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Some Analyst Love

We tend to give analysts a hard time around these parts. There are way too many buy recommendations and the rare sell calls come out too late and too infrequently. Even on the upside it often seems they miss the call, jumping on the bandwagon after the band has already played its best tunes. (That’s our attempt to use the word ‘bandwagon’ in an extended metaphor. We actually have no clue what a bandwagon is.)
But the reaction to CIBC’s Meredith Whitney’s negative report on Citigroup demonstrates one reason analysts are so gun shy when it comes to (uh-oh, more metaphor extension) pulling the trigger and putting a bullet in the head of a widely-held public corporation. After her report helped drive down the firm’s shareprice by 7 percent last week, Whitney was harassed by angry investors, and even received death threats. "Fuck you, dumb analyst. I hope you get hit by a truck," is how she describes to the New York Post the typical call from irate investors.
But Whitney isn’t backing down. “When a lot of money is at stake, it’s the average investor who reacts most emotionally,” Ms Whitney said. “I suspect that’s the case here. I’m more than capable of defending myself. If I were a shrinking violet, I wouldn’t have made the call.”
We’re naming Whitney our analyst of the month for her Citi call and for her self-defiant poise under fire. The world needs more analysts like Whitney. Shooting the messenger in these things is basically an elaborate suicide pact. It’s like beating up your doctor because he tells you that you’re sick.
Two more reasons we’re crushing on Whitney this morning. First, she had this conversation with Post reporters at the St. Regis. We assume that this means in the King Cole bar, one of three acceptable places midtown. The second, she is married to former pro-wrestler Bradshaw Layfield, a three-hundred pound, six-foot-six giant who was sometimes known as "Deathmask." So her haters should be glad they were leaving voice-mails rather than confronting her in person.
City $licker Goes To The Matt [New York Post]