Mike O'Connell

Like most people in this country my opinions of our presidential candidates have not changed in the past 48-72 hours. I didn’t know that Donald Trump was a boisterous womanizer? This was news? And after watching the moral decay of this nation the past three decades, somehow last Friday we all became Victorian prudes.

At least it made for an entertaining TV show. I mean debate.

Lost in this political struggle over the weekend was real news from Washington: a sweep from its local football and baseball teams, who both prevailed yesterday with hard-fought victories. Oh that our Washington Spirit could have pulled out a win yesterday in the National Women’s Soccer League championship match. Alas, the Spirit fell in heartbreaking fashion, preventing the trifecta for which D.C. sports fans were ready.

Can’t win ’em all, I guess.

Unless you’re the Toronto Blue Jays.

Last night vice presidential candidates Tim Kaine and Mike Pence squared off in what will be their only nationally televised debate. They spent most of the evening talking about the tops of their tickets, so I’m still a little confused about who these guys actually are. (Apparently one of them represents me?) I suppose this is common, though, especially this uncommon year with lightning rod candidates at the top and inoffensive white guy running mates. Regardless, on a night with little else to be seen in primetime (thanks, Jays and O’s, for waiting), this “debate” was amusing if nothing else.

More illustrative of this campaign was Sunday’s front-page article in The Washington Post: “Finally. Someone who thinks like me.” You’ve got to hand it to the Post to go out and find a Trump supporter to interview, let alone profile with a few thousand words.

Who was this person? The craziest one they could find, showing that yup, all Trump supporters are morons who think that Obama is a Muslim and a closeted homosexual, and that Michelle is either a man in drag or a transvestite. (I swear to God these are all theories highlighted in the article.)

The interviewee, a Ms. Melanie Austin, lives in Brownsville, Pennsylvania, population 2,292. “My crappy little corrupt community” she affectionately calls it. Disaffected, disenfranchised, jobless, a smoker (this is mentioned more than once)… the phrase “bitter clinger” comes to mind. Or perhaps basket of deplorables.

This is how the Washington Establishment sees America. They can barely stomach the fact that these people are allowed to think, let alone vote. Such unenlightened rubes. Cornballs. Hillbillies. These are the yokels who will fall for Trump like they fall for slick-talking, fly-by-night televangelists. People who can’t afford a decent pair of shoes who still send 10 dollars a week to some phony charity pushed by a guy with nice hair. Now they’re falling for the guy with bad hair, too: a certain Mr. Trump, who may very well be the next President of the United States.

With, you know, that Pence guy as Vice President.

I have come across several eyebrow-raising headlines this week along the lines of “Muslim woman in hijab featured in Playboy!!!”

This statement is technically correct, though about as disclosing as when I say I was in Playboy. (Because I had a letter to the editor printed a dozen years ago.)

Noor Tagouri is a Muslim-American journalist “featured” in the October 2016 issue of Playboy. It’s about a three-paragraph blurb on page a million in an article—I do read the articles—introducing half a dozen other “renegades” from skate boarders to game designers. Yes, Ms. Tagouri is wearing a hijab. And jeans and sneakers and a leather jacket. (The other guys in the piece are similarly beclothed.)

Hijab and nothing else? There’s a story. Even a hijab and a bikini. This one, though? Nothing to see here. (I wish I meant that literally.)

A more interesting element from this October ’16 issue is not who is featured but who is not. A certain Mr. Hefner makes no appearance whatsoever, other than the fact his name is on the masthead and he is mentioned casually in a letter to the editor. Not even a from-the-vaults pic of The Man, as has been the custom in the past few issues. No Hef Sightings, no Hef celebrity pics, no nothing. I’m curious why, 63 years into its run, has Playboy Inc. squeezed out is founder. Perhaps I’m looking too much into this.

Better peek through the issue again. You know, for clues.

Tragedy in Miami, jubilation in the Meadowlands, a heavyweight fight on tap at Hofstra tonight… all of it takes a backseat to the passing of one of my heroes.

Arnold Palmer, one of golf’s great champions and a beacon of sportsmanship and integrity in the modern world, died yesterday at the age of 87.

Winner of 62 PGA tournaments and seven major championships, it was Palmer’s legacy off the golf course for which he will probably be best remembered. He was a one-man multinational corporation, back before anyone could have conceived of such a thing. His business interests ranged from golf courses to motor oil, and his name graces both an airport and a children’s hospital. The amount of money he and his various charities have donated over the years is virtually incalculable, and yeah, there really is a drink named for the guy. Legendary status confirmed.

Over the next few days you will hear much about Arnold Palmer and his hundreds of accomplishments on and off the golf course. The lists will be far more comprehensive than what I can put together here. In brief, he was an ambassador of his sport, greatly responsible for its growing popularity (and financial possibilities) in the 1950s and ’60s. In 1968 he became the first man to win more than $1 million in career prize money on the PGA Tour. His heirs can now pick that up in a weekend… thanks to him.

The Associated Press named him “Athlete of the Decade” for the 1960s. He’s on a very short list of athletes who could claim to be the greatest sportsman of the century.

Was he cool?

The man flew his own jet from tournament to tournament, back to business meetings, back to tournaments.

Sportsman. Idol. Friend of presidents.

Nickname?

Quite simply, “The King.”

Long live the King.

When I was a kid we learned that Fall begins on September 21.

The scientists this year tell me that Fall actually begins tomorrow, September 22, at 10:21 a.m.

Approximately.

You want to know when Fall really begins?

When you give up on baseball.

Hasn’t happened yet.