Bolstering Pipelines: Why Big Pharma and Biotechs need each other
A conversation with Deloitte Consulting’s Jacques Mulder
Today you’ll dig in the closet for your glove and snap a ball into it while sipping your morning coffee.
Today you’ll drive to work and admonish yourself to “keep your head down” and your eye on the road.
Today your team will be in first and planning to stay there.
Oct. 16, 2003
WRIGLEY FIELD, GAME 7 — Less than an hour after Game 6 of the NLCS on Tuesday night, I ran into a man walking his dogs on Sheffield Avenue.
“Everyone’s down,” he said, barely looking up. “Everyone’s sad. Everyone hates Alex Gonzalez.”
Even his dogs looked glum. You know a loss is heart-wrenching when the dogs are bumming, too.
The Cubs’ 58-years-in-the-making World Series party stopped midway through the eighth inning Tuesday. The Marlins screeched the needle off the record, turned on the lights, emptied the coolers and sent the Cubs and their fans staggering home with an incomprehensibly cruel eight-run rally.
“We were five outs from the World Series,” moaned Erik Peterson of Arlington Heights. “Five outs.”
SAN DIEGO — The ball knew where to go. Like it belonged anywhere else.
This Series was destined to be in Scott Brosius’ hands from the beginning. So it had to be in his hands for the end. The ball found him like a magnet finds a refrigerator. Brosius fielded Mark Sweeney’s ground ball and threw to Game 1 hero Tino Martinez for the final out.
New York is the World Series champion. Brosius is the Series MVP.
After it was over, the kid seemed a little too nonchalant — like he’d just ridden the world’s fastest roller coaster and didn’t know it.
Was that the best ever? Could the drop in his curveball be more death-defying? Could he throw faster? Should batters be required to wear seat belts?
After tying a major league record by striking out 20 batters Wednesday, Kerry Wood didn’t seem to know. He was almost scared to ask. So was the rest of the world.
At 20 years old, you don’t know much. Experience comes from a lifetime full of failure. At 20, you think everything works according to plan. At 30, you know better. As the years roll on, you realize how precious those few “big” moments in your life really were. And you wish you’d only grasped that realization at the time.
Fans are flocking to San Diego Padres games to see the game’s most unbelievable, most incomprehensible sight. It is so shocking, it has to be seen to be believed.
The word is getting out. Or more to the point, Tony Gwynn is getting out.
It was scrapbooks and telling your grandkids in 30 years.
It was sad when it was over. Sad like a homer that lands. The feeling can’t stay in the air or your heart forever.
The memory, though, that’s the best.
In the greatest home-run race in the history of baseball, Mark McGwire was just the opening act.
It’s unfortunate that the country didn’t stick around for the rest of the show.
Somewhere peanut butter’s out looking for the jelly. Ham is searching for the cheese. Thunder can’t find lightning.
Cal Ripken Jr. and the streak are no more.