The Flip Side Of Miracles

Two amazing events unfolded on CNN this morning.
First came word that Jill Carroll, the American reporter held captive in Iraq, had been freed by the insurgents who kidnapped her more than three months ago. Truly a joyous outcome considering the grisly fate of some of the others held captive in the Middle East and Afghanistan in recent years.
A short while later came a press conference marking the release of Randy McCloy from a West Virginia hospital. Randy is the sole survivor of the infamous Sbago mine disaster in which 11 of his fellow miners lost their lives. This shaken young man, who may suffer debiliation for the rest of his life from his ordeal, was able to walk up to the microphones and thank the public for all their good wishes, shaken and weak but so much stronger than when he was rescued, clinging to life.
In both cases the word miracle was freely tossed around, and rightly so. I felt a moment of exhiliration I hoped would boost me as I went about my day. Then came the "back down to earth" realization that miracles are only special because they are rare. For every Jill Caroll there are the Nick Bergs and Daniel Pearls who are savagely murdered, and for Randy McCloy there are legions of men and women who never make it home from their day at work, whether it be at a mine or aboard a plane or in a building like the World Trade Center.
When I heard the report (ultimately false) late that awful night about the 11 miners being rescued alive after hours of being trapped with virtually no air I literally jumped out of my chair. But the eventual result was far more likely and probably would have garnered less reaction.
What is a miracle, after all, but beating the odds, and what is our reaction, other than clinging to hope that the odds will always be in our favor.

Deconstructing Tony

Like millions of others, I'm addicted to "The Sopranos," so much so that I must catrch every episode during its first airing -- although its repeat all week -- to avoid hearing details from the media or friends.
A key to this show's success is clearly the great casting and fine acting, particularly by the male and female leads, James Gandolfini and Edie Falco as Tony and Carmela Soprano. But there's something more here. Why are millions of people tuning in (can you call cable viewing tuning in?) to watch the travails of a depressed mobster, his family and associates.
Myself, whenever I watch Tony Soprano go about his business I find my radar searching for some shred of decency on display. Here is a man who is a sociopathic homicidal criminal. And yet he's concerned about his family and friends, and at turns has showed compassion at odd junctures, for a dead racehorse or a murdered prostitute. Far from black and white, Tony is a complex character, and thus unpredictable. TV viewers can love a character or hate him, but if he doesn't regularly surprise them or make them think, the channel will be changed (especially in an era when there are so many hundreds to choose from).
As fascinating though he may be, few people would actually want to be in Tony Soprano's volatile orbit. That's another reason I think the show is so successful. We like our mayhem from a safe distance: Watching a shark chew on beachgoers, or the Titanic sink, Freddy Kruger running rampant, or Tony's mob whacking a deadbeat satisfies some inner craving for danger without consequence, that same craving that puts us on roller coasters.