All right then. Tea, check. Sandwiches, check. A `little something' to offset the chill, check. Canvas-backed chair, lap rug, tweed cap, check, check, check. I'm ready to watch the cricket test. Okay, I'm not watching cricket. I don't know anything about googlies, LBWs, silly wickets or centuries. The only bowling I've ever done is ten pin, and you don't try to hit that ball.Last time, if you recall, we talked about the American game of baseball, which is of world-wide appeal to the six countries in which it is played, and is arcane and hopelessly mysterious where it is not – much like publishing in high-impact journals. There is a competitive, aggressive approach to science that may land papers in such journals. This approach is often described as `American', even when it isn't. But whatever it is, it's just not cricket.In a world of scientific gentle-persons, one would hope that, upon learning an important thing about the universe, we would share the information quickly – if not ready for publication then publicly in the form of talks, posters and the like. This would serve two useful functions – we would let our colleagues know what we were doing (so that, in a gentle personly way, they would steer clear) while, at the same time, giving them insights. Some of us do, indeed, work this way – I like to think that I do. But many don't. Secrets are guardedly kept, ideas and findings are stolen, many race for what is seen as the goal – credit, glory, promotion and prizes.And often, even if it is technically honorable and well played, it just isn't cricket. So some choose not to play. Ambrose Bierce, in his sardonic take on Aesop, described a fox who, viewing a bunch of sour grapes inches from his nose, solemnly declared that they were out of his reach. And so, too, the self-effacing non-players, who though they hope their work will be high quality, assert that they disdain to reach for such unpleasantness.Until they do. And then these same self-named non-players become the most secretive and unsporting lot around. If they hear of another lab that might have similar findings, they do what they can to discredit the other lab, even to the point of dismissing the work to would be (or could be) reviewers who might exterminate it to make room for them. “But Mole,” you say, “we have to be aggressive in this highly competitive business, doing anything we can to reach our goals – all's fair in war and science – especially if the winners are valued and the losers aren't. What else can we do?”In what little I know of cricket, a well-bowled over is loudly praised by the opposing team, and maybe we should act similarly. Science is competitive, and it has always been so. But there is a right way and a wrong way to be competitive. The next time you have the good fortune to discover something truly exciting – the next time you think you can knock that ball for `six' – but you hear that another lab has found something similar, communicate! Yes, there is a chance that they will race to beat you. But, and this happens far more frequently, they may realize that the impact of two such papers is far greater than the sum of the parts. Coordinate your submissions, and share the spoils. Your reputation may be made as the sort of scientist we all appreciate – a jolly good sport.Maybe I'm being old-fashioned but I like working this way. It just feels better. I'm not going to watch cricket on BBC America, and I'm not going to drink tea. But I might have just a little something to ward off the chill while I thumb through the latest issue of one of those weeklies with the nice, soft pages.
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