Sam Elliott’s Hero within a Hero

 DATELINE:  Movies for the Older Audience

 Elliot & Ross The Hero    Katherine Ross & Sam Elliot

Film director Brett Haley seems to have cornered the senior citizen/golden-ager demographic with his latest film, The Hero.

It stars aged in wood cowboy actor Sam Elliot as an aged in wood cowboy star.

You couldn’t ask for a better representative of the old-fashioned saddletrap. Elliot relives part of his career with clips from a movie-within-a-movie called The Hero.

Whether he turns out to be the hero of his own life, the pages of Edna St. Vincent Millay may show. We are a sap when it comes to movies that use metaphors from Edna, as one of her bittersweet poems dominates the movie’s climax.

The film is partially based on Elliott and his career. Indeed, his wife Katharine Ross makes a rare film appearance as his ex-wife. She looks marvelous, but director Haley seems to give old stars a rebirth (see his earlier I’ll See You in My Dreams, with Barbara Bain, Mariette Hartley, and Elliott).

And, the plot revolves around his friendship with an old costar from a benighted TV series and his alienated daughter who is a bitter by-product of his past life.

Director Haley scores again with the geriatric performers. Max Gail shows up as the head of a Western fan movie group that honors the lead character with a ‘lifetime achievement’ award that no one has ever heard of. An aging fanbase hangs on for words of wisdom.

Silver-haired and silver-throated Sam Elliott’s Hero cowboy must face the grim diagnosis of his doctor and still maintain his star quality and prideful heroism. This is a masterful job of movie-making—but likely will be wasted on young viewers. It will resonate with generations of long ago.

 

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High Cost of Men Accosting Women

DATELINE:  Naked Oscar in Gilt

oscar

In Hollywood, it is growing abundantly obvious that the only men who haven’t groped women are gay. That lets out repulsive men like Harvey Weinstein. What women would have gone with him willingly? He’s a toad—and clearly heterosexual.

We hesitate to ask if gay Hollywood icons have groped other men. We’ll have to ask Tab next time we see him. So far, we haven’t heard any charges—but since Hollywood is a place where copycats rule, you can expect the gay rapists to be fingered before Xmas.

You may expect a new sense of revisionist history: condemnation of formerly critically successful movies will be on the agenda because the participants and producers were sexist swine. Cue the recall of Oscar—a naked man in gold gilt.

In the meantime, we are hearing that Oliver Stone, Ben Affleck (but not Matt Damon), and sundry other men have proven their heterosexuality by accosting actresses. It must be a rite of spring.

Men, not accused of molesting women, will now be outed as disinterested parties (clubs where men dance only with other men).

Of course, at the time, usually in the distant 1990s, actresses expected to remain silent in the face of these kind of onslaughts. So, it is only 20 years later that a spate of rape charges is coming forth. We aren’t sure whether the statute of limitations has passed on some of these cold cases. We also wonder if an accusation is deadlier than actually finding someone is guilty.

Women are now boycotting Twitter because it is part of the male-dominated system. Apparently, these same women have missed the boat that Twitter also has favored the Russians over Hilary Clinton.

Since women are nowadays the primary readers in our society, writers like Hemingway are likely to be dunned more than ever. Expect a cadre of writers to come charging out of the closet soon.

If we start making judgments based on the thrilling days of yesteryear, no one will be safe. Twenty or thirty years ago was a different world, even if it pretended to be the Golden Age of Enlightenment.

If women are prepared to press the issue of male malfeasance, you can bet your bottom dollar and top drawer that these guys will go into rehab, aka “therapy,” which is certainly a way out of the dark and deep woods of the groped past.

As for us, we have always viewed light in the loafers as a standard defense.

 

Broken John Garfield in The Breaking Point

DATELINE:  Lost & Forgotten Movies

Garfield

Of the legendary Blacklist victims of old Hollywood, one of the most tragic is actor John Garfield, a star not much thought of nowadays. He died too young, but he would have been even bigger before another decade passed if only he had lived.

He had a career often playing tough guys with a conscience, often in socially redeeming movies. Clifford Odets wrote Golden Boy for him, but he never played it. Elia Kazan was a buddy, but never directed him. Garfield’s last role, before he was forced off the screen in 1951, was The Breaking Point, based on an Ernest Hemingway tale.

As you might expect, Garfield played an independent owner of a small fishing boat that rented out to corrupt businessmen on holiday.

Needing money, Garfield’s character succumbs to dealing in human contraband, bringing illegal aliens into the United States from Mexico. The story almost seems ripped from present-day headlines.

Featuring Juano Hernandez as his partner, a daring cross-color friendship in the middle of the McCarthy era, Garfield’s hero must deal with temptations of corruption. Patricia Neal, in her blonde vamp role, is hard-hearted nemesis, tempting the hero from his wife.

Garfield suffered from a rheumatic heart in the days before medications and procedures—and yet he often played the action hero. Throw in the stresses he suffered personally from the House on Un-American Activities, and you have a shortened life.

The film treads on noir ground, and it plays as cultural realism too. It seems a contradiction coming from the macho-Hemingway mode, but this is a tale of honor with filmmakers who wanted to be relevant as well as entertaining.

Today The Breaking Point stands as a movie way ahead of its time.

 

 

Nikki Haley: Hatemonger

DATELINE:  Crypto-Nazi Emerges at UN

 NIcki Haley, armed & dangerous

Armed & Dangerous

UN ambassador Nikki Haley has now become Public Enemy #1 in the gay community of the United States. You might as well put her on an FBI wanted poster in every post office around the world.

With her vote in support of executing gay people, she put the United States in a basket of Deplorables with 12 of the most backward Arab states. Now our United States has joined the notorious group of repressive nations that are one step away from Nazi Germany’s execution of Jews.

When you advocate the genocide of a group of people, you are a Nazi, Ambassador Haley. You can’t put a pretty bow on it and claim that’s not what you did. It is exactly what your vote meant.

Not since Anita Bryant took on the Gay Community to her everlasting infamy of self-destruction, by throwing gay people out with the orange juice, has there been a woman who has become the face of gay scorn. Nicki Haley is the obvious Doppleganger of Anita Bryant.

Nikki Haley may be the first real casualty of the Trump political wars. She has effectively ended any future career in politics by joining the Trumpet Administration and becoming its new Crypto-Nazi, white supremacist pretty face.

Though she since insists her vote was not anti-gay, it’s hard to support voting against a resolution to call for NOT executing gay people for their lifestyles. She may think she has been misunderstood and misjudged. This is called self-delusion.

Welcome to the world of the LGBTQ community, where people are misjudged and misunderstood every day. Yes, Nikki Haley, that’s you, the face of the new Nazi-ism in America.

Trump Gives NFL a Concussion

DATELINE: Trump Playing without a Helmet glad gladiators

Money talks and President Trump listens. No man is an island in the NFL, and woe to islands that are decimated by hurricanes.

Mr. Stump Trump, our Lord of the Flies, has encouraged his followers to seek financial remuneration through demands for refunds from NFL teams, and some former fans have even claimed to boycott the football games, driving ratings to alleged lows.

Whether this is true or has any lasting merit is not yet clear.

On the other hand, it is clear that Trump has cast the island of Puerto Rico adrift. We don’t know if any games have had protests on the island because we don’t think anyone is playing games while their lives are facing a lack of drinking water, no electrical power, and isolation from social media.

And you thought the NFL has a problem.

Half the teams in the NFL are losers again this week. It’s the nature of the beast. However, Trump will now take credit for having players stand in respect, hands over hearts, arms linked, hands on shoulders, as the “Star Spangled Banner” unfurls. We feel that the Nazi salute is not far from Trump demands.

Millions watch games. Trump attends a fancy golf tournament at a golf club that costs $500,000 to join.  There is plenty of disconnect here with players in the NFL who make no less than that per season, with many making millions. Fans pay plenty to go to games and express their free speech right to the minions of the sport who have no rights in Trump’s world.

Respect is a one-way street in Trump’s America.

Like the ancient Roman gladiators, who died entertaining their rapacious fans, the NFL players must stand and repeat, “We who are about to be concussed salute you,” to Trump as he sits like Nero in his golf suite.

Many will contribute much of their earnings to the DumpTrump movement that is burgeoning among American citizens with and without a brain concussion.

As a Trump donor in the previous election, we receive nearly daily requests to voice our support and loyalty to Donald Trump. The requests center upon a donation of $1 to prove our loyalty. No one has asked us to boycott games and boo NFL players—yet.

Nor have we been asked to donate to relief funds for Puerto Rico by the same committee supporting Trump. The money is for the president, not citizens without homes, water, or to end a life threatening struggle to survive.

It has made us a tad sick.

It’s all the problem of “fake news media,” though it is growing unclear who the real fake is.

 

 

 

 

 

What Price Glory? Bees’ Knees Have It

DATELINE: Trump’s Magical Misdirections

trump apron strings

The NFL anthem protest is a tempest in a teapot. Trump is dealing with more Teapot Dome tempests than any president since Warren G. Harding.

You might think there is no possible resolution to the knee-jerk reaction of Donald Trump to NFL protesting players. Forget them not: Basketball of the NBA is on the horizon where the lives of black players matter big.

When Trump notes that NFL owners are afraid of their plantation slaves, we are reminded that such a mentality was quite prevalent in the early 19th century among cotton-picking businessmen. Like any good magician, Trump is misdirecting his audience away from his sleight of hand, like a Mississippi riverboat charlatan.

So, the NFL has called in team captains and owners for a meeting of the minds. Fear is a great equalizer.

Roger Goodell met on Thursday with Devin McCourty and Matthew Slater, two New England Patriot leaders—and with owner Robert Kraft. Tom Brady seems to have taken a powder with his MAGA hat.

Powers that be may well be worried over the few knuckleheads who have burned their team jerseys with blow torches and have sworn never to watch another football game.

We don’t believe it. These followers of social media are like junkyard dogs, barking up a storm, but in the heady days of Super Bowl hype, we feel they will find their mettle melted.

Perhaps football Sunday should be immune from politics and inflammatory rhetoric. Fat chance with the Lord of the Flies Donald Trump tweeting out with presidential flair and Dumbo abandon.

Arm-in-arm, solidarity against racism would seem to be a no-brainer, though some conservatives feel the venue is inappropriate. Yet, their message is lost in a blinding white-out storm.

Anticipated more than victory may be the pre-game anthem, a place in America where black men have risen to fame and fortune while the majority of their peers face daily worry that a stray bullet may end their black and bleak lives.

If Russian agents exploited ‘Black Lives Matter’ to win a national election for the Lord of the Flies, you can bet your bottom dollar that, as that Fenway Park sign told a few weeks back, racism is as American as football and baseball, not to mention basketball.

 

Frantz: Elegiac Film Experience

DATELINE:  Rare Gem

frantz

Sensitive, intelligent, cultured films like Frantz manage to be amazing discoveries for those who find such an artistic gem. It’s beautiful, with hints of classical sounds from Rimsky-Korsakoff to Mahler. It is in both German and French, with English subtitles.

It’s black and white, with occasional bursts of faint pastel.

That said, the audience is down to a handful of discriminating aficionados of movie-making.

This film manages to be fascinating in its plot and full of surprises. In 1919 after the war, a lovely German woman discovers a Frenchman leaving flowers on the grave of her dead fiancé. It is a mystery that never fully unravels until the turn of events is a reversal of fortunes.

The story is one of serene melancholy, elegiac in its mourning and works for anyone who loses a soldier to war.

A Frenchman in Germany after World War I encounters cultural hostility—and when the German girl goes to Paris, the reverse holds true. In the beginning, slowly the dead soldier’s parents appreciate the Frenchman who claims to be a friend to their son, meeting him in Paris before the war where they both shared an interest in the violin.

You may rightfully be suspicious of what is behind the obvious facts. You might also be quite wrong when you jump to conclusions. The dead soldier story can be traced back to a 1932 film made by Ernst Lubitsch called Broken Lullaby.

Pierre Niney is so peculiar as Adrien, the French ami of Frantz, that you may find his performance is, in itself, a red herring—and Paula Beer is so enchanting as the dead man’s heartbroken fiancee that the audience must feel her tragedy.

Yet, it is director Francois Ozon who is the mastermind behind the pieces so beautifully woven together—music, images, emotions.

You might encounter such a film experience rarely nowadays. Frantz is a haunting masterpiece.

Environmental Hottie: Leo DiCaprio

DATELINE:  Floodgates are Now Open

With flooding and natural disasters occurring now three and four times a year instead of once per century, we thought it was time to take a look at it Leonardo DiCaprio’s documentary called Before the Flood.

We are already way ahead of you. We also laughed at the notion that DiCaprio, a semi-self-educated actor, is an expert in global warming. Yet, because of his fame and celebrity, the United Nations made him a special Messenger of Peace on the issue.

AT the UN, they listened to his speech with more rapt interest than at global warming scoffer Donald Trump.

DiCaprio begins his documentary with a litany of FOXNews expert ridiculing him for his so-called expertise. So we give him credit for recognizing that one. However, he follows it by a notorious plug for his movie The Revenant.

What can you expect from a child whose parents put Hieronymous Bosch’s notorious painting of hell  and paradise over his crib?

DiCaprio is no newcomer to the issue of climate change. He goes back to video clips over 20 years ago in which he meets with Al Gore, Bill Clinton, Oprah Winfrey, and shows his interest in the environment, using his fame as a passport to open doors.

With Irma and Harvey and Maria and earthquakes, DiCaprio is beginning to look like a prophet in the wilderness.  He says the real profits are from billionaires with fronting organizations like the fake news-media and politicians who deny global warming. Yep, that’s called biting irony. Fake media cuts two ways.

The entire term “global warming” is a misnomer. Actually, it is not warming; it is extremes in the weather.  And there’s no denying we have that lately in Irma, Harvey, or Maria.

The question is whether it’s caused by man made fossil fuel, or by forces of the universe yet unknown. Blame it on ancient aliens.

With the concept of expertise getting the short shrift in American culture for the past half century, it’s not surprising that experts are denigrated. It’s not popular to be one of the elite intelligentsia in a democracy of boors.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re a scientist, an artist, or just an ordinary PhD.

You will be ridiculed for being different.

In 21st century America, you are persona non-grata. You might as well go out into the wilderness and start crying.

The people for whom this documentary is meant to educate have already Hit the remote button to shut off the screen.

In that sense, this is all a waste of time.

Silver Skies: Old Stars Return 

DATELINE: Yesteryear

George Hamilton

Hamilton with director Rodriguez
 

If you want an opportunity to see a bunch of your favorite 1960 stars, Silver Skies is the movie for you. It’s the tale of our group of elderly people living in an apartment complex for a come face-to-face with eviction when their homes are converted to condos.

 
Looking marvelous, George Hamilton does not look anywhere near his age, but the biting irony of this character: he is the only one of the residents with Alzheimer’s. Former mobster actor, Alex Rocco has turned into a softer grandfather figure.
The women stars include Barbara Bain, formerly of Mission impossible. There is Valerie Perrine, like Hamilton, extremely youthful still. And, in a major role, Marietta Hartley, best known for her TV commercials with James Garner.

Even Dick Van Patten shows up for a cameo.

Though this film is billed as a family drama, that is entirely deceptive from writer director Rosemary Rodriguez. The film is quite dark and bleak at times, dealing with elderly abuse and sexual issues among senior citizens.

The old residents and stars try to organize to fight back against greedy forces that have no respect for old age. For fans, this may be a glorious last chance to see those old familiar faces at again in the limelight. There’s no professional like an old professional.

Set in Sherman Oaks, California, where many former Hollywood types reside, the characters are all basically small time workers in the movie industry. It doesn’t really save them from the ravages of old age.
The film is ultimately done in by a saccharine ending under the credits. It is interesting to see a film entirely directed to the senior audience.

Fenway Park Signage Up Ahead

DATELINE:  Trolls in the Park
imbeciles at work
Perhaps you belong to that quaint community that used to recall when signage at Fenway Park said things like: “No Smoking.” Or the ever useful “restroom” with the corresponding arrow.
Today if you go to Fenway Park, someone will unfurl a banner that reads: “Racism is as American as baseball.”
We would rush to advise the holders of the banner that they left out mom and apple pie.
Yes, indeed, baseball has a racist history. You probably can find racism and associated with any topic. Human nature being what it is.
The modern slogan is symptomatic of the new Puritans, following in the footsteps of their witch- hunting ancestors from Salem who always enjoyed finger-pointing on the way to kangaroo courts.
The new Puritans of today are likely wolves in sheepskin. They are college educated and know better than you whether you should wear a seat-belt or smoke a cigarette. And they are not shy to find any pulpit on which to share their slogan. In this case,  it happens to be Fenway Park on live television. Bingo, they have bingo.
When you are among the enlightened, you have carte blanche to do whatever you want whenever you want. Next you know, they may start crying fire in a crowded theater.
What the New Puritans are really against is being forgotten, or seen as unimportant, a mere cog in social media.  For them there is nothing worse than being a number in a computer program.
We don’t see much difference between those hapless fools who want to wave and cavort whenever television cameras turn on around them, and the new pure Puritan.
It’s a great American tradition to ask for liberty or death, or to live free or die.
We recall the days when a Fenway sign was something like, “Wade, we’re not wearing any underwear,” which always inspired Wade Boggs to get another hit.

No Crying Jag for Crying Game

 DATELINE:  Sexual Politics in the IRA

 jaye

 

Twenty-five years ago, The Crying Game was nominated for Oscar’s Best Picture and co-star Jaye Davidson was a nominee for supporting star. Davidson stayed in movies a few more years before deciding to drop out, disliking the attention.

Director Neil Jordan made his reputation with the movie and worked deliberately since, with Interview with the Vampire standing out from his oeuvre.

The Crying Game uses the terrorism of the Irish Republic Army as a backdrop for sexual politics.

The impressive cast is so young and fresh: Forrest Whitaker as a British soldier, Stephen Rea as his abductor, Miranda Richardson as a firebrand radical, with Jim Broadbent—and, of course, Jaye Davidson as the striking main squeeze of Forrest Whitaker.

The film is two distinct halves: the capture of the victim and his ordeal, and Rea’s escape to England to find Whitaker’s paramour (at the request of the prisoner).

Twists of the plot and turns of the body politic make for Jordan’s unusual take on how radical agendas may be dwarfed by the personal foibles of the participants.

If someone spoiled the story-line for you, curses on them. You need to see this to figure it out—and the clues are omnipresent from the easy friendship between Rea and Whittaker, to the odd Metro bar where Dil sings after daywork as a hairdresser.

Where Rea’s IRA escapee seems too easily manipulated by the women around him, the women are forceful and willing to take charge.

Jordan throws pop music handily into the plot—from Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman,” to the ultimate, “Stand by Your Man,” sung by Tammy Wynette. There is subtext here, mostly found in the song of the movie title, lip-synched by Davidson effectively in one scene.

Watching the film, you will know why it was all the rage a generation ago—and remains topical and effective today.

 

Melania Trump: All Wet Look in Texas Flood

DATELINE: Capri Pants Optional

melania

Mr. Ed knew some thing about lucky shoes. He had four of them, for all kinds of weather.

Melania Trump should take a lesson from the knowledgeable TV star. She has now reached the exalted heights of a talking horse—and her shoes may be most unlucky. The heels were longer than a hummingbird beak.

Choosing to accompany the President on a trip to flood ravaged Houston, Texas, to meet up with Harvey the 50-inch rainfall hurricane, Mrs. Trump wore black stiletto heels on her bare feet. We presumed the open-toed look was to let the water in and out as she stepped into puddles.

No one told her that sunglasses were not needed on a cloudy day. Her bombardier jacket was, however, the right touch—because critics were about to dump on her shoddy shoes. We would be the last person to suggest rubbers for Melania, or even the President, mainly because they usually will be ill-fitting for stilettos.

Holy water, whatever do the Trumps think when they go out to become the first tourists in a natural disaster, the likes of which now rival the Johnstown Flood of the 19th century?

No one expects Melania to need waders as she slogs her way through flooded streets. Indeed, we don’t expect Melania to step over any puddles as she is taking Air Force One, not a puddle-jumper.

We also expect that Mr. Trump will be as gallant as Sir Walter Raleigh who doffed his coat and let the First Lady of England, Queen Elizabeth I, walk across water like she was the anointed apostle of the Church of England. Melania did not wear a crown, only a FLOTUS hat to the flood. No irony intended.

When Mrs. Trump landed in Texas, she skipped trying to look like Jackie Kennedy disembarking with her President. She wore her hair in a pony tail, a la Mr. Ed, and she had exchanged her stiletto heels for a pair of Michael Jordan jumpers for kicks.

No, she did not bring the wet T-shirt this time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

So You Want to Ban Gone with the Wind?

DATELINE: Goose-stepping Left Wingers

polar opposites

Scarlett and Mammy as diametric moral opposites.

We have now reached the point of philistine fatuity from the politically correct police squad. There has been a question raised in the New York Times about the racism and Confederate flags used in the classic epic American movie, Gone With the Wind.

Yes, political hacks now wonder if your home video ought to be burned, banned, and otherwise refuted. Please tell the hoi polloi how any suggestion of banning the book or movie version of GWTW puts distance between the Nazi regime of Hitler where banned books were burned and American literature.

Suggestions have mounted that the pre-Intermission waving of the Confederate flag over the wounded and dead Johnny Rebs at the train station is some kind of celebration. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You might also say that the flag commentary is as much to show the waste of human life over a misguided cause.

Those who see slavery in the movie and book as being endorsed are the kind of functional illiterates now graduating from a poor and pathetic American education system. In point of fact, Mammy is the spiritual center of the tale, a counterpoint to the rapacious and greedy Scarlett who destroys everyone in her path.

So much for putting privileged white people on a pedestal.

When Scarlett slugs Prissy the maid for her ineptitude, you cannot say that it shows the cruelty of slavery. It shows what happens to people under stress and how one spoiled bitch acts.

Gone with the Wind is historical soap opera, grandeur and grandiose combined, indeed showing how a generation of Southerners were living with delusions of grandeur. How can that be an endorsement of a lifestyle?

The marvelous Hattie McDaniel played domestics throughout her career—and shocked audiences by winning an Oscar for playing a slave in 1939. It is historic in many ways, flying in the face of discrimination and prejudice. She was a committed actress, not a slave and not a servant. If she suffered racism, it is all the more important her work be seen.

Those who do not learn from history probably went to bad public schools, or worse, went to private schools where they didn’t have to learn anything they didn’t want. Having taught at private and public colleges, we know of what we speak.

You may as well try to ban the American songbook because Stephen Foster glorified the lazy, hazy days of the Confederacy. You might as well ban the Band for singing “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.”

Where does the madness end?

 

 

Trump & Roach Motels

 DATELINE:  Hurricane Harvey Solutions

Astro

Hurricane Harvey may cause millions to flee areas about to be devastated by a Category 4 storm with winds over 140 mph.

Fear not, citizens. The Trump Homeland Security promises that checkpoints along the route will operate as usual, even if you are delayed from escaping the fury of Nature.

You must bear with the Homeland Security folks who put your life in danger because they have a job to do:  find those pesky illegals who are trying to save their lives from natural disaster.

Of course, this means you are damned if you do, and deported if you do. The upshot is that an unknown quantity of people will stay in harm’s way.

President Trump sent out one of his patented tweets that essentially said, “Rotsa Ruck,” like he was a Jetson dog.

“Good job, Brownie,” as President Bush once notoriously said as thousands died in Hurricane Katrina, and countless others suffered violence and lawlessness..

To that end, Emergency Shelters will become Roach Motels. Illegal aliens will check in—but won’t be allowed to check out.

roach motelFEMA Emergency Shelter

Yes, the storm will become the Trump Pied Piper, leading the tired and huddled masses to deeper dangers and fears.

What’s a little phobia?  Every day brings a little death in Texas where you cannot trust civil servants to be civil, or provide you with food and water unless you have papers to prove you are an American citizen.

There is no rest for those seeking refuge from poverty—or from impending doom. Your federal government is at work, like the Post Office, neither rain, wind, nor President Trump, will stop them from doing the work of the Grim Reaper.

Good job, Trumpie.

The President Rings Twice, and the Patriots Answer

DATELINE:  Ring-a-Ding Trump

off off-season   Mr. Kraft to you bradys-friend

Having eschewed humorous sports reports on Boston travesties lately, we are forced into a return to the topic one more time.

For this, you can thank Robert Kraft, owner of the New England Patriots and close friend of President Donald Trump.

In April, one of the first big sports events of the Trump era was the visit of the Super Bowl champs of 2017 to the White House. This fiasco was decorated with many missing members of the team who protested the new President. One can only wonder how many of the black players might find their lives hardly mattering after the incidents of KKK and neo-Nazis in Charlottesville or Charlotte’s Web.

They might feel some blame for the violence, making their livings through one of the most concussed and violent games around.

However, we beat a dead horse when today’s news is not fake enough for the alt-right. Yes, Robert Kraft has bestowed one of his $36,000 diamond-studded Super Bowl rings on Mr. Trump.

Usually the President receives a jersey with Tom Brady’s partial number, 1, on it, if it is recovered from international thieves.

However, this year, the man who often breaks bread with Trump and flies on Air Force One often, decided to break precedent and give the President one of those prized rings.

Reportedly, Kraft wanted Trump to have something to put into his presidential library when his term is up, sooner than later, with not much to show for it so far.

Kraft also gave a ring to Tom Brady’s mother for her valiant battle against cancer, which felled Kraft’s wife several years ago. It was Trump’s condolences back then that sealed his friendship with the billionaire NFL owner.

 

 The White House is not talking about when the ring was made or bestowed. And, the Patriots have only made a sly announcement this week in the midst of the pre-season after a tumultuous off off-season.

You can read all about it in Ossurworld’s notorious book, The Patriots Most Off Off-Season Ever, perhaps the last in the Patriots series of hilarious, if not nasty, accounts of their dynastic years.