I
am so tired of being embarrassed by my President. I really am. I try to give him the respect that any person
who occupies that office deserves. We
only get one President at a time, and this is his time—and for some reason, he
invariably uses it to embarrass us. The
latest case in point is his appearance at the United Nations this morning.
He had an opportunity to be a statesman. He had an opportunity to show himself to be
worthy of his Nobel Peace prize. He had
an opportunity to be a visionary. All
three legitimate uniforms were in his wall-locker back in the clubhouse, and what did he do? He pushed them aside and showed up in the
clown costume of a two bit Chicago ward heeler, a party hack.
To use the baseball analogy that Edward-Isaac Dovere used in his Politico article
referenced above, he threw a couple of inside puff balls to Putin and then, in
the grand Washington tradition of Jonathan Papelbon, he threw blazers at the
head of his own Country and kicked us in the groin in the dugout! According to Dovere, the President then “invoked the invasion of Iraq as an example of how the
United States itself stumbled by going against international law.” That’s a great way
to establish moral authority—calling your own country an international
outlaw.
He had an international stage, and
he wasted it for the sake of the political hacks who make up his base. Dick Cheney left office seven years ago. He was only Vice President. But, having done nothing of real substance in
seven years, the President reverts to the only real consistent policy of his
presidency: blame the guys who came
before him. And then as an afterthought,
he takes a few puny swipes at the Blowhard of the Month—who is self-destructing
on his own, thank you very much.
That, of course, is the real fear
of the Democrats: Trump slithers back
into the subways and sewers of New York City and people take an even harder
look at Hillary Clinton and her ever-changing stories: I gave all the e-mails, er, well, not all of
them, but certainly all that I wanted to ever see the light of day, and besides
it was Ms Abedin's fault, the one I set up to be paid by the State department and a
Party loyalist and maybe the Bill and Chelsea Foundation (about which I know nothing,
Colonel Hogan, absooooluuuutely nothing!) and its all a plot against me.
And then, to complete the baseball
analogy, he decides on his own to come back out of the dugout to tip his hat at…..himself. He should have learned from Jayson Werth of
the Washington Bugs…Mosquitos…. Gnats, that’s it, the Washington Gnats. Here is Werth only 7 weeks ago: : “We
are only a game back right now, but as we get healthy, we’ll be rolling again.
It’s our division to lose.” As of
tonight, the Insects are nine-and-a-half back and failing fast.
According to Dovere,
Obama held himself up as an example of how to make international diplomacy work. The U.N. is a body famous for spending a lot of time and money sitting around in rooms like this one, he said, bemoaning what’s gone wrong in the world and urging international action, but rarely delivering much more than resolutions.
That’s a huge contrast to the Iran agreement he spearheaded, Obama said. If the deal is “fully implemented," he said, "the prohibition on nuclear weapons is strengthened, a potential war is averted, our world is safer. That is the strength of the international system when it works the way it should.”
Unless it doesn’t. To quote the World War II RAF pilots who were
fed up with qualified assurances, “And
if my grandmother had wheels, she’d be a bloody motor-bus.”
Nope, it was a bad day for the home
team in that snake pit on the East River.
Our own manager shot us in our collective foot. And he did it intentionally.
We need another Stephen
Decatur. “My Country. In her intercourse with foreign nations, may
she always be in the right. But right or
wrong, my Country.” Do we have some dirty laundry in
our closet? Some, but nowhere near as
much as the “Hate America First” bunch would have you believe. Should we air it in public? Just remember what our mothers taught us.
No, you blew it, Mr. President. And when the team is doing as badly as you
suggest we are, baseball has a tried and (sometimes) true solution: Fire the manager.
Sorry kid, we’re gonna option you
to the Mexican League.
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