Okay. This is weird. When I wrote this piece, it was the early morning of Superbowl LI, Patriots vs. Atlanta Falcons. It looks like it should be a great game between two well-matched teams. I’m looking forward to watching it with my new girlfriend. I’ve already looked after dinner and though it will only be heated leftovers, its microwave preparation will be exceedingly easy. On the menu? Chicken and broccoli in orange sauce, scallops in mixed vegetables, supplemented with lots of extra, home-sauteed scallops, rice. Fortune cookies to follow. Yum!

The weird part? I’ll be cheering for the same side as my political nemesis, Donald J. Trumpinocchio, the Rusky Don of Amerika! I suppose I must grant that the legitimacy of our separate claims to be Pats fans are both genuine. I was born and raised in Eastern Connecticut, a place of Revolutionary War fervour (think Nathan Hale, Israel Putnam, David Bushnell, among others), and it is a place that naturally turns its back on New York and turns instead toward Boston, its major urban centre. Patriots!

Trump’s claim to legitimate Patriots support is based on his friendships with Tom Brady and with owner, Robert J. Kraft. I fully expect to see the Don rubbing elbows with the Kraftmeister in Kraft’s reserved box seat today. In fairness, I pledge myself not to pretend to retch, even though the sight might make me feel wretched, as I am reminded of the great promise to the world the U.S. once was and almost became.


Much of the world will be watching if, in rejoicing about some play or even a game victory, Trump and Kraft embrace in celebration. I’m glad I don’t have to live under that kind of constant, public scrutiny. My public profile is so incredibly low, one reader described me as ‘not quite cyber-dark.’ Of course, if you have seen the movie “Snowden,” you will realize that no one who does so much as use electricity or communicate electronically is fully dark. Is someone watching? Yes. Does anyone care? Mostly not, but this power can be abused, and it has been abused, and it will be abused.

Legitimate voices of opposition will be found and silenced through nefarious means, mostly discrediting by publicizing disreputable ‘private’ conduct. Trump knows about this, yet he has mastered it too. The whole world knows about his foibles. Pussy-grabbing, watching Russian hookers pee on each other, Milania smiles and calls it ‘boy talk,’ you know, ‘what else might you expect from red-blooded males?’ And honestly, what adult female could say that she has never looked around to see who’s watching if she knows she has been presenting an image of sexual allurement? People do things for which they will quickly shame others.


Sympathy for Trump? No. I can’t go that far. Not because of the ‘pussy stuff, nor the ‘watch girls pee’ stuff either. Those events may even turn out to be liberating in some peculiar ways. Because when Trump and his henchmen find and publicize the sexual secrets of journalists in an effort to discredit them, when a previously respected political opponent is singled out and his predilection for either dominant or submissive sexual behaviours, etc. is publicized, I expect the alt-right to hypocritically hoot and howl like a bunch of threatened, angry primates. Yet if acceptance of Trump’s sexcapades and of gay peoples’ rights to engage in private, consensual, sexual activities means anything at all, it means that everyone’s rights to privately, sexually engage the way they will should also be their own business. That would, of course, not include spontaneous pussy-grabbing! ‘Pee-for-pay,’ seems odd to me, but okay. ‘Pussy-grabbing,’ no!

So here it is! Superbowl Sunday morning. By the time my readers get around to opening this article, the game result will probably be known, so I shall put my incredible claim in the past tense. Donald Trump and I cheered for the same side! I slap my forehead with an open hand in amazement, hoping that my doing so does not falsely signal any inclination toward masochism! Slap!