Dogged determination

The last time I was in Ft. Lauderdale — the last time I hope ever to be in Ft. Lauderdale — I paid a visit to Hollywood Greyhound Park to bet a few races. My companion and boss was a persnickety little fellow, as buttoned-down and even-keeled and as they come. Years of troubleshooting network problems had rendered him unflappable.

So I was surprised at how his pace quickened as we passed through the turnstile, how his head cocked to hear the call of the day's lineup, how his eyes grew wide as he scanned the monitors and then his tipsheet. He nearly left me behind as he raced to his seat with his shiny wingtips scuffling along the carpet so fast I thought sparks would fly.

My problem picking winners in the telecom race paralleled my problem at the dog track. I was applying too many variables, when all along I should have relied on my instincts.

The next thing you know I hit on the first four races. I was in a zone.

Well, not really. Being “in a zone” implies a high level of knowledge or skill that is applied with regularity and culminates in an elusive and fleeting moment of perfection.

I, on the other hand, had never before been to the dog races.

My boss, his glasses now askew, his hair slightly tousled, his neatly folded racing form crumpled at the edges, turned to me and demanded to know my secret.

I pointed to a column on the left-hand side of my racing form that listed the times my dogs had posted in their last five races. My boss was quick to point out that I had misread the form. He scoffed at my formula for picking winners and insisted on teaching me the intricacies of evaluating a race.

I haven't picked a winner since.

The more I knew, the more my zone dissipated. The more data I applied, the more skewed my results were.

I don't gamble much anymore. And I don't bet on companies in the telecom race. It's not allowed. Good thing, too. I thought the odds on start-up signaling solutions provider Sevis Systems were worth a bet. Instead, it followed the wrong rabbit. The company zigged on the stand-alone route when perhaps it should have zagged on the OEM path.

I would have laid money on the nose of Coreon, an OSS outsourcing start-up with Bob Annunziata on the board and a slew (not Seattle) of telecom experts in the kennel, but it pulled up lame coming out of the gate. (Rumor has it that Coreon is on the mend and has a new trainer, but they aren't talking. More to come in the Sept. 10 issue.)

Speaking of Seattle, I thought Telicor — a start-up telecom service provider from the Pacific Northwest — was onto something with its managed services model, but it appears that conditions weren't right. They got stuck in a muddy track with a weak field and appear to have been put to pasture.

My problem picking winners in the telecom race paralleled my problem at the dog track. I was applying too many variables, trying to balance a measure of knowledge in my field with what all trackmen depend on — insider information — when all along I should have relied on my instincts. Que sera, sera (for more French content, see this story).

Prognosticating on the winners and losers in the telecom space for me is easy. All I have to lose is my pride. But millions of dollars have been lost over the last year by venture capitalists and other investors who bet much more (or less, depending on your view) than their self-respect.

They got burned betting on the wrong dogs. But the thrill is drawing them back. They are starting with small bets, getting a feel for the track. The question is: Can they still trust their instincts?
Contact Tim McElligott at tmcelligott@primediabusiness.com.