Sometimes you get what you want but it ain't what you expected.
Newman's Own was supposed to be a tiny boutique operation-parchment labels on elegant wine bottles of antique glass. They expected train wrecks along the way and got, instead, one astonishment followed by another astonishment followed by another. They flourished like weeds in the garden of Wishbone, like silver in the vaults of finance. A lot of the time they thought they were in first gear; they were really in reverse but it didn't seem to make any difference. They anticipated sales of $1,200 a year and a loss, despite their gambling winnings, of $6,000. But in these thirty years they have earned over $330 million, which they've given to countless charities. How to account for this massive success? Pure luck? Transcendental meditation? Machiavellian manipulation? Aerodynamics? High colonics? They haven't the slightest idea.