Mike O'Connell

I knew I was going to watch last night’s Republican presidential hopefuls debate purely for comedic purposes, and of course it did not disappoint. I knew it wasn’t going to be Lincoln-Douglas or even Kennedy-Nixon, but the show–I use the word with purpose–did hook me for the full two hours.

I didn’t learn anything about the candidates last night that I didn’t already know, and I hope most citizen-voters felt that way. For God’s sake, don’t make this the event through which you learn about the candidates. Perhaps there were two takeaways for viewers last night, or really maybe three. Number one, Jeb Bush is quite tall; that probably makes up for his “women’s health” “flap” from the other day. Number two, people know who John Kasich is; I thought he was great last night, though let’s face it, he did have the homecourt advantage. And a third thing voters may have learned from last night’s debate? Fox News commentators are not going to go easy on Republican candidates. Actually, they will do the opposite. They will spit venom and act more as accusers than moderators. Seriously, did it not seem as though every question last night was some form of candidate so-and-so, we’ve found out about the following mistakes and judged you to be a terrible person… could you expand upon that a bit, please?

In a less-politically correct era there was a quick answer to these types of questions: “I’ve also stopped beating my wife.” Unfortunately you can’t say that anymore because most people hear only the wife-beating part and miss the retort to bad logic and a leading or loaded question. Ted Cruz said something to this effect some months ago and was raked over the coals for it, but I was hoping at least one of these guys would take the bait. Or I was hoping for one candidate to say, “This is a farce and a waste of time. G’night, everybody!”

And please let Fox News commentators moderate the Democratic debates as well. God damn that would be fun to watch.

I had the pleasure of spending yesterday afternoon in Frederick, Maryland, for a minor league baseball game between the Frederick Keys and the Myrtle Beach Pelicans. The game was played at Harry Grove Stadium, a quaint little park on the southern edge of town. Actually, as of six months ago, the park is officially called Nymeo Field at Harry Grove Stadium, proof again that even quaint ballfields in 18^th century cities must carry corporate sponsorship in 2015. (Nymeo is apparently some kind of local credit union. Harry Grove? Founder of a pre-war professional team in town known as the—get this—Frederick Hustlers. Awesome.)

I was joined at the game by a few old friends and a few new friends taking up a full aisle two rows behind the home team’s dugout. I couldn’t have asked for a better seat or a nicer day—not bad for probably the only one I’ll go to all year. The game was one of those in which I really didn’t care about the outcome, though one usually finds himself rooting for the home team, of course. The only name I recognized on either roster was that of the visitor’s hitting coach, one Mariano Duncan, one-time Yankee infielder and two-time World Series champion. Duncan played his final major league game in 1997, I’m sure before half the fans at the game yesterday were even born. And some of the players on the field could barely grip a bat.

Minor league baseball, of course, is real America, even with its ridiculous in-game promotions and eight-dollar beers. (Or perhaps that is real America, and it’s time for me to rethink what I mean by that phrase.) I should make mention of the fact that the Keys are named for a certain local poet, he of Star-Spangled Banner fame. You could say Francis Scott Key’s work shows up at more ballgames than that any other poet, save perhaps the fellas who wrote “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and anyone who wants to take credit for the phrase !@#$^%. It’s got to be intimidating to sing the national anthem in Key’s (sort of) hometown, but it was belted out with aplomb by my one-time bandmate David Marcus, he of Market Street Big Band fame. (It’s true we all know everybody in small-town America.)

As for the game itself, the Keys pulled out a 2-0 win in what turned out to be a great pitchers’ duel played in two hours, 22 minutes. I left a scoreless game after five innings, returning to babysitting duty on the homefront, of course, but I’d gotten my money’s worth. I think one day next year I’ll begin taking Franklin with me to ballgames, because it’s really never too early to start.

I’ll probably make it through only three innings that day.

The PGA Tour comes to my hometown this weekend (sort of), as Robert Trent Jones Golf Club in Gainesville, Virginia, plays host to the Quicken Loans National. The tournament’s frontman is none other than Eldrick “Tiger” Woods. Those of you a little older may remember him as a good golfer.

Gainesville is about a seven iron from where I live, or about driver-three wood-three wood with traffic. Compare this to my old hometown PGA stop (the B.C. Open–also not in my hometown but in nearby Endicott, New York), a seven iron from my house and well, we don’t have a word for “traffic” back home.

I’ll be watching the tournament this week, of course. From the privacy and convenience of my nearby home. And Eldrick? Come on, show us a little of that nearly-40-and-now-an-underdog-hero-A-Rod-type magic. For old times’ sake?

http://www.pressconnects.com/story/news/local/2015/07/22/libous-guilty/30531301/

Few headlines over the years have made me as gleefully happy as the one I woke up to yesterday morning:

Libous guilty.

And in full: Sen. Tom Libous to be removed from office after guilty verdict.

I’ve told you for 15 years this man is a crook. That has now been confirmed by judge and jury, so please allow me to gloat a bit.

Yes, I’m quite pleased with this verdict, and I’m unapologetically happy that Libous–and his son–are going to prison. When only one person shows up to speak on your behalf as a character witness–someone you’ve subpeonead and admits on the stand to not actually being your friend–I take that as a sign I’m not the only person happy with this judgment.

Have a great weekend, everybody!

I figure most Donald Trump-types are good for about 15 minutes of fame following the announcements of their presidential bids. You make a splash, the media fawns, then you get out of the pool.

But Donald Trump himself in 2015? This guy just keeps on going.

I’m not going to comment one iota on Trump’s politics. I’m not even sure what they are, really. I’m not sure he knows what they are either.

Who cares. The guy’s a breath of fresh air among the measured windbags of the political class.

You know why Donald Trump is going to step in it again and again over the next few months? He doesn’t think or act like a politician.

Thank God.

His latest flap? The one with the local hook that the national media hasn’t even found yet? He’s annoyed some local conservation group around here because the golf course he owns a few miles down the road from my house had to cut down a few trees from the swamp that existed previously.

Ha!

And you love the guy a little more.

Honestly I doubt Donald Trump could ever really get elected president. Then again, if you’d asked me a few years ago whether a black guy named Barack Hussein Obama would ever get elected president, I’d have said the same thing.