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You can't identify a hero from the outside. You might not suspect that Jon Meis, the Seattle Pacific University student who has been described as private and gentle, would tackle and subdue a gunman Thursday, inspiring others to help hold down the attacker until police arrived. Would those other students have acted if Meis had not?

Also yesterday, a man in Pennsylvania ran from his house in pajamas and flip-flops, and pulled an unconscious woman from a car in flames. Why did he do this? He could have called 911. He could have knocked on a neighbor's door and debated what to do. But he simply acted. Why?

And a man in Minnesota jumped 30 feet from a cliff into the St. Croix River to save a drowning 11-year-old boy.

All of these situations, which happened within days of each other, required immediate action. For a life to be saved, there was no time to wait for rescuers. So these people stepped up, at the risk of their own lives, for people they did not know.

When questioned, recurring themes run through the answers of heroes. "I didn't really think about it," "I don't think of myself as a hero," "I was just focused on what needed to be done."

Their remarks are usually humble, usually speak of automatic reaction. Many, such as Meis, don't even want to speak to the media.

Researchers Selwyn Becker and Alice Eagly said in the journal American Psychologist that heroism is not only noble risk-taking, but also something selfish, a way to ensure status.

They are the scientific researchers, but my gut tells me that most heroes are not out for selfish glory or status. They just seem somehow wired differently. Furthermore, I believe that many people have a little bit of hero inside them, and sometimes all it takes is one person to get the ball rolling, as was the case in Seattle, where a gunman had already killed one person, wounded two others and was in the process of reloading.

I don't think heroes have time to weigh the morality of their actions at the time. I suspect their values are already so deep-seated that they automatically act on them when faced with a morally challenging situation.

Psychiatrist Deane Aikins says heroes often cultivate social bonds before and after the crisis. While this is true in organizations like the military or police, and exemplified many times in feats on the job, what about those everyday heroes — the ones who act for the benefit of strangers?

I love all heroes, because any time a human being does something good, I rejoice. But to me, these humans are the ones who give me faith in humanity, the world, God, the universe and everything.

The other day, I witnessed a bad motorcycle accident. For a second, the world just froze. People sat in their cars, stunned. Nothing happened for about 30 seconds. Then, one man got out of his car and rushed over to the motorcycle rider. Soon, a woman rushed over with her cellphone. Then another person ... and another. The rider was soon surrounded: one person down on the ground with him, one directing traffic, one on the phone.

That first man was a true hero. And then the woman became a hero because of the first man. And then they were all heroes.

By the time I was able to make it to the scene of the accident, I drove up next to the first man and asked how I could help. "We got it," he said, clearly shaken. "You're a hero," I said. He looked at me, confused. "Why?" And then he walked off to the task at hand.

Today is D-Day, and while we remember the lives of many heroes on that day, and read plenty of stories that honor them, and while we continue arguing about whether Bowe Bergdahl is a hero or a villain, I want to take a moment.

I want to honor the heroes for whom there are no days of honor, no ceremonies, no medals, no recognition. These heroes are all around you, and they are complete strangers. They won't reveal themselves until something very bad is happening. And then you will see something amazing. You will see the very definition of humanity.

Laurel Dalrymple is an editor and writer for NPR.org.

It's time for your quick rundown of the week that was in technology and culture.

ICYMI

Tech's Gender Gap: Getting women to join and stay in technology company ranks is a well-documented issue; a few incidents this week probably didn't do much to help the problem. Chicago's Techweek apologized for using provocatively posing women in a party invite after losing big names and a sponsor. Also this week, a slide showed up at a tech conference in Europe, in which a developer compared a software framework to a whiny girlfriend.

John Oliver's Rant: Our most popular post on All Tech this week featured comedian John Oliver's 13-minute takedown of cable Internet providers. He explains net neutrality and ends with an impassioned call to comment on the FCC's site.

The Big Conversations

One Year Since Snowden: What hath Edward Snowden wrought? Aarti Shahani brought us a look at winners and losers since the first revelations of the NSA's widespread surveillance, what the former government contractor calls "indefensible collection activities." Snowden himself told Brian Williams his actions in spilling so many intelligence operations were harmless, but over on Lawfare, Benjamin Wittes doesn't buy it.

Apple in Homes and Health: At its Worldwide Developers Conference on Monday, Apple's bigwigs unveiled the company's new iOS8, OS X Yosemite (following a theme of California-place names) and its forays into building centralized hubs for your fitness and health data, and separate central platform for an Internet of Things smart home.

Curiosities

Quartz: Netflix's Video Error Message Is A Clever Attack On Cable Companies

Netflix is upping its battle with the cable giants by telling consumers why their video connections are choking.

Seattle Times: Google Confirms Yakima Loon Balloon Crash

One of the company's test Wi-Fi balloons went down.

BBC: Garage Owner Fakes Google 'Murder' In Edinburgh Street

Two years after a pair of guys faked a murder for the Google car's cameras, authorities got word of it. Good thing this wasn't a real killing.

Orange is the New Black has always been a bit of a head fake.

Creator Jenji Kohan has admitted she uses the story of WASPy prison inmate Piper Chapman to draw TV audiences into stories about the types of women who rarely take centerstage in more mainstream fare: a transgender woman, an older Russian woman, poor and undereducated black and Hispanic women and the mentally ill.

That process continues to wonderful effect in the show's second season, as we learn more about the history behind a wonderful collection of characters stuffed into a federal women's prison. In particular, character actress extraordinaire Lorraine Toussaint cuts a blazing swath through this year's batch of episodes, as an O.G. who lands in the prison and has serious history with Danielle Brooks' longtime inmate Tasha "Taystee" Jefferson.

But one of the best revelations in this year's Orange is the changes in Taylor Schilling's Piper Chapman. Finally, we're past the obvious jokes about a too-polite, middle class girl who insists on acting like she's at some horrible summer camp; as this season unfolds, Chapman gets a little tougher and learns to live with the awful consequences of her decisions.

That doesn't come until she makes the worst choice of all, rooted in her inexplicable connection to the woman who helped put her in prison – Laura Prepon's bisexual drug runner Alex Vause.

Through much of the first season, you couldn't help wondering why Chapman cared so much about someone who used her so badly; by the end of the second season's first episode, we see exactly where that trust leads her. The show being what it is, it's no place anyone would want to go if they had a choice.

On one level, Orange is a tragicomedy about society's fallen, from the poor and mentally disturbed folks filling up the prison to the working class schlubs who have to guard and care for them. These are people mainstream media often avoids in its rush to sell viewers on aspirational dreams or escapist fantasies.

But as we watch the prison's black inmates learn with some surprise exactly where their urethra is – of course, it's Laverne Cox's transgender Sophia Burset who has the facts at hand – we see how tightly a lack of education and knowledge are wrapped up in the circumstances which have led these women here.

Of course, we also get lots of juicy backstories. Another one of Orange's neat tricks is the show's flashbacks to inmates' pre-incarceration lives. In the second season, we see the sad childhood of mentally unstable Crazy Eyes, the domestic violence past of head cook Gloria Mendoza and the surprising history of a German-speaking lesbian military brat who we come to know as Taystee's sometime oblivious running buddy, Poussey Washington.

One of the best backstories falls to Taystee, who was taken in by Toussaint's Yvonne "Vee" Parker when she was young. As Vee returns to the prison, she has dreams of uniting the black inmates into a gang who will control everything, threatening the odd sense of harmony in this fictional prison.

Another wonderful side benefit of Orange's approach is the running room it gives to ace actresses like Toussaint and Kate Mulgrew, who plays a Russian powerhouse with her own tangled history regarding Vee and the old days behind bars. Elsewhere in TV land, these ladies would be exiled to playing judges and grandmothers; here, they stand at the center of the action, making moves which will affect the future of the prison.

Tough as prison life is depicted here, Orange does avoid the harshest tones. The show's abusive guard, George Mendez (played by Pablo Schreiber with a gloriously bad porn star-style moustache), was put on leave last season; there seems to be little threat of rape or harsh violence among the inmates in the second season's early episodes.

Instead, we are treated to the show's second level of meaning, which weaves a tapestry of stories around a collection of lost souls. These are people cursed with bad luck, awful decisionmaking skills, crushing addictions, hopeless life circumstances or all of the above. And watching them still, somehow, struggle to find meaning in lives bound to such a hopeless place is compelling in ways Kohan's previous series, Weeds, never managed for me.

I was on the board that handed Orange is the New Black a Peabody Award this year, for offering stories which made hip television consumers care about the kind of people who normally never get on their radar screens.

To find that the second season takes that tactic even further, offering new sides to characters we already thought we knew while serving up new ones with even better backstories – well, that's an amazing achievement for a show which set the bar incredibly high in its first season.

So I suggest heartily binge-watching the 13-episode second season that Netflix released online this morning. There might be no better examination of what it means to be lonely and trapped in the fallout of a hard life on television today.

The Robinson family of Dallas started out pretty excited about their new insurance plan under the Affordable Care Act.

Nick Robinson had turned to Obamacare after he lost his job last summer. He had been working as a youth pastor, and the job included benefits that covered him, his two young daughters, and his wife, Rachel, a wedding photographer.

Nick says he wasn't too nervous at first, because everyone was healthy. Then, he recalls, they found out Rachel was pregnant.

"It's one of those times where you hear the news and there's this immediate sense of joy and excitement like, 'Yay, a new kid. That's awesome!' " he says. But they were also concerned. "What are we going to do? How are we going to pay for this? This is intense."

Nick found a new job fairly soon, working as an account manager in retail sourcing. But the small firm did not offer health benefits.

Planet Money

How One State Convinced Its 'Young Invincibles' To Get Health Insurance

A couple of years ago, film director and writer John Waters decided to hitchhike alone from his Baltimore home to his apartment in San Francisco — and see what happened. The so-called Pope of Trash — the man behind the films Pink Flamingos and Cry-Baby — managed to get many rides — 21 in all. He chronicles his cross-country adventure in a new book called Carsick.

Waters started out around the corner from his home in Baltimore. "I stood right under this tree — right beside it," he tells NPR's David Greene, "and then it started to rain. And I thought, I can't believe this, I'm two blocks from my house and, I mean, pouring rain."

Along the way, things occasionally got desperate. "I would've gotten in with the Night Stalker, even if he escaped from jail and I heard it on the radio that morning, I would've gotten in his car," Waters says.

Once in the car, there was the challenge of making conversation for many, many miles. "It is intimate; it's their little stage, their little apartment," he explains. "And they set the rules, but you have to listen to know what those rules are. And it's always about talking — nobody picks up a hitchhiker to sit in silence."

No one really thinks 12-year-old Chloe Stirling presents a menace to public health.

The Illinois girl has a knack for baking cupcakes and has done pretty well selling them. So well, in fact, that her local newspaper published a story about her earlier this year. That drew the attention of the county health department — which shut her down for selling baked goods without a license or a state-certified kitchen.

Last week, the Illinois Legislature passed a "cupcake bill" that would overturn the health department's policy and allow amateur bakers to sell a limited amount of bread and pastries without a license.

"Some of this stuff seems so stupid to me, that we have these rules," says Republican state Rep. Charlie Meier, who sponsored the bill.

Dozens of county health departments argued against Meier's measure, but it passed both the state House and Senate unanimously. Democratic Gov. Pat Quinn is expected to sign it soon.

Lawmakers in a number of states have become convinced that state and local agencies are sticking their noses into too many kinds of businesses. It's not just doctors and Realtors who need a license. Depending on the state, florists, tour guides, interior designers and cosmetologists might need one, too.

Even some consumer groups are concerned that so much regulation does less to protect public health and safety than to dilute competition in the marketplace.

"I'm not endorsing giving business a free pass, but regulators should be focused on consumer issues that affect a broad swath of the public," says Amit Narang, regulatory policy advocate for Public Citizen, a consumer organization.

More Occupations Regulated

Back in the 1950s, only about 5 percent of Americans worked in jobs that required some form of state licensure. Today, that number is closer to 30 percent.

Paring back on occupational licensing has become a pet cause for House Majority Leader Eric Cantor, who has called on governors to deregulate where it makes sense.

The question of who gets regulated doesn't always seem to depend on safety and security.

"Only five states license shampooers, for instance," writes Ramesh Ponnuru in Bloomberg View. "Presumably, that's not because shampooing is exceptionally dangerous in those states."

Increased licensing requirements don't automatically translate into less risk, Narang says. With states and localities often stretched thin financially, they can't be an effective watchdog over every type of enterprise.

"Having rules on the books doesn't necessarily mean that agencies are as focused on enforcing those rules and mandating compliance," Narang says.

Rules May Benefit Companies

That's not to say he thinks regulating business isn't important. Few but the most libertarian would want to return to a time — say, a century ago — when government oversight was light to nonexistent and industrial accidents such as the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire and sales of tainted meat and drugs were far more common.

Governments want to keep an eye not only on industries that can affect life and limb, but on enterprises where major consumer dollars are at stake, such as car dealers and home contractors.

"There really is a justification for using those requirements as a means to make sure that somebody knows what they're doing when they want to engage in a profession," says Susan Grant, director of consumer protection at the Consumer Federation of America, "and also locating them when there are problems."

But regulation and licensing — which can require extensive training and certification — can lead to higher prices for consumers.

The push for new regulation sometimes comes not from consumers who complain to policymakers when they feel they've been ripped off or put at risk, but rather from existing firms that want to make it more difficult for competitors to set up shop.

"The first thing that comes out of regulators' mouths is, 'It's never consumers who ask us to regulate; it's always people in the industry,' " says Katelynn McBride, an attorney for the Institute for Justice, which advocates for less regulation. "New entrants are coming into the market, and they need to be shielded from competition."

Chloe Comes Out Ahead

When it comes to baked goods, state officials recognize that there's relatively little health risk, compared with meat or raw foods.

But the amount of so-called cottage foods they'll allow individuals to sell without a license varies tremendously — from $5,000 a year in Minnesota to 10 times that amount in Texas and California.

The Illinois bill allows unlicensed bakers to bring in as much as $1,000 a month as long as they warn customers their kitchens haven't been inspected. The legislation bars local governments from further regulation unless there's an outbreak of foodborne illness.

Meier, the Illinois state representative, says amateur bakers should be able to see a small profit in order to test the market and see if they might be able to make a more serious go of it before bearing the costs of setting up a commercial kitchen.

"In Chloe's situation, if she goes on like this, she probably will open a bakery," Meier says.

She's well on her way. The cupcake bill brought her national attention, including an appearance on Rachael Ray's Food Network show, and local merchants have donated a commercial oven and built an extension for it onto her house.

President Bill Clinton's administration wondered what the legal consequences would be if the White House acknowledged that genocide was occurring in Rwanda in 1994, according to newly public documents.

In a May 26, 1994, email to Donald Steinberg, who handled the Africa portfolio in Clinton's National Security Council, legal adviser Alan Kreczko wrote:

"Concluding that genocide has occurred/is occurring in Rwanda does not create a legal obligation to take particular action to stop it."

Kreczko went on to write that while human rights groups had argued the contrary, "We would not agree."

"Of course, making such a determination will increase political pressure to do something about it," he added.

As The Associated Press notes: "The Clinton administration was slow to react to the mass killings and went to great lengths to avoid calling the massacre of hundreds of thousands of Tutsi and moderate Hutu 'genocide.' Clinton would later call the U.S. inaction among his biggest regrets."

In another document made public Friday, in a practice session for his 1996 State of the Union speech, Clinton railed against Republicans whom he said wanted to shut down the Department of Commerce because its head, Ron Brown, was black.

"The reason they want to get rid of the Commerce Department is they are foaming at the mouth that Ron Brown is better than all of those Republican corporate executives who got those cheeky jobs because they gave big money to Republican presidential candidates," Clinton told aides.

"And here is this black guy who is a better secretary of commerce than anybody since Herbert Hoover, which he was a success at," Clinton said.

Brown was killed later that year in a plane crash in Croatia.

Since this is a day when we are mourning the loss of the consummate story teller Maya Angelou, I will start by telling you a story. You might remember that before I came to NPR, I worked at ABC News, for the most part for the late night program Nightline, anchored by Ted Koppel. And I was thinking about a story he sent me to cover about a high ranking African-American police officer from Miami who got into an altercation with a white cop from Orlando. This was after the Orlando officer pulled the Miami officer over, who was on his way to his vacation house. And when I say altercation, I mean fists were thrown and words were exchanged that did not include "We shall overcome." The whole thing was captured on the Orlando officer's dashboard camera.

Because the traffic stop seemed kind of profile-y, and because there was an arrest, and because the Miami officer was a big shot, the matter clearly was headed to somebody's courtroom. So neither of the principals — the black cop or the white cop — would talk to me. But each side had credible representatives who would. So I sat down with each separately, and we went over the dashboard video beginning to end to try to understand what led to such an ugly confrontation between two grown men in the same line of work.

Can I just tell you? It probably won't shock you to know that often what happens after you stop rolling is just as interesting as whatever comes before. I don't think I am breaking anybody's confidence to tell you that, after all the sound bites were said, and the cables were rolled up, and the cameras put away, both men at some point took me aside to ask in voices of genuine wonderment, "Can you tell me why this happened? Why did that guy react that way?"

So in all honesty, that's kind of where I got the idea for Tell Me More. What happened to me on that assignment happened more times than I can recount. Now it is true that some people just want their 15 minutes of fame. And it is true that some people just want votes and don't much care what they have to say to get them. And it's true that some people just don't have much use for anybody who is different. But in my experience, an awful lot of people really do want to know: why did that just happen, why did that guy react that way, what is this all about? Or they just want to tell someone why they feel or believe or react as they do. They want to be seen. They want to be heard.

This feels especially urgent in a time when many people feel invisible, or they feel that everything they care about is changing, things like who their neighbors are, or what language they speak, or who gets to marry whom. Or they feel that things aren't changing fast enough and they wonder why. And it's always been interesting to me how often people who live in the same town or in the same city don't really talk to each other until something happens — a Jena 6, a Trayvon Martin — and everyone starts talking at once.

So I thought it would good to have a place where people could talk about these issues — calmly, usually; with civility, always — but on the regular, and not just when something bad happens. Like when there is credible, new knowledge to share about issues that people have just had assumptions about, when there are real facts to bring insight to real issues, when new leaders emerge from places we haven't seen before, when something changes in the way people are thinking about an issue, or just when there's something fun that you might not have heard about because it involves people you don't already know. And yeah, sometimes when something bad happens, because that is part of life too.

That's why we decided to call this program Tell Me More. It's for people who want to know more about the way we live now.

So by now you might have heard the news that NPR has decided to cease production of this program after Aug. 1. Do I love this idea? No I do not. But when the people who outrank you make a decision you have two choices: salute or leave. I prefer to stay, and I hope many of the people on the Tell Me More team will also stay, so we can try to continue what we have started here, albeit on different platforms, as they say. Telling you more about the way we really live now. There will be more to say on that in due course, but for now, you will find us here, telling you more.

You can also now follow me on Twitter @MichelMcQMartin.

Critics of the food stamp program have been alarmed in recent years by its rapid growth. Last year, about 1 in 7 people in the U.S. received food stamps, or SNAP benefits, as they're called. That's almost 48 million people, a record high.

But the numbers have started to drop. In February, the last month for which figures were available, 1.6 million fewer people received food stamps than at the peak in December 2012, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, which runs the program.

"It's really showing that the program is doing what it's designed to do," says Dorothy Rosenbaum, a senior fellow at the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, a left-leaning think tank. "It expanded when the economy was weak and when unemployment was on the rise. And now, as the economy is improving, it's starting to decline."

She says that's just what her group and others predicted would happen as the economy improved. They expected there would be some delay as the benefits of the recovery began to be felt by more low-income Americans.

Rosenbaum says the trend is strong. Caseloads are falling in 47 states, and she anticipates that will continue as more and more people find work, and better-paying jobs.

"I was able to find a new job, where I was making more money with a few more hours," says Katje Hopkins, of Portland, Ore. She, her husband and their infant son started receiving food stamps last year after her hours at a luxury car dealership were cut to only eight a week.

The Salt

Food Stamp Program Doesn't Guarantee Food Security, Study Finds

As a mentor on Project Runway, Tim Gunn has become a nationally beloved icon of good taste and optimism in the face of some terrible ideas. And since he's always urging designers to "make it work," we've invited him to play a game called "You're never going to make that work." Three questions about fashion ideas that we believe are truly beyond help.

More With Tim Gunn

Arts & Life

Tim Gunn: On And Off The Runway, 'Life Is A Big Collaboration'

You can't identify a hero from the outside. You might not suspect that Jon Meis, the Seattle Pacific University student who has been described as private and gentle, would tackle and subdue a gunman Thursday, inspiring others to help hold down the attacker until police arrived. Would those other students have acted if Meis had not?

Also yesterday, a man in Pennsylvania ran from his house in pajamas and flip-flops, and pulled an unconscious woman from a car in flames. Why did he do this? He could have called 911. He could have knocked on a neighbor's door and debated what to do. But he simply acted. Why?

And a man in Minnesota jumped 30 feet from a cliff into the St. Croix River to save a drowning 11-year-old boy.

All of these situations, which happened within days of each other, required immediate action. For a life to be saved, there was no time to wait for rescuers. So these people stepped up, at the risk of their own lives, for people they did not know.

When questioned, recurring themes run through the answers of heroes. "I didn't really think about it," "I don't think of myself as a hero," "I was just focused on what needed to be done."

Their remarks are usually humble, usually speak of automatic reaction. Many, such as Meis, don't even want to speak to the media.

Researchers Selwyn Becker and Alice Eagly said in the journal American Psychologist that heroism is not only noble risk-taking, but also something selfish, a way to ensure status.

They are the scientific researchers, but my gut tells me that most heroes are not out for selfish glory or status. They just seem somehow wired differently. Furthermore, I believe that many people have a little bit of hero inside them, and sometimes all it takes is one person to get the ball rolling, as was the case in Seattle, where a gunman had already killed one person, wounded two others and was in the process of reloading.

I don't think heroes have time to weigh the morality of their actions at the time. I suspect their values are already so deep-seated that they automatically act on them when faced with a morally challenging situation.

Psychiatrist Deane Aikins says heroes often cultivate social bonds before and after the crisis. While this is true in organizations like the military or police, and exemplified many times in feats on the job, what about those everyday heroes — the ones who act for the benefit of strangers?

I love all heroes, because any time a human being does something good, I rejoice. But to me, these humans are the ones who give me faith in humanity, the world, God, the universe and everything.

The other day, I witnessed a bad motorcycle accident. For a second, the world just froze. People sat in their cars, stunned. Nothing happened for about 30 seconds. Then, one man got out of his car and rushed over to the motorcycle rider. Soon, a woman rushed over with her cellphone. Then another person ... and another. The rider was soon surrounded: one person down on the ground with him, one directing traffic, one on the phone.

That first man was a true hero. And then the woman became a hero because of the first man. And then they were all heroes.

By the time I was able to make it to the scene of the accident, I drove up next to the first man and asked how I could help. "We got it," he said, clearly shaken. "You're a hero," I said. He looked at me, confused. "Why?" And then he walked off to the task at hand.

Today is D-Day, and while we remember the lives of many heroes on that day, and read plenty of stories that honor them, and while we continue arguing about whether Bowe Bergdahl is a hero or a villain, I want to take a moment.

I want to honor the heroes for whom there are no days of honor, no ceremonies, no medals, no recognition. These heroes are all around you, and they are complete strangers. They won't reveal themselves until something very bad is happening. And then you will see something amazing. You will see the very definition of humanity.

Laurel Dalrymple is an editor and writer for NPR.org.

Not so long ago, while enjoying a libation in a decorous saloon, the proprietor — who happened to hail from the fabled Windy City — suddenly jarred the genteel assembled by turning on the Cubs game. Just at that moment, a Cubby was heading toward the plate when the throw came in, and the runner (spoiler alert!), being a Cub, was tagged out.

Visualize the tableau: The runner. The catcher. But also a third figure: the umpire. And see him now: feet spread well apart, solidly grounded, mask off in his left hand, and his right arm flies up, thumb to the heavens. You don't even have to hear him shout, "Yer out!"

It made me think how sometimes the action of an official is every bit as memorable and as stylish as what a player does. Like the soccer referee presenting — presenting! — a yellow or red card. He flips it, like a magician finishing a trick. Soccer officials always stand so upright then, don't they?

Or, the other extreme: a wrestling referee, flush down on the mat with the two competitors as one tries to pin the other's shoulder. And then, in a flash, the ref slaps his hand down. No player ends any kind of game as decisively as a wrestling ref does — better than a walk-off.

By contrast, my favorite action from a boxing referee is almost dainty: those times when he gently touches both boxers simultaneously to break up a clinch. And then, subtly, he drifts away. It's always called backpedaling — where else but in a boxing ring does anybody backpedal?

Football officials are the least distinctive, because they just throw flags, then let the head ref explain later. I do like the symmetry, though, when two officials, side by side under the goal posts, throw up their hands in unison to signal a successful field goal. Who would ever think that football could remind you of synchronized swimming?

Basketball officials are the most expressive, though. That hands-slapping-the-hips business –– blocking! Or the scraping motion across the top of the ball to indicate that the defender didn't touch his man, only the ball. Beautiful stuff — better than most dunks that mere players do.

The most expressive ref I ever saw was basketball hall-of-famer Mendy Rudolph. When it was time out, he'd take his stance, put the ball in the crook of his left arm and, with his right hand, wipe his brow. Whether there was sweat there or not, he'd flip the drops away. With disdain. You had to see it.

Referees always say it's best not to be noticed, but the fact is that an official who makes his call with vigor and elan is really a beautiful part of the game. OK, let's watch that Cubs game again. The runner, the throw, the tag –– but the arm up, the thumb high. 'Yer out ... and 'yer terrific.

By now, you may have heard that on Thursday, the European Central Bank shifted to a negative interest-rate policy for deposits.

That news may have prompted two thoughts: 1) Isn't that crazy? 2) Who cares what happens in Europe?

These questions have answers. But first, some background:

The European Central Bank's mission is to promote price stability and steady growth. So the ECB policymakers adjust interest rates in ways that can help keep wages and prices moving along on a very gentle upward slope.

Since the Great Recession slammed into Europe more than five years ago, that goal has been hard to achieve. With unemployment still so high in so many countries, European employers have not seen any need to raise wages to keep or attract workers.

And at the same time, consumers haven't had much money to spend, so prices have been depressed. When prices start falling, consumers hold back even more on their spending, waiting for goods to keep getting cheaper. This deflationary pattern can create a downward spiral for the whole economy.

Right now, inflation is running at around 0.5 percent in the euro area, approaching stall speed. So the ECB is determined to get the economy moving fast enough to get wages and prices to perk up too.

That brings us to Thursday's announcement. The ECB said that from now on, if a bank wants to deposit surplus cash with the central bank, it won't earn any interest. In fact, the bank will actually have to pay the ECB for the privilege of parking its cash.

That seems to turn the whole lending process on its head. Traditionally, when you deposit money, you earn interest, which seems to rank up there with the sun-rises-in-the-East rule.

By moving to negative interest rates on deposits, the ECB is pushing banks to stop hoarding surplus cash. It wants banks to lend that money to businesses to fund plant expansions, or to consumers for a new cars or homes.

In other words, the ECB is insisting that banks get money circulating in the real economy, not piling up in vaults.

Related NPR Stories

Europe's Central Bank Goes Negative