all.

The only potential winner in this: Jean-Louis Gassee, the former Apple VP who founded Be Labs and has begun shipping a blazing-hot, next-generation OS machine called, simply, Be. He has The Next Cool Thing; meanwhile, Apple will just be one of the gang.

Quote of the day

Wish you were here

“I’m not in the least bit frustrated. This is a wonderful experience.”

Elizabeth Dole, asked on ABC’s “Good Morning America,” about her husband’s poor showing in the polls, especially with women voters. (Quoted Monday in a
Reuters new agency story.)

Had he taken either of the lofty titles, it would have been very hard indeed to recruit an executive capable enough of actually running the business on a day-to-day basis — a talent that Jobs does not have. He is a technologist, one with flair and style, to be sure, but he doesn’t have the marketing or administrative chops to keep Apple afloat, let alone prosperous, in the increasingly murderous waters of the computer business. Even in the less hands-on position of chairman, it’s hard to imagine who he could have found to be the CEO. Who would want to come into a company in such parlous straits and at the same time have to deal with its charismatic founder and Fearless Leader once more at the helm?

Jobs himself has consistently said that he is happy where he is, running Pixar and making a fortune on his Pixar stock holdings. Skeptics also pointed to reports that he recently sold all but one share of his Apple stock — hardly a positive opening gambit in a bid to formally retake the company he founded in a Bay area garage.

Still, the news that he may not after all be introduced as Apple’s official leader at the Macworld Expo in Boston next week (there are those who think his rejection of the offers is a gambit to get a better deal) came as a big surprise to many Apple watchers, myself included. In recent days, he had been acting very much like a man about to embark on a major move. Apple sources say he’s been ubiquitous on the Cupertino campus of late, calling meetings, dropping by managers’ offices to offer strongly worded opinions and advice, and making decisions.

What also made the choice logical is the fact that Apple’s technology is being almost entirely remade in the image of Jobs’ failure, Next Inc. Virtually all of Apple’s key technical decision-makers are ex-Next people. He believes passionately in the Next technology and clearly would love the chance to prove that it’s world-class. But turning around Apple would take far more radical steps than successfully implementing the Mac’s Next-based new operating system, due out next year.

In the chairman’s seat or behind the scenes, Jobs would have to do in public what he has already urged in private: cede the desktop war to the Wintel platform and begin pursuing other avenues. That would mean downsizing the once mighty Apple further, concentrating on key niche markets — the Web, education and perhaps desktop publishing — and exploring new software-based technologies in the hopes of finding the next Big Thing.

Focusing on the Web, which previous Apple suits have been promising to do for the past three years, is the rock bottom requirement for Apple’s survival. Their failure to fulfill those promises have caused Apple to become irrelevant in the only new market arena that has value and currency. Anyone taking on the task of rescuing Apple has to know that. Whether even a messiah figure like Jobs could perform such a miracle is a bet I would not care to make. But it’s going to be very interesting to watch whoever picks up the burden try.

Any reason to be hopeful is easily dimmed by the sport’s recent track record of incredible stupidity.

Sure, baseball will survive. Millions of kids — of all ages — will continue to tramp through stone-filled, balding fields with rickety fences to play ball, whether the Bigs go on or not. College baseball has plenty of juice left. But the high-paid pros don’t have much time to prove to the fans that they get it.

There are reasons to be hopeful. Chief among them are:

• Inter-league play. For the first time, all the teams in the National League will play teams from the American League during three one-week periods in June, July and August. This is one of the best — and longest-overdue ideas — in the history of the game. Cities and metropolitan areas with multiple teams — like New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and San Francisco-Oakland — will see fan interest soar with cross-town combat. This three-year experiment is pretty timid — the same pairs of teams play each other only once every three years, which kills the idea of building serious rivalries between the leagues — but it’s an important step nonetheless.

• Marketing. Teams are finally spending serious money on advertising, knowing they must start getting kids back into the park again or they’ll be dead, regardless of what else they do well. That suggests owners are no longer taking the fans for granted, which in itself is an encouraging sign.

• Fan support. The fans are starting to edge back to baseball. According to a recent Gallup poll, major league baseball has recovered about half the fan base it lost in the last two years. Some 38 percent of adults identified themselves as fans in the poll, up from the 32 percent last year. But that’s still well below the pre-strike 44 percent level.

• No more strikes. At least until 2000, that is, thanks to the painful agreement wrung out of player-management negotiations.

But there are still some daunting problems to overcome: overpaid, underachieving players; players with bad attitudes; players who move around from club to club — thanks to free agency — making it hard for fans to identify with a team because the lineup changes so frequently; and, of course, greedy owners.

Ticket prices are way too high. Some parks are charging close to $20 for admission alone, which is insane. During the 1994-95 strike, when desperation was the order of the day, teams slashed prices, particularly on youth tickets. The game needs those cuts now more than ever. It ought to be possible for a parent and a child to take in a ball game — complete with hot dogs and sodas– for under $20 in any American city. It isn’t today.

But one of the most urgent needs is to hire a real commissioner to replace the owners’ puppet, Bud Selig, who has held the position for the last five years. It is absurd that baseball is the only major league sport without a truly independent commissioner — independent, that is, of the wishes of the owners. Of course, getting any kind of full-time commissioner to replace Selig would be an improvement. Once in place, the need for an independent commissioner ought to be the next big agenda item.

Finally — and this is the trickiest one — the fan-player connection needs shoring up. Between the strike and free agency (along with its tag-along ugly duckling cousin, stupid trades by money-hungry owners), there’s very little reason for fans to identify with the players. Restore that link and you’ve gone very far toward saving the game. Fail, and the other measures are only Band-Aids. Each team should use some of their marketing bucks to encourage players to get to know the fans, to spend time in their communities — not just doing high-profile charity work with the United Way but schmoozing with the hard-core loyalists in the bleachers.

Both owners and players have to realize that their vocation, their careers, their profits are all at stake if they fail to step up to the plate in the truest sense of the phrase. Still, for the moment at least, baseball is back, and for all the carping, I’m damned glad it is.

But Sportsman of the Year? Get real, SI!

How about the Denver Broncos’ stellar quarterback John Elway? Not one of my favorite people (I’ve never quite forgiven his arrogance as a college grad when he told the NFL to stuff it and refused to allow himself to be drafted by the team with rights to the Number 1 pick … and got away with it) but as a sportsman, Elway has been at the top since he came into the league. And he’s having a banner season in the waning years of his pro career.

Or how about either of two guys named Michael — Johnson, whose rare double victory at the Olympics was as stunning as it was convincing, and Jordan, who came roaring back after a brief self-imposed exile to dominate the NBA like no player has done since … well, since the last time he did it.

This award really seemed to be more about media hype, in which SI itself played no minor role, than about any reality of Woods’ achievements or character. With his unprecedented Nike endorsement deal, Woods benefited from a PR machine the likes of which has never before been seen in any of the so-called “minor” sports.

Race, too, played an undeniable role in his selection, perhaps more blatantly than at any time since 1992, when the magazine quite belatedly honored African-American tennis star Arthur Ashe on the eve of his death from AIDS. Woods is a mixed-race person with Thai, African, Chinese, American Indian and European ancestry. The article in SI’s pages announcing the award to Woods includes an almost fawning description of a 50-ish Caucasian woman who told Tiger, “When I watch you … I feel like I’m watching my own son,” to which the SI editor adds, “and we feel the quivering of the cosmic compass that occurs when human beings look into the eyes of someone of another color and see their own flesh and blood.”

With a dutiful nod in the direction of a quivering cosmos, this award really ought to honor the top athlete in a particular sport. And with but one notable exception, that’s exactly what it has done since its inception 42 years ago. The exception came in 1987 when the award went to a group of representative “Athletes Who Care.” I’m not sure anyone understood that one.

If Woods had broken the pro golf color line — ` la Jackie Robinson or Arthur Ashe — I might be able to understand the SI selection. But there was this golfer once named Lee Elder who did a pretty good job of trailblazing the PGA on the race issue. And although both the PGA and golf in general remain unappetizingly white, Woods’ appearance on the scene doesn’t have anything resembling major social impact. If Woods had been a football, baseball or even a tennis player with similar stats, there would have been no compelling reason in 1996 to select him for this honor. In fact, to do so would have been ludicrous.

I begrudge Woods this award because of the frequency with which I’ve had to use words in this article like “started” and “begun.” His career is not yet long enough, his record not clear enough, to justify this award. As much as I like him and enjoy watching him play, he should not have been feted this way this soon. He’s not the best athlete this year. Hell, he’s not even the best golfer yet. Sure, he shows every sign of becoming the best golfer and he has numerous commendable qualities as a person, but athlete of the year? Gimme a break.