Stupidity, like death, taxes, trash and weeds, never seems to leave us.
Roger Goodell wanted to have Tom Brady staked out in the sun over Deflategate and the Patriots’ QB made it a gimme putt for the NFL commish.
Brady is pretty. Pretty stupid that is.
More than his balls were deflated. So was his brain.
He fumbled the ball regarding the investigation surrounding the inflation levels of footballs in January’s AFC title game.
The smoking gun that squeezed the trigger on Goodell’s upholding of Brady’s four-game suspension was Brady destroying his cellphone.
The NFL wanted Brady’s cellphone and the information it held but Brady simply would not hand it over. Perhaps his phone housed nude images of his super model wife.
A four-game suspension does not fit the crime. But it does fit the cover-up.
You don’t have to be Norman Rockwell to draw a parallel between Deflategate and Watergate.
Except that Tom Brady looks much better on camera than Richard Nixon did.
God forbid someone shoot bullets holes into somebody’s freedom to bear arms.
So we continue to be held hostage by mass shootings in America.
Hot lead and spilled blood and lives should not be an everyday fact of life in a civilized society.
Shootings, mass or single or whatever, are as common as the sunrise. Maybe we should all wear bulletproof vests.
It happened again Thursday night when a man opened fire with a handgun in a Louisiana movie theater, killing at least two people and injuring at least nine others before killing himself and saving us the trouble.
We can’t control nuts from going off.
But we can control the guns that wind up in their hands.
Of course, we’ve squeezed that bullet from the chamber many times in the past.
And always missed the target.
What about now?
Donald Trump continues to be a lightning rod in the presidential race and sooner or later you wonder when his campaign will be electrocuted.
With a swagger and a snarl, he keeps firing bombastic rhetoric. He seems to relish cracking the whip and leaving welts.
For most folks who spit such inflammatory verbiage, the words would hang like heavy lead in their pockets. But with Trump’s deep pockets, he evidently doesn’t feel the pull of gravity.
Trump said today he does not owe John McCain an apology for saying the Arizona senator is only a war hero “because he was captured.” Trump added that he likes “people who weren’t captured.”
His remarks drew understandable fire not only from Hillary Clinton but also from several fellow Republican presidential candidates.
McCain likely provoked Trump when the former said the real estate mogul was firing up “crazies.”
Trump previously had found himself embroiled in controversy over comments he made last month degrading Mexican immigrants.
While I have met Trump several times, I never had him lie on a couch while I did a Sigmund Freud check on him. So I don’t know whether his instincts often are at war with his judgment. But considering that he shows no evidence of having a filter, it’s probably a moot point.
Sadly, Trump has struck a vein of irrational support in certain segments of the populace.
Nevertheless, the vultures are circling overhead his campaign like a maddened carousel.
The Iranian nuclear deal, a 159-page agreement with five detailed annexes that dwarfs in dimension any term paper I ever wrote, supposedly places tough restrictions on Iran’s nuclear program in exchange for a phased-in relaxation of international sanctions.
Needless to say, the deal has triggered baleful aftershocks. That witch’s brew of cauldron-bubbling criticism is borne on an active traditional and social media breeze.
President Obama proclaims that under the agreement every pathway to a nuclear weapon would be cut off and it would be based on verification, not trust.
Nevertheless, plenty of throats gulped into their mouths today. Few people relish dancing with the devil.
Now Obama must convince a skeptical Congress that the agreement is the best way to prevent the Middle East from exploding like a gigantic ammo dump explosion.
Congress has 60 days to put the deal’s provisions under a microscope before a possible vote of disapproval.
Obama needs a Hail Mary pass to persuade Congress, and do so against the backdrop of a presidential campaign in which GOP candidates have been trashing his foreign policy for months.
Good luck with that because bashing all things Obama is like champagne to his opponents — it gives their ego bubbly sensations.
This fight is going to be a more dangerous shark attack than anything transpiring off the Carolina coast this summer.
If the South had won the Civil War, do you think the Stars and Stripes would be flying over national cemeteries today?
A hard blue vein of deceit and/or denial runs through the character of people who stubbornly support displaying the Confederate flag.
Untutored minds lean on the false alibi that the Confederate flag symbolizes heritage, not hate.
Those folks need to be slapped in the face with the wet towel of cold reality: The Confederate flag symbolizes racism. Pure and simple.
Nevertheless, the battle over the Confederate flag bubbled over in Congress Thursday.
A bill to fund the Department of the Interior stalled after Republicans tried to add an amendment that would protect the Confederate flag in national cemeteries.
A swarm of lawmakers took to the House floor to condemn the move.
This firestorm over the Confederate flag is flooding many with rage. Rage that can only be taken off like a suit coat when the flag symbolizing slavery is banned from public display.
Granted, the Fourth of July is a grand holiday, with sparkling fireworks turning the sky into a symphony in flamboyance.
We sprinkle this patriotic holiday with stardust and it glitters like a jewel box awash in moonlight.
Alas, once the Fourth segues into the Fifth, summer seems to vanish quicker than a street corner transaction.
Summer days start bleeding from the calendar and nobody knows how to apply a tourniquet to the hemorrhage.
With autumn and winter now advancing on us like a forest fire fanned by unforgiving winds, I’m fueling up my snow blower and putting ice scrapers back into my two cars.
Don’t blink. It will be Christmas in the twinkle of an eye.