I'd like to tell you the story of my friend Eric. Known amongst his closest friends (like Greg) as "Eric the Architect", a veteran of the Enterprisey Wars.
He's had an amazing career. If you are of a certain age like Eric, you have grown up with the explosion of information technology in the enterprise. You may even share his experience of the great putsch to create a new, better world in which order and control reign over chaos and individualism.
I remember Eric telling me of his early days in the cabala, just starting out as a novice. Duely consecrated, Eric got a job in the dungeons of a well established banking institution. A silver-tongued pin-stripe jockey from Manhattan had convinced the MD to jump aboard the new business revolution. Delivering your quarterly report was no longer going to be dependent upon legions of handle-cranking, visor-tipping clerks. Blechley Park had marked the path. The transistor was upon us! Eric was trained in the art of COBOL. As an accolite, he got to experience the power passed down from the denizons on high. Early assignments introduced him to the adrenaline rush that comes from raising sheilded wing over the hoards of minions in whose hands the destiny of the Comapany had been entrusted. "Show us the light, Master!" they called out. And Eric replied: 004900 MOVE STACK-FRAME (S390) TO CURRENT-FRAME
But little did the heathens respect the God-given mission of Eric. Newly promoted to Sturmbanfurher, Eric struggled with disention and mutiny. Did they not understand that by submission to the higher powers that be, all could enjoy the magnificence of the Corporation? How dare they challenge Eric's mandate to engineer a perfect mechanism through mystical manipulation of the mainframe? To think the proletariat would rise up and demand their rights to having their own Personal Computer on their desk!
And there lie the seeds of the Great Corporate War. Oh, the devastation! Corporate plans laid to waste, lives ruined, as the forces of good were trapped in pitted battle with the revolutionaries and their new fangled "personal" computing machines. Some said it was the war to end all wars, but devilish forces were afoot.
Recollections of meeting Eric after the war are not pleasant. Seeing him slumped in a wicker chair with but a thin blanket draping his legs while we swilled gluwein in the crisp alpine air was more than a man can bear. The scars of battle were deep, but I was surprised by the tenacity of Eric's spirit. It seemed that defeat had done nothing but steel him for battles ahead.
In restrospect, it is hard to comprehend the circumstances by which some hyphenated upstart in a minor European duchy could re-ignite the forces of war. But set the world ablaze he did, and by the devious means of dragging the perfect and sacrosanct SGML into vulgar gutterism of the bastard child, HTML. Eric found that the comfortable detante negotiated and sanctioned by the power of the Ring of Tokens had been laid assunder.
Once more, the civilized world was thrown into the evil clutches of revisionism and subversion. Gnostic apostates proclaimed the false god of layered architecture. N-tiers were shed in remorse. Uberlieutenant Eric, sufficiently recovered from his wounds, slew into battle with a fierce war-cry that was heard to the ends of the earth. "Eeeaaaaaiiii!" he screamed. Many rallied to his call, and became the vanguard of EAI corps. You may have seen a photograph of them valiantly trying to raise the flag under an undying onslaught. Island by island, Eric fought the demonic forces back into a corner. "There is, was, and forever will be only one way to honour the gods of business!" he lambasted.
But the forces of darkness were not so easily asuaged. Foresaking conventional means, they resorted to guerilla tactics. Casting a web to ensnare the world. Your workmates, family, friends, even the rental scum down your street are not spared from the tenticles of the terrorist's poke.
I remember Eric telling me how it was like trying to sculpt jello. Think you have one spurt under control, and you are faced with another outbreak on your flank. Eric's armoury was deficient. A new weapon was required.
"So ... what did you do?" I pressed.
"So .. ahhhh .." he replied. I'd be kind to say it was heart-felt. As I sat there listening to him prattle on about how his compadres were testing their so-called "SOA bomb", version 2.0, under ultra-secret development, I knew I was listening to the meandering ramblings of a Hero of the Revolution whose time had passed.
"There, there.." I said.
"You must continue the good work, my Son!" His spindrift fingers clawed at my new Armani shirt. A moment's annoyance passed in my eyes, as I looked into the well-pools of emotion that seemd to kindle his only spark of life. Depressing, yes. But what can you really say to someone looking over the horizon at the Gucci-robed sickler? Not exactly an opportune moment to discuss how he may have been misguided.
"Don't worry, Father. The world is in safe hands." I murmered. "Global Megolith 2.0 has sued for peace. The ruby rises high in the sky in the constellation of Venus, just as the prophet foretold. Bands of insurgents are joining forces around the globe as we speak. You have not faught in vain. We understand now that just as there is an enemy within, there is also a friend. We are learning to make love (it's complicated), not war. We don't need to fight anymore!"
"Your work is done..." I sanctimoniously purred as I lay my hand upon his forehead and gently pressed his eyelids down (it doesn't work like in the movies, btw).
Fact, or science fiction? SOA world domination is still within our grasp...