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The Vulcan Centaur, ULA’s attempt to recalibrate its trajectory, is proving to be a particularly vexing problem. Billed as a cost-reduction exercise, a means of escaping the gravitational pull of financial disadvantage, it has instead become a demonstration of the inherent fragility of complex systems. The promise of sub-$100 million launches, a figure whispered with the confidence of alchemists, remains largely unrealized. The initial launch, a fleeting moment of apparent success, has been followed by a series of anomalies – incidents that, while not catastrophic, suggest a deeper, more systemic disorder. The falling of nozzles, the “burn through” at the tail end of boosters… these are not merely mechanical failures, but echoes of a fundamental disharmony.

So, the question arises: is now the moment to plunge into the stock market, or would it be wiser to remain on the sidelines, sipping a lemonade and observing the proceedings? History, my dear fellow, offers a surprisingly clear answer, and it’s not quite the doom and gloom some are predicting.

Let’s talk about them. Not as a promise, mind you. Just as a possibility in a world full of long shots.

The impending transition at the Federal Reserve promises a spectacle of no small interest. Jerome Powell’s tenure draws to a close, and his predecessor, a man of predictable temperament, has viewed his stewardship with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. The appointment of Kevin Warsh, therefore, is less a surprise than the inevitable consequence of a world determined to repeat its errors with ever-increasing extravagance.

From a peak valuation of $49.3 billion in January of 2021 – a figure that now seems almost fantastical – this purveyor of stationary bicycles and digital encouragement has fallen to a mere $1.8 billion. A subtraction of $47.5 billion in five years. One observes such things with a detached curiosity, as one might observe the slow erosion of a cliff face.

The Vanguard S&P 500 ETF… a mouthful, isn’t it? Just a collection of the largest companies, the ones that already have everything. But it’s a vessel, and a predictable one. It holds the weight of American industry, and for a time, that weight can lift those who dare to hitch a ride. Fifteen years ago, five thousand dollars… a decent sum, enough to keep a family fed for a season. To put it into this… this engine of speculation… well, it’s a gamble, isn’t it? A calculated one, perhaps, but a gamble nonetheless.

If you’re the sort of investor who enjoys a high-yield gamble – and let’s be honest, most of us are, deep down – you might find Hormel Foods (HRL +1.79%), with its roughly 5% yield, a marginally less terrifying proposition. It’s the difference between betting on a slightly dented roulette wheel and one that’s actively on fire. Both are statistically unlikely to end well, but one offers a marginally more dignified path to ruin.

You’ve got the big players, Orbital Reef, backed by Bezos, which is fine, whatever. More money than they know what to do with. Then there’s Starlab, which is apparently the “biggest, best-funded” team. Like that actually means something. It just means more meetings. More committees. And you know there’s some intern somewhere compiling a PowerPoint presentation about “synergy.” It’s enough to make you want to just stay home.

Now, sensible investors – those who haven’t yet been abducted by rogue algorithms – understand that a falling price doesn’t necessarily equate to a bad investment. It simply means someone, somewhere, has decided the future is less hydrogen-powered than previously anticipated. Let’s, therefore, wade through the arguments, shall we? It’s a bit like sorting through a box of Schrödinger’s cats – until you open it, you have no idea if it’s a potentially lucrative investment or a feline existential crisis.