After the Twins game last night, I was trying to recapture a cheerful outlook by watching clips of Hillary Clinton eviscerating Trump when the program was interrupted to report that Muhammad Ali had died. Maybe Trump was lucky to have his most recent bouts of dumb-assedness pushed temporarily to the side, but it doesn't really matter. There will be time for him to reclaim the spotlight, like when more evidence in the sorry case of Trump U comes to light. The Republicans have nominated for president a guy who's more fit to shill for his "university" in ads airing at 2 in the morning on the Game Show Network. Down on your luck? For $35,000, I'll let you in on my real estate secrets! He's a turd.
Ali. Of his many memorable speech acts, I think my favorite occurred when a sportswriter corrected his grammar. Ali retorted, "I said I was the greatest, not the smartest." This morning, one of the cable hosts interviewed Chuck Wepner, who lasted into the fifteenth round of a 1975 championship bout against Ali. He told a funny story about that experience. On the day of the fight, he gave his wife a little negligee, and explained that she'd need it "cuz tonight, you're going to sleep with the heavyweight champion of the world." When he got back to the room after the fight, she was sitting on the edge of the bed in her new garment. She looked up as he walked in. "Oh, it's you," she said. "Where's Ali? Or am I going to his room?"
I like a guy who'll tell a story on himself. Happily, that doesn't oblige me to like Trump.
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