"...When It Comes To The Really Big Game, A Lot Of You Got Rooked..."

We live in a football nation.

And, in large measure, there's the problem.

Hold that thought. And huddle up.

The challenge in presenting any fair and reasonable critique of the job performance of the current, for the moment, President of the United States is that, given the chapped cheeks that have resulted from two years, now, worth of chapping, much like a marriage that has been fatally wounded with no real chance of survival yet simply refuses to lay down and die, both sides hang on like grim death to their positions, everything one side does is always right and everything the other side does is always wrong.

Which side is which makes no difference. The view is the same from either and both.

Complete agreement is out of the question. Any hint of compromise and/or cooperation is a ship that has long since sailed. And wiggle room is physically impossible in a situation where no one is going to budge an inch.

So, when the cauldron of bicker and bitch bubbles up and over each week, or hour, or day, you say potato and I say patahto, I say tomato and you say tomahto, you say deliverer, I say demagogue...

..potato, patahto, deliverer, demagogue.....let's call the whole thing off.

Yeah. If only.

Point being that point by point back and forth is a waste of time, breath and brain tissue.

So, let's skip the bullet points (no, that is not a snarky, veiled reference to the precedent shattering sucking up to the NRA and their campaign contribution kabillions).

You know, those perfectly plausible reasons for ratcheting up the rumbling between us.

You say booming economy. We say the, now, repeated plunging of the Dow, with all, count them, all, of the gains made this past year gone. All. The whole year. Gone. And, at the moment, no end in sight.

You say right to bear arms. We say, well, wow, pick a shooting, any shooting. Take your best shot. (Yeah, okay, that's a snarky, not so veiled, reference)

You say thank God America finally has a brilliant, successful businessman at the wheel. We say, uh, okay, let's not rehash that Dow thing we just mentioned, let's run with sending troops to the border to guard against the caravan that was a dangerous and evil invasion of plunderers, rapists and murderers right up to election day, then kinda faded back into a caravan again after election day and, at this moment, is still nowhere near the border...and the cost, so far?.....about 75 million. With projected eventual cost being..oh, about 200 million.

And let's don't even get started on sending troops away from their families at holiday time for no better reason than playing to the crowd or as it's listed in your cast of characters, there, the base.

And let's not even begin to hint at dredging up the failed university or the failed steak company or the failed vodka company or the failed hotels and casinos and how, on God's green Earth, does anybody fail at casinos?

And forget Maude.....then there's Mueller.

But, like I said, bashing those birdies back and forth is an endless loop in space/time that would make for a pretty cool episode of Star Trek-Discovery. Hell, maybe even a two-parter. Hmm. Movie, maybe?

So, instead, let's take a pot shot at being practical here.

And just talk a little "it is what it is"

Regardless of who, or what, is, at any given time, sitting behind that fine burnished dark wood desk in that uniquely circular office in that iconic white building at 1600 Pennsylvania.

Here's what it is.

We are a football nation.

From Friday night lights to Saturday college play calling to Sunday slants, sacks, split T's and shotguns.

With a Monday night here and a Thursday night there, here a punt, there a snap, everywhere a screen pass.

America has got football in places most people ain't even got places.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

But, to borrow a tiny piece from the massive jigsaw puzzle that is Beatles lyrics...

..."here's another clue for you all..."

This is not a football world.

At least in terms of the geopolitical.

And, there, all you Hamlet fans and fanettes, lies the rub.

Keep in mind, amigos y amigas, I ain't lying, kids/ there ain't no denyin' that this would be a fact/truth, if the president was FDR, JFK, LBJ, George H.W., George W, Donald Trump or Donald Duck.

Just so happens that, at the moment, Donald is in the chair.

Trump, not Duck. Although I will concede that it is often hard to tell one cartoon character from another.

Here's the thing.

One of the immediate go-to defenses of the Red Capped Donald, Donald, He's Our Man Club when it comes to the stockpile of shit that Trump has either gotten America into or is apparently bound and determined to get America into is his "knack", for lack of a better word, for "telling it like it is"

For the more metaphorically minded amongst us, make that "why bother using a scalpel with precision or a finely aimed laser when a sledge hammer will do."

Well, first, there is the reasonable argument that there's a critically important difference between that which "will do" and that which is "called for."

If we're talking bringing down the barn, then, by all means, let's get our sledge on.

If, on the other hand, we're talking aortic valve replacement, the hammer might just be a little heavy handed.

And this "telling it like it is" quality, again, their words, not even close to mine, which served him so well in the campaign, has been adapted for after the swearing-in usage and presents itself as "kicking some ass" in various and sundry tweets, public grunts and posturing proclamations at the every now and then, lately more often than not, love and praise gatherings, hilariously referred to as campaign rallies.

A lot of people seem to buy the idea that leadership, especially the leadership of the, still, theoretically, anyway, most powerful nation on Earth is defined as blunt talk, blowharding and bullying.

For all his many failings, three skills at which Donald admittedly excels.

If you think about it for a minute, that's exactly the same kind of behavior that, in an altered and adjusted form, wins football games.

Blunt talk at the line of scrimmage. Blow hard taunts as opposing players crouch nose to nose waiting for the snap, a bullying, of sorts, because, let's face facts, sports fans, they ain't exchangin' cookie recipes down there. Hut. Hut. Hut. Hard snap. Quarterback drops back. Cocks his arm back to fire a rifle shot on a quick out. Hard hits at the line. QB looking downfield. Wham. Sacked.

Take that, Eagles. Or Saints. Or Raiders.

Or North Korea.

Or Germany. Or France. Or Canada.

We don't play pussy ball around here, boys and girls, we hit hard, low, mean, take no shit and take no prisoners.

Well, there's Saudi Arabia, but there's a lot of money changing hands on that one, so, come on, be real.

And a lot of Americans who believe football is one of life's essential vitamins and minerals admire, no, hell, worship a guy who hits low, hits dirty, talks tough, takes no shit...takes no prisoners.

Yeah. About that.

From the folder marked "things that should go without saying, but that's not a luxury we can afford to allow ourselves these days", here's a couple of those things.

First, simple human physics. Nobody likes to be pushed. Or shoved. Nobody likes to have somebody or anybody get up in their face. Especially when it's clear as crystal that the only reason that somebody is getting up in their face is to show other people how tough they are because, "hey, look how I'm getting up in their face."

That approach is classic, textbook....bullying.

Here's another one of those things that should go without saying.

Bullies never win. And, sooner or later, as sure as the setting of the sun or the ebbing of the tide, one somebody who has simply had enough of another somebody getting in their face knocks that somebody on their ass.

Even the dumbest, all neck, no brain matter football lineman knows that.

That's why even football isn't all, and only, about kicking ass and taking names.

Psst. That laminated thing the coaches are pacing back and forth with all through the game? That they keep checking and rechecking?  It's a menu of something called "plays". Here's a big word that describes what they're used for.

Strategy.

Not to confuse the issue by injecting another sport into the mix, but, the humorist Gallagher once offered up "....even boxing isn't only about punching and counter punching....sometimes, for a few minutes, at regular intervals, it's about sitting quietly in a corner....thinking things over..."

Those who have bought (read: been conned) into celebrating the tough talk, tell like it is style that Trump likes to take credit for inventing (along with, well, pretty much everything else in life, except for the Internet, Al Gore is still holding on to that one like grim death) have overlooked a very important undeniable in the whole grand scheme of life in America in relation to the global realities in the year 2018.

Leadership, as it must, by circumstance and necessity, be practiced here in the early 21st Century, most certainly requires the ability to size up an opponent, exude an air of confidence, show no visible weakness, determine an enemy's vulnerabilities, be prepared at all times to confront a threat and, when, the moment is right, and needed, strike swiftly and surely with the intention of thwarting any attack and putting an end to the confrontation.

Sounds a lot like football, don't you think?

Yeah. Except there's that people don't like you getting up in their faces thing. It just seems to piss em' off. And Lord only knows what somebody is capable of doing when they're pissed off.

That's not really doing a very good job of controlling your enemy. Or the situation.

Not a very good strategy at all.

Even the dumbest, all neck, no brain matter football lineman knows that.

Hey. You know what this all really sounds like?

Yeah.

Chess.

We live in a football nation.

And there's a guy with the limo and the Secret Service detail and podium with that really cool seal on it who you just gotta know fashions himself as the best, just terrific, the most terrific quarterback that ever lived. Better than Namath or Staubach....or Brady...or Brees.

Just one problem.

We live in a football nation.

But we live in a chess world.

And there's a guy with the limo and the Secret Service detail and podium with that really cool seal on it who naively, foolishly....stupidly.....thinks getting up in people's faces is the best, terrific, most teriffic way to win.

But wouldn't know a gambit, a pawn, a stalemate....or a strategy if his life, or the life of a nation, depended on it.

Sooner or later, as sure as the setting of the sun or the ebbing of the tide, one somebody who has simply had enough of another somebody getting in their face knocks that somebody, or that "king"... on their ass.

Checkmate.

"...Christmas....One Massively Huge Selfie..."

Pop quiz.

Name three things many Americans survive each year.

Hurricanes.

Elections.

Black Fridays.  

There are, of course, myriad other examples that could answer the question and make the point, but, in keeping with the season, let's zero in on numero tres there.

For, at this writing, another Black Friday has come and gone.

From all reports, the casualty list was relatively short this year. And while the totals are still being tallied, it's a safe bet that the number of people, who were out and about festively pushing, shoving and/or clawing their way to that fourth flat-screen they've just got to have,  this year will still end up, at the least, surpassing the number of people who showed up at the Inauguration.

Surprise pop quiz.

Name three things you are guaranteed to hear on television during the calendar year.

The Fourth of July fireworks safety spiel.

The Memorial Day/Labor Day/Thanksgiving Day be careful in record setting traffic spiel.

The "it's more blessed to give than to receive at Christmas" spiel.

The always energized, smile saturated, good morning mavens at The Today Show are locked and loaded on the subject of selflessness this season.

There's nothing wrong, and everything right, with the spirit of what Jenna and her spirited sidekicks are suggesting by way of getting in the selfless spirit of the season.

But it's difficult, if not impossible, to prevent Mr. Cynicism from tracking into the happy house with his muddy boots if only because of that pesky pixie of a word in that last sentence there.

Selfless.

For those who are, perhaps, unfamiliar with the definition, say, very, very young people or maybe folks new to our shores and to our language, oh, and certainly including, but not limited to, anyone on the Earth named Jenner or Kardashian, "selfless" is defined as "being concerned more with the needs and wishes of others than with one's own; unselfish."

And while it's both unfair and incorrect to paint an entire population with the brush soaked with "enough about me, what do you think about me", it's another safe bet to offer that you wouldn't lose a dime if you were to wager that, at least here in the land of the free, home of the what else you got that's free, these day, selfishness is at all time high....and, conversely, of course, selflessness is at an all time low.

Here's a few examples, especially offered up for those folks who are already tweeting or posting, oh, yeah, well, how about some examples, Mr. Cynicism?

And, just so we're clear, I'm not Mr. Cynicism. And I'm not Mr. Hypocrite,either, because I'll cop to being a cynic on a scale that makes Richter look no worse than a little Jello shaking, but, Mr. Cynicism is a symbolic icon of a mindset, an attitude, a pattern of behavior in our current culture.

And, yes, icon does also mean symbol, so saying symbolic icon is like saying symbolic symbol, thank you, Mr. Helper, for your selflessness in pointing that out.

Here's some examples for use in assisting others, or, your self (and that's totally ironic, but it might take a while before you can connect the dots on that one) in determining selflessness as opposed to selfishness. And taking into account the remarkably, amazingly, record shattering all time low, sometimes even non-existent attention span of the average American, we offer up these examples via the quiz show sensation that's sweeping the nation....that's right, kids....it's time to play........

(play the Soundcloud file)




See? Idea and execution are harder to get together than a red cap and a, well, no cap, because those things look ridiculous.

The idea of no gifts, giving and caring for others, more blessed to give, all of that?

And the execution of actually giving no gifts, giving and caring for others and experiencing the blessing of giving as opposed to the fleeting adrenaline rush of receiving.

Easily said.

But, that's not what America really is right now.

For now, there's just simply more "ish".

And, for that, we are all...all of us.....

Less.

It's Not About Left or Right...Just Doing What's Right

With all the holiday buzz and business already buzzing and businessing, an anniversary of some magnitude slipped past us pretty much unnoticed.

Two weeks ago, give or take.

That would be the observance that it's been two years since November 8, 2016. And the presidential election that will always be correctly described as, if nothing else.... seismic.

It's also been two years now of debating, arguing, bickering, even fighting with each other with an intensity and continuity unprecedented in modern times. Expressed articulately, and not just a little ironically, by one of those voices we sixties kids classify as iconic.

"...there's battle lines being drawn / nobody's right / when everybody's wrong..."

And November 8, 2016 was just the uncorking of the bottle. Or vial, as the case may be.

Come January 20th in the coming year, it will be two years since the venom and vitriol began spewing with a flow that made Krakatoa, East of Java look like a dripping kitchen faucet. (Yes, generation X'ers and Millennials, another sixties reference...calm down, do the Google, no such thing as too much knowledge).

Put less linguistically....shit got real on Inauguration Day, baby.    

When those thirty six million people showed up in D.C to watch the swearing in. Or eighty million or whatever number he lands on the next time somebody asks or the mood just strikes him.

Two years in the world of political discourse, discussion, debate and/or dissension,  have a dog years-like quality about them. Again, put in a sound-byte friendly version...seems like we been bitching at each other about this guy forever.

At this point in the plot, I'm personally two years and a kabillion miles past being sucked into any more point by point, tit for tat, I know you are, but what am I back and forth with anyone who is facing me and not standing beside me. Because when you keep saying white only to hear "black" as the reply and you keep saying white, knowing full well that there's not a chance in hell you're going to hear anything in reply but "black", then, cue Professor Einstein and his sharply accurate, but, still somehow, underrated definition of insanity. 

Doing the same thing over and over....and over. And expecting a different result each time.

Or at all. Ever.

So, in spite of whatever naively charming illusions with which we might feel inclined to indulge ourselves, the hard rock bottom of the cold, hard truth is that debate, whether civilized or savage, on the subject of Donald Trump is pretty much a waste of time, effort and stomach lining.

Because of something that genuinely qualifies as precedent setting, perhaps, even historic.

One of the more remarkable, if not mutated, uniquenesses of this particular pimple on the face of American history is that, by now, two years in, there is, for the first time in a long, long time, if ever, virtually no one left in one of the more prominent voting demographics in the American electoral process.

Because when it comes to circling the Electoral wagons, we got...

Democrats / and Socialists
Republicans / and Communists
Then there's Libertarians / A few might be Rotarians
Modern Whigs / Green Partiers
Humanes / They say do not wear fur
Objectivists / and Pacifists
And then the Constitutionists
Green Panthers stand to take a vow
with Legal Marijuana Now

....but one traditionally sizeable voting block is, essentially, extinct.

Undecideds.

Because, two years through the looking glass and down the rabbit hole of the World According To Trump, there are, arguably, zip, zero, nada who are still making up their minds.

The less erudite political science professors amongst us would frame it this way.

The Trump support mantra continues to pretend, or, could be argued, portend, to be "Make America Great Again."

Truth is that's just code. What it translates out to is "you is either fer us.....or you is agin' us..."

So, just like trying to resist the Borg, trying to change the minds of a Trump supporter, two years in, with all we've seen and all we've heard and all we've witnessed and...all we know... is futile.

That said, it occurs to me that there's something worth pointing out to those whose name tags read "fer us". 

And it's not about trying to convince anybody to change teams. Again, Borg, resistance. All of that Picard-esque perspective.

Here's a heretofore previously un-pondered point to ponder.

Recognizing, admitting and agreeing with us as to the staggering personal flaws and shortcomings of Donald Trump doesn't automatically imply that you are a Clinton supporter. Or an Obama supporter. Or a Bernie supporter.

It doesn't, in fact, imply that you are anything other than a reasonable, caring, compassionate, intelligent human being.

Now, for those whose initial, gut/knee jerk reaction is, in the classic style of the Donald, to lash back like a child at anyone who doesn't give you, or say to you, what you want or want to hear at every living breathing moment of the day, indulge me this brief bluntness.

Shut up.
Sit down.
And just listen.

Because, two years in, you're no longer being extended the courtesy, luxury, actually, no, make that privilege of being offended when somebody calls you out on your endorsement, if only by your silence, of the behavior, conduct and, worst of all, "presidential presentation" of this guy.

Two years ago, many of us who dreaded what lay ahead, extended that courtesy to you, and him, in the form of giving him, and, by association, you, the benefit of the doubt. Remember those chats we had that consisted of "well, he's a world class asshole, but maybe he'll rise to the occasion and become a president everyone can be proud of"?.

Or the good times we shared talking about how we agreed that he was dumber than soup, in addition to being as tactless as Kanye yanking Taylor Swift's moment away from her, but, come on, everybody deserves a chance and he has said over and over that he was going to surround himself with "people...terrific people....the best people...who know what they're talking about and how to do the things that need to get done to.......INSERT MANTRA/CODE HERE....."

Yeah. About that. Two years in. Not so much.

Sorry. Make that not at all. None. Zip. Zero. Nada.

The staffs, senior, junior and all flavors in between on the White House roster over the last two years have made Steinbrenner's hiring and firing and hiring and firing and hiring and firing Yankee managers look like unparalleled business management genius.

He doesn't listen to anyone. He doesn't care about any other opinion. None. Zip, zero.....lather, rinse, repeat.

But let's go all Shirley Ellis and get right down to the real nitty gritty.

Two and a half years, or so, ago, I did a compare and contrast kind of thing on my weekly radio show regarding Donald and his psychology. The gist of it was basically this. I said "this man being what he is, behaving as he does, saying the things he does, acting out the way he does, if your daughter brought this man home to dinner and introduced him to you as the love of her life and her future husband, you would move heaven and Earth to end that relationship. You probably wouldn't even want someone like that at your dinner table, let alone in your daughter's home, life, bed, heart. If you wouldn't want your daughter within a hundred miles of this guy, why, on God's green Earth, would you want to elect him to the most powerful office on the planet?" Those already determined to defend him, at the time, followed the earlier mentions of "well, he'll rise to the occasion" or "terrific people...the best people"....and, in one of the more memorable moments, one caller reminded me that "well, we're not electing a Sunday School teacher, are we, now?"

Got that right, buddy. Got that right big time.

You elected a sociopath.
A narcissist.
A misogynist.
A pathological liar.
A clinically verifiable case of arrested development with the emotional maturity of an emotionally damaged two year old.

And I'll spare us the list of fumbles, faux pas and fuck ups that two years have compiled and simply give a moment's spotlight to a most recent "are you effin kidding me?" moment.

When asked, this week of family gratitudes, blessings counted and thanks given, he was asked the question that millions of Americans asked each other around countless Thanksgiving tables around the nation.

"What are you most thankful for?"

This man who was extended the benefit of the doubt two years ago replied...

"I'm thankful for having made a tremendous difference in this country."

Cue George Harrison.

All through the day / I,me, mine / I, me, mine / I, me, mine.

Yeah, okay, we all agreed to agree two plus years ago that humility was as absent in his DNA as was the ability to take a joke or any criticism of any kind at any time in any way. Ever.

But that was then.

And like I said earlier, the meter on the benefit of the doubt being extended him and the courtesy of not calling you out for your endorsement of him has run out.

Not that you care what I think. And, right back at ya. I don't care what you think. And I very much don't care what you think about what I think.

Ya see what he's got us doing?

But, again, like I said, there are no undecideds. And one is either "fer" or "agin"

The point being made is, simply, this.

Acknowledging, admitting and, more importantly, denouncing the egregiously offensive, tasteless, gutless, childish, ignorant, illiterate behavior, conduct and farcical parody of this "presidential presentation", unacceptable by any reasonable, basic lowest possible minimum of human decency, is not automatically an endorsement of Hillary or Bill or Barack or Bernie or Millard fucking Fillmore.

It's simply the right thing to do.

And you know that.

Feel free to bitch, moan, swear, curse, yell, criticize, chastise, complain, resent, scream back every cheap shot, low blow, bit of bite back bullshit your brain can process and deliver for you.

Sticks and stones don't change the fact.

It's simply the right thing to do.

And you know that. 

It's kind of like that Borg thing.

What's Past Is Prologue

At this writing, it is the 55th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

After 55 years, almost two generations now, the killing of the president, shot dead in the middle of a busy street on a sunny day in Dallas, Texas seems to many, if not most, people who are alive now, just another page out of a dusty history book.

If you're under the age of, say, 50, you probably think of the murder the way my generation thought of the Great Depression or World War I or even Lincoln's assassination. Events in the timeline of American history, just facts and dates and times with no personal connection, no emotional sense of it all.

It's true what's said about history changing events that take place in your lifetime. You never forget them, in fact, your memory remains clearer than you might believe it will for much longer than you thought possible. The most recent example would, of course, be 9/11. If you were alive that day, you remember it vividly. I was twelve years old on November 22, 1963 and, today, 55 years later, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing at the moment that I heard that the president had been shot and where and what at the moment I heard that the president was dead.

The emotion of that day and that weekend poured out all over the world. The intensity honestly impossible to describe now, suffice to say that tributes and accolades and dedications came by the hour, books and magazines, television and radio shows, even songs appeared paying tribute and lamenting loss. The primal response to a nation's grief included almost endless renaming, the Florida home of America's space program, Cape Canaveral, became Cape Kennedy, you couldn't drive thought a town or city and not, at least once, travel by or on a Kennedy Boulevard or Expressway, most often past a John F. Kennedy High School. Today's under 50's traveling through or to New York probably don't realize that they have often landed or taken off from Idlewild International Airport.

In 1964, it became J.F.K.

And the rest of the world responded in kind, John F. Kennedy Plaza in Berlin and dozens of other memorials to a life cut brutally short.

The passion lasted for weeks, even months, actually, quite intensely for even a year or more and, for a long time, every year at this time, commemorations and observances showed up on our doorsteps, tributes that had, by then, become tradition, expected, like the sad, poignant inverse of the annual celebration of our births.

Eventually, with the passage of time, the commemorations came less often, reserved for the "milestones" like 20th anniversary, then the 30th, then, not again, to speak of, until five years ago on the 50th. And along with the various unwrapping of his human failings through the years, the almost mythical king of Camelot was inevitably reassigned feet of clay, giving validation to the school of thought that all of the grief and mourning and intensity of that November weekend was less about the man who died as it was about what the nation and the world had lost at the hands of whoever it was that pulled the trigger.

If you are young, the death in Dealey Plaza in 1963 is just a page out of a dusty history book. If you were alive then, you will most likely never forget.

And, from the words and tributes, accolades and dedications, airport signs, school banners, books, magazines and other expressions of emotion from that weekend 55 years ago, this song resonates as a poignant, if dated, even a little syrupy, reminder of a tragic time.

Somehow, made more tragic, if only just a little, when the promise lost and hearts broken on that day in Texas is measured against the unity lost and promises broken by someone now sitting in the very office where once sat a young man, human and flawed, but with an inspiring and visionary understanding of what America was...and was supposed to be.

And...is...supposed to be.



From 1963, words and music by David Lee and Herbert Kretzmer.

Recorded by Connie Francis.


In The Summer Of His Years

A young man rode with his head held high
Under the Texas sun
And no one guessed that a man so blessed
Would perish by the gun
Lord, would perish by the gun

A shot rang out like a sudden shout
And Heaven held its breath
For the dreams of a multitude of man
Rode with him to his death
Lord, rode with him to his death

Yes, the heart of the world weighs heavy
With the helplessness of tears
For the man cut down in a Texas town
In the summer of his years
The summer of his years

And we who stay mustn't ever lose
The victories that he won
For wherever man look to freedom ?
His soul goes riding on
Lord, his soul goes riding on

E Pluribus Uh.......Nope...

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Stark Raving Mad Like A Fox

Little something from the culture corner today.

A novel, entitled "Night Of Camp David", features an unhinged American president who falls victim to his own paranoia and conspiratorial fantasies as people around him struggle to rein in his worst impulses.

Ring any bells, there, Alexander Graham?

Here's one plot twist you might not be expecting, though.

The novel was written, and originally published, in 1965.

Now, more than 50 years after it was released, “Night of Camp David” is getting a new life. Later this month, Vintage Books, a Penguin Random House imprint, is re-releasing the novel, as a paperback, e-book and audiobook.  

The publisher isn’t shying away from drawing parallels between the novel and our current overheated political climate, with a dramatic black cover flap that reprises the tagline on the original novel: 

“What Would Happen if the President of the U.S.A. Went Stark Raving Mad?”

“It’s got the perfect balance of escapism and that haunting touch of reality,” said Anne Messitte, publisher of Vintage Books.

Messitte said she first became aware of the novel in early September, when Rachel Maddow spoke about it at length on MSNBC, and noted the eerie similarities between the fictional plot and the biggest political story of the day: the anonymous op-ed in The New York Times by a Trump official, who wrote that members of the administration were working to undermine the president’s agenda and had considered invoking the 25th Amendment to remove him.

“Dystopian thriller books and movies like that invite us as Americans to imagine what we might do with a presidency gone that haywire,” Maddow said. “It turns out, that all might have been good training because today’s news invites us Americans to consider the same.”

Interest in the novel soared. The presidential historian Michael Beschloss tweeted about it. In an interview with The New York Times, Bob Woodward mentioned he had recently reread it. Used copies on Amazon were priced at more than $100. “I read this book a long time ago back in the late 1960s,” a reviewer wrote on Amazon. “Today, we should just change its name to a “Night of Mar-A-Largo.” It’s the same plot only the characters are different.”

The novel centers on a young Iowa senator who grows worried about the president’s mental health when he is summoned to Camp David in the middle of the night. During deranged monologues, the president — a liberal Democrat named Mark Hollenbach — rants about his perceived political enemies and imaginary plots against him. He rails against the media and accuses a newspaper columnist of leading a “conspiracy” to discredit him. He tries to undo America’s longstanding alliances with Western Europe, and arranges “a high-level conference with the Soviet Premiere that could damage our national security,” according to The New York Times review. (Bizarrely, there’s even a Supreme Court justice in the novel whose last name is Cavanaugh.)

I read this novel when I was 14. Back in the day, the "political thriller" was the flavor of the month. Titles such as "Seven Days In May" (co-written by Fletcher Knebel, the author of "Night Of Camp David") and "Fail Safe", among others, showed up frequently on the best seller lists and many found their way to the big screen.

I had forgotten "Night Of Camp David" until news of the re-release surfaced on social media, the memory of it triggered by the news article featuring a picture of the actual cover from the 1965 paperback edition, an edition I owned for a long time...a long time ago.

Obviously, you don't need to be a scholar or political expert to recognize the parallels in the fictional President named Hollenbach and the truth is stranger than fiction president named Trump.

That said, with the perspective I enjoy from having been both a fourteen year old reading a "what if" thriller in 1965 and, fifty years later, an experienced political observer living smack dab in the middle of a real life playing out like it was a "what if" thriller, it occurs to me that there's a critical difference between a "President" with diagnosable psychological illness and a demagogue who, while arrogant, spoiled rotten and convinced of his own infallibility, is more likely nothing more, or less, than an opportunist with a world class ability at pulling off the con.....by flawlessly accomplishing the two things necessary to pull off the con:

You scare gullible (read: uninformed, often uneducated) people into believing any/many demons are at the door.....

And, then, convince people that you are the only hope they have of defeating the demons.

In it's fun, entertaining form, it's a Professor Harold T. Hill hustling people to buy 76 Trombones they can't really afford ("because....we got trouble.....right here in River City....)

In it's current form, it's an arrogant, spoiled rotten, self convinced infallible, getting even with the black President who made fun of him at dinner a few years back, who NEVER truly wanted to be President, let alone believe he would ever ACTUALLY get elected.......whose primary psychological problem is his total and absolute inability, therefore, refusal, to ever, ever.............ever...........be wrong about, responsible or accountable for anything....ever......while incapable of hearing (let alone accepting) ANY CRITICISM OF ANY KIND AT ANY TIME............EVER...........the absolute WORST character/personality for somebody in the job he decided to "play around" at getting......

There's an element missing in Fletcher Knebel's 1965 novel that is in our ears, eyes and faces on an hourly basis in 2018.

The fictional president's psychosis is known to a few, in particular, one, the protagonist of the novel, adding to the protagonist's list of challenges making the public aware of the danger......

This "real" president tweets his con man credentials to a global audience, 24/7.....

A friend and I have conversed frequently on the "he's mentally ill" riff being frequently cranked out by more and more every day folk as the Trump story plays itself out. Neither of us are trained or credentialed as mental health experts, but, instincts, even hunches, being what they are, we find ourselves in agreement on one educated guess.

We don't really believe that Trump is in the throes of madness.

That's giving him an air of Shakespearean drama that does a disservice to Shakespeare.

And drama.

We're also in agreement on the "ist" factor when it comes to hardy har-har Hamlet, here.

I was tempted to find a pun using Macbeth, but, as the first thing that popped to mind was MacDonald, I decided to err on the side of not slandering fast food that doesn't deserve the diss.

My pal and I agree that...  

Donald Trump is.....

...not a racist.....

...not a supremacist...

...not, really, even a "nationalist"

He is, in our opinion and you'd think to anyone with a working brain cell...

...a misogynist...

...a narcissist...

...and an egotist....

But more than any of the other "ists"....

He is an opportunist.

Often used as a five-dollar word that means con man.

If his "base" suddenly embraced minorities tomorrow, he'd fire his Cabinet and staff and replace them with blacks and Hispanics and Jews and women before end of business.

That's not stark raving mad.

That's just textbook playing to the crowd.

At least, in our book.