Tim Russert made Mitt Romney.
By Kevin John Sowyrda
There isn't a journalist on the block who had a greater impact on gubernatorial politics in Massachusetts than did NBC’s Tim Russert, whose recent death has become a national news event. Allow me to explain, with some necessary preambles.
First, though I disagree with the journalistocracy that Tim walked on water and had a direct line to the office of Jesus Christ, I’ll grant you that he was a quick study, cresting far above the horrendously average people trying to pass as reporters at his network; and he clearly had the ability to connect with viewers so that his program, Meet the Press, reportedly profited his bosses a hefty fifty million dollars annually.
But how can you can not be above that sceptered sway, as Shakespeare would say, when your colleagues are so dreadfully mired in self absorption and the pursuit of mediocrity. Take a peak at the Peacock and you’ll wince at White House Commentator David Gregory, who once called in to the Don Imus show from India, clearly five sheets to the wind. And then there’s former sports babbler Keith what’s his name from MS-whatever, whose new ratings grabbing technique is to rant and rave at the camera like he just got bad news about his 401k balance, followed by an abrupt hurling of papers into the air as his program, watched by somebody out there, floats, mercifully, to a commercial break. (Keith is presently competing with his nemesis at Fox, Bill O’Reilly, to see who can be the most trite and ridiculous cable creature. By a razor thin margin, Keith is beating the other blowhard, over at Fox.)
Yeah, compared to the plants they grow at NBC, Tim Russert was definitely the hybrid crop. But let’s put a needed check on some of the hyperbole. On Sunday morning Tom Brokaw unabashedly pronounced of his late colleague, “Had he gone in to politics he certainly would have been President of the United States (emphasizing the word certainly).” I know they’re mourning over at Rockefeller Centre right now, but could we please confine the commentary to some semblance of Earthly reality?
And though I never needed to know about his father and personal life - I’m interminably old fashioned in that I heartily agree with Brian Lamb at CSPAN that a true journalist is someone who never makes them self the story for any, any reason - I’ll take Mike Barnicle’s word as solid gold that Tim was indeed the proverbial nice guy and I’m certain that St. Peter has found the NBC broadcaster, taken from us about thirty years too soon, a suite in Heaven superior to what I’ll ever see.
All that said, it was the late Mr. Tim Russert who unexpectedly gave birth to Mitt Romney’s political ascendancy and changed history in Massachusetts, hardly for the better if your have any progressive leanings.
It was October, 2002 and Democrats had every reason to aspire to end what already had become the Republicans’ iron grip on the governor’s office. State Treasurer Shannon O’Brien had pulled off a stunning primary win and her opponent was not the Weldian Republican voters had developed a comfort level with, but instead, in stark contrast, the very conservative Utah Republican, Mitt Romney, already known to state voters for his failed bid against Ted Kennedy in 1994. On paper, this was the chance to bring the conservative Democrats and the plethora of un-enrolled voters back to the Democratic fold.
Tim Russert didn’t let it happen. For a man who was never on a mission, Russert came to Suffolk University that Autumn carrying a dozen Garmins and a pre ordained strategy to moderate the big debate; by the end of which O’Brien was severely scathed, never to regain her footing.
Like George Patton rolling toward Berlin, Russert pummeled O’Brien on her pro-choice credentials using such an arcane inconsistency in her position that the attack was as bizarre as it was ironically affective. Russert brought to the attention of the world that O’Brien’s opposition to parental consent for a young woman’s abortion was an oddity given the fact that a Massachusetts law required same for a minor to obtain services from a tattoo parlor.
Granted, O’Brien had been poorly prepared for the debate. But the Democratic nominee for governor wasn’t given a breather by the relentless Russert. I remember watching the pouncing he gave her and I realized what it would be like if Richard Simmons had ever gone into the ring with Muhammad Ali. It just wasn’t pretty.
The questions delivered to Romney by the illustrious Russert were, well, hardly as sharp. One might have thought an appropriate Russertism would have been something like this. “Governor, you’ve recently run advertisements attacking Shannon O’Brien in her role as treasurer, but isn’t it true that your own campaign is being run by the two deputy treasurers from the past Republican administration there, during which time more than ten million dollars was embezzled by the people they appointed?”
Russert didn‘t ask it, even though I was shouting it at my T.V. set.
A devout, Jesuit Roman Catholic, Russert used abortion as a wedge issue in the O’Brien-Romney debate - rather ironic, given the fact that wedge issues are usually used by the candidates and not the moderator. As the famous quote from one of the partisans at the event went, Shannon lost to the moderator.
The rest is history. Romney sailed into the governor’s office with a lot of wind blown in his sails from Tim Russert‘s slanted moderating, resulting in four years of Big Dig largesse, presidential positioning and interminable antagonizing of the Gay Community. Tim went on to other debates, and for some reason a pattern developed - the other women were treated no better than Shannon.
Just ask Hillary Clinton what she really thinks……….privately, in a few months when the hysteria dies down.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Time to consider the Nuclear facts
Just thank Paul Gunter the next time you fill up
by Kevin Sowyrda
MySouthEnd.com Contributor
Thursday Jun 12, 2008
You want to know who to send a Hallmark to in thanks for the present energy crisis, which may soon make the "malaise" and gas rationing of the Carter years seem like an economic stroll in the park? No problem - just address your envelope to one Paul Gunter, who in 1976 glued together a rag-tag group of misinformed radicals and dubbed them the Clam Shell Alliance.
All 1000 or so of the shellers succeeded in putting nuclear power on the back burner in New England, using propaganda, misinformation, fear mongering and naked media manipulation - to such a flawless and permanent affect that I’m thinking, in retrospect, that they must have infiltrated the ’70s via a time machine from the Bush White House. Or maybe I’ve been watching too many episodes of Dr. Who.
But before the Karl Roves of the world were anybodies, the Clam Shell Alliance invented the shady tactics of manipulating public opinion and they are long overdue the credit they so richly deserve for a modern day America that is completely dependent on polluting fossil fuels. It’s all so painfully ironic when one considers were it not for the propaganda, we could have had safe, clean and abundant nuclear energy and the more robust economy that would have been the fringe benefit.
The clam shellers reached their apogee in April of 1977 when, in full military fashion, they stormed the Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant, then under construction on New Hampshire’s Atlantic coastline. You would have thought they had taken the Bastille and their hyperbole was effective in indoctrinating an impressionable public that the expansion of nuclear power equaled Armageddon.
While the nuclear power industry in this part of the United States has yet to fully recover - Gunter’s army even succeeded in bankrupting the plant’s builder, Public Service of New Hampshire - Seabrook is cranking out more-than-ever needed electricity today, keeping the lights on for about 900,000 households, according to their web page. And Paul Gunter and his vocal minority were wrong regarding their doomsday predictions delivered via bullhorn in Eastern New Hampshire. According to the World Association of Nuclear Operators, Seabrook’s safety record is unblemished, and when I toured the facility I found the security at the plant to
be nothing less than overwhelming.
But Gunter and his ilk clearly succeeded in making their long term mark, which you can see at the gas station today. The public was scared, as it can so easily be frightened, and in the aftermath of the guerilla advertising tactics of groups like the Clam Shell Alliance, we all sat back on the petroleum cushion just like Gunter and his cabal wanted, perfectly content to damage the environment more than any China Syndrome could have.
Now, the Gunters of the world have disappeared. I’ve yet to see them giving commentary on Exxon Valdez or the Department of Energy statistic that in 1999 alone electric power plants puffed about two billion tons of carbon dioxide into the air, complimented by 19 million tons of sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxides - all the delightful ingredients for global warming.
And this is to say nothing of waste oils that dirty the oceans with more than 700 million gallons of oil each year.
Ah, yes, the virtues of keeping all those evil nuclear plants segregated in France.
And speaking of France, that’s where they’re belly laughing at us Americans: Nearly 80 percent of the French power grid emanates from third generation nuclear power facilities, leaving their petrol products much more free for automobiles. France has 59 nuclear reactors and consequently the cleanest air in Europe. What they don’t have is a lot of New Englanders having panic attacks because there will be no way to afford heating oil this winter, unless Joe Kennedy can quickly clone himself about 10,000 times before October.
Simply put, we’ve screwed ourselves royally. As per American tradition and protocol, the smallest minority with the biggest mouth set the nation’s agenda. Most lawmakers went into the fetal position when they saw the impact in the polling data. Your typical Joe Politician didn’t dare speak out to educate the public to the real facts, so the Paul Gunters of America discovered they had amassed power completely disproportionate to what should have been the reality of their shoddy research and inability to appreciate clean-energy technology.
And what is this new, clean technology commonly referred to as third generation nuclear power? As I’m still not the provost at M.I.T., my description will probably be less than perfect. But simply put, the new reactors are as different from those first built in the U.S. as a 2008 Toyota Prius is from Henry Ford’s original model T. They are more fuel efficient and vastly superior in safety.
If Governor Deval Patrick wants to put his name on the political map, and more importantly save us all from ourselves, he’ll begin an immediate public-private partnership to expand nuclear power in Massachusetts and debate - head on - the Paul Gunters of the world who will no doubt come out of retirement so as to keep us all misinformed. But I pray his years of fame are over. Given present fuel prices, the public may finally be willing to listen to the real facts about nuclear power and follow the lead of the French
by Kevin Sowyrda
MySouthEnd.com Contributor
Thursday Jun 12, 2008
You want to know who to send a Hallmark to in thanks for the present energy crisis, which may soon make the "malaise" and gas rationing of the Carter years seem like an economic stroll in the park? No problem - just address your envelope to one Paul Gunter, who in 1976 glued together a rag-tag group of misinformed radicals and dubbed them the Clam Shell Alliance.
All 1000 or so of the shellers succeeded in putting nuclear power on the back burner in New England, using propaganda, misinformation, fear mongering and naked media manipulation - to such a flawless and permanent affect that I’m thinking, in retrospect, that they must have infiltrated the ’70s via a time machine from the Bush White House. Or maybe I’ve been watching too many episodes of Dr. Who.
But before the Karl Roves of the world were anybodies, the Clam Shell Alliance invented the shady tactics of manipulating public opinion and they are long overdue the credit they so richly deserve for a modern day America that is completely dependent on polluting fossil fuels. It’s all so painfully ironic when one considers were it not for the propaganda, we could have had safe, clean and abundant nuclear energy and the more robust economy that would have been the fringe benefit.
The clam shellers reached their apogee in April of 1977 when, in full military fashion, they stormed the Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant, then under construction on New Hampshire’s Atlantic coastline. You would have thought they had taken the Bastille and their hyperbole was effective in indoctrinating an impressionable public that the expansion of nuclear power equaled Armageddon.
While the nuclear power industry in this part of the United States has yet to fully recover - Gunter’s army even succeeded in bankrupting the plant’s builder, Public Service of New Hampshire - Seabrook is cranking out more-than-ever needed electricity today, keeping the lights on for about 900,000 households, according to their web page. And Paul Gunter and his vocal minority were wrong regarding their doomsday predictions delivered via bullhorn in Eastern New Hampshire. According to the World Association of Nuclear Operators, Seabrook’s safety record is unblemished, and when I toured the facility I found the security at the plant to
be nothing less than overwhelming.
But Gunter and his ilk clearly succeeded in making their long term mark, which you can see at the gas station today. The public was scared, as it can so easily be frightened, and in the aftermath of the guerilla advertising tactics of groups like the Clam Shell Alliance, we all sat back on the petroleum cushion just like Gunter and his cabal wanted, perfectly content to damage the environment more than any China Syndrome could have.
Now, the Gunters of the world have disappeared. I’ve yet to see them giving commentary on Exxon Valdez or the Department of Energy statistic that in 1999 alone electric power plants puffed about two billion tons of carbon dioxide into the air, complimented by 19 million tons of sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxides - all the delightful ingredients for global warming.
And this is to say nothing of waste oils that dirty the oceans with more than 700 million gallons of oil each year.
Ah, yes, the virtues of keeping all those evil nuclear plants segregated in France.
And speaking of France, that’s where they’re belly laughing at us Americans: Nearly 80 percent of the French power grid emanates from third generation nuclear power facilities, leaving their petrol products much more free for automobiles. France has 59 nuclear reactors and consequently the cleanest air in Europe. What they don’t have is a lot of New Englanders having panic attacks because there will be no way to afford heating oil this winter, unless Joe Kennedy can quickly clone himself about 10,000 times before October.
Simply put, we’ve screwed ourselves royally. As per American tradition and protocol, the smallest minority with the biggest mouth set the nation’s agenda. Most lawmakers went into the fetal position when they saw the impact in the polling data. Your typical Joe Politician didn’t dare speak out to educate the public to the real facts, so the Paul Gunters of America discovered they had amassed power completely disproportionate to what should have been the reality of their shoddy research and inability to appreciate clean-energy technology.
And what is this new, clean technology commonly referred to as third generation nuclear power? As I’m still not the provost at M.I.T., my description will probably be less than perfect. But simply put, the new reactors are as different from those first built in the U.S. as a 2008 Toyota Prius is from Henry Ford’s original model T. They are more fuel efficient and vastly superior in safety.
If Governor Deval Patrick wants to put his name on the political map, and more importantly save us all from ourselves, he’ll begin an immediate public-private partnership to expand nuclear power in Massachusetts and debate - head on - the Paul Gunters of the world who will no doubt come out of retirement so as to keep us all misinformed. But I pray his years of fame are over. Given present fuel prices, the public may finally be willing to listen to the real facts about nuclear power and follow the lead of the French
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Potomac Primary
Romney in 2012? I think not.
by Kevin John Sowyrda
Why do I feel like singing, "Ding, dong, the witch is dead. Which old witch? The wicked witch!" This jingle of days gone by, minus Judy Garland in the ruby slippers, could well be the appropriate song for me or even the proverbial fat lady signing, especially if she were Gay and receiving the news that Mitt Romney's campaign has gone the way of Comp USA.
The former Bay State governor "suspended" his bid for president last Thursday having spent about 34 of his personal millions for a grand total of 4 million votes. He demanded to the end that he was the true conservative in the race and those who know him best would be hard pressed to take exception.
As the governor of the Commonwealth, Romney reversed the long trend of his moderate Republican predecessors who had embraced Gay friendly policies. Governors Weld, Cellucci and even Swift had all extended a hand of friendship to Gay men and women in Massachusetts. Romney, in stark contrast, tried to show us the door. Instead we showed him the door.
Learning that Romney, at least for the time being, won't be lifestyle lecturing is almost as rejuvenating to the sole as discovering that Rush Limbaugh has donated his vocal chords to the Smithsonian
But Romney, just like a good case of the flu, will look for a come back. He figures his dream come true is spelled O-B-A-M-A. Any one smart enough to invent a giant stationary store (say what you want about our former guv, but Staples is truly Heaven) is smart enough to see the tidal wave cresting in the distance. President Obama is purely inevitable because three forces have coalesced, and combined; and they are simply unstoppable in a Democratic election.
Romney knows what we know. The press adores Obama and will not offend him. Second, Obama profits from a historically inevitable white guilt complex which fuels his candidacy and gives him political longevity. Third, Obama proves true the oldest lesson in American politics; that a great communicator doesn't have to count his votes, but weigh them.
With fresh wins in Virginia, Maryland and the District of Columbia under his belt, Obama marches into Ohio and Texas like Sherman did Atlanta, minus the scorched Earth policy of course. He's his own army not to be stopped; and when - not if, but when - he wins Ohio and Texas on March 4, you will see an icing on the cake on March 5. To make it all quite official and tidy, the super delegates will, in near plurality, announce their fealty to Obama, thus handing him the nomination, de facto if not de jure.
The only thing more interesting to watch that this, will be the inevitable March 6 press conference when Hillary Clinton does something she's never had to do before - concede. Pondering how Hillary gives a concession speech is like contemplating Mayor Menino playing Shakespeare's Hamlet. It won't be pretty.
And Come October this year, the dinner table conversations from the South End to the Castro will be about the amazing juxtaposition of watching the elderly and often laconic John McCain debating the perfectly polished and religiously refreshed Barrack Obama. The visual impact in and of itself will hand the junior senator from Illinois the popular vote and the electoral college.
But in the bushes in Belmont, Mitt Romney will be hiding. While sipping tea with the illegal immigrants who stubbornly manicure his shrubbery - maybe they do his hair as well - he'll pray for painful inflation, intolerable unemployment, shaky stocks and maybe a national security crisis to top it all off.
Some people will say that God doesn't answer the prayers of Mormons. I have no idea. But I'm sure God answers the prayers of good men. Since Barrack looks to me like a good, praying man, 2012 won't provide Romney with any window of opportunity.
The former governor of Massachusetts will be perpetually stuck in the private sector, probably on orders from the family to earn back that 34 million wasted on a campaign short on substance and long on combative, Puritanical preaching.
by Kevin John Sowyrda
Why do I feel like singing, "Ding, dong, the witch is dead. Which old witch? The wicked witch!" This jingle of days gone by, minus Judy Garland in the ruby slippers, could well be the appropriate song for me or even the proverbial fat lady signing, especially if she were Gay and receiving the news that Mitt Romney's campaign has gone the way of Comp USA.
The former Bay State governor "suspended" his bid for president last Thursday having spent about 34 of his personal millions for a grand total of 4 million votes. He demanded to the end that he was the true conservative in the race and those who know him best would be hard pressed to take exception.
As the governor of the Commonwealth, Romney reversed the long trend of his moderate Republican predecessors who had embraced Gay friendly policies. Governors Weld, Cellucci and even Swift had all extended a hand of friendship to Gay men and women in Massachusetts. Romney, in stark contrast, tried to show us the door. Instead we showed him the door.
Learning that Romney, at least for the time being, won't be lifestyle lecturing is almost as rejuvenating to the sole as discovering that Rush Limbaugh has donated his vocal chords to the Smithsonian
But Romney, just like a good case of the flu, will look for a come back. He figures his dream come true is spelled O-B-A-M-A. Any one smart enough to invent a giant stationary store (say what you want about our former guv, but Staples is truly Heaven) is smart enough to see the tidal wave cresting in the distance. President Obama is purely inevitable because three forces have coalesced, and combined; and they are simply unstoppable in a Democratic election.
Romney knows what we know. The press adores Obama and will not offend him. Second, Obama profits from a historically inevitable white guilt complex which fuels his candidacy and gives him political longevity. Third, Obama proves true the oldest lesson in American politics; that a great communicator doesn't have to count his votes, but weigh them.
With fresh wins in Virginia, Maryland and the District of Columbia under his belt, Obama marches into Ohio and Texas like Sherman did Atlanta, minus the scorched Earth policy of course. He's his own army not to be stopped; and when - not if, but when - he wins Ohio and Texas on March 4, you will see an icing on the cake on March 5. To make it all quite official and tidy, the super delegates will, in near plurality, announce their fealty to Obama, thus handing him the nomination, de facto if not de jure.
The only thing more interesting to watch that this, will be the inevitable March 6 press conference when Hillary Clinton does something she's never had to do before - concede. Pondering how Hillary gives a concession speech is like contemplating Mayor Menino playing Shakespeare's Hamlet. It won't be pretty.
And Come October this year, the dinner table conversations from the South End to the Castro will be about the amazing juxtaposition of watching the elderly and often laconic John McCain debating the perfectly polished and religiously refreshed Barrack Obama. The visual impact in and of itself will hand the junior senator from Illinois the popular vote and the electoral college.
But in the bushes in Belmont, Mitt Romney will be hiding. While sipping tea with the illegal immigrants who stubbornly manicure his shrubbery - maybe they do his hair as well - he'll pray for painful inflation, intolerable unemployment, shaky stocks and maybe a national security crisis to top it all off.
Some people will say that God doesn't answer the prayers of Mormons. I have no idea. But I'm sure God answers the prayers of good men. Since Barrack looks to me like a good, praying man, 2012 won't provide Romney with any window of opportunity.
The former governor of Massachusetts will be perpetually stuck in the private sector, probably on orders from the family to earn back that 34 million wasted on a campaign short on substance and long on combative, Puritanical preaching.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Brady's baby.
Hugging the pigskin, but not the baby.
by Kevin John Sowyrda
I don't' know where Tom Brady's been hiding, but I do know where his baby is and where the father isn't. Tom's baby is the little secret of Boston society which apparently no reporter will have the temerity to querie the Patriot's Quarterback on, who at this precise moment in time has been elevated in status comparable to that of God, or maybe the next best thing.
Quite Frankly, before leaving Bean Town on Sunday, had any Bostonian seen Pope Benedict walking between them and Tom Brady, His Holiness would have had hoof prints on his face as crowds stampeded to view the third coming of Christ; New England's ace quarterback, part-time hunky male model, and father in absentia.
The 'B' word (baby) not withstanding, Tom's not just at the top of his game, he's at the top of the world. Sir Edmund Hillary never saw heights like this, and it probably doesn't get any better in the world of fame and acclaim and adoration. If the broad smiled Tom announced for president on the Democratic side today, Bill Clinton would probably beg to be the campaign manager and Mrs. Obama would likely jump on board to write the ads. Really.
In this uber sports compulsive town...make that uber sports compulsive nation.... where jocks are literally worshipped like Buddha, Tom Brady is a jock's jock, pure as the white driven snow. New England's Q.B. loves his pig skin, tosses it better than anyone ever has, and makes us feel just a little bit better about our boring lives as we live extemporaneously through him, dazzled for some ridiculous reason because the boy from San Mateo, California can run fast and throw.
But with all do respects to the Pontiff of pig skin, where the Hell is the little bundle of joy? And, why can't we just ask the following questions at those Foxborough Press conferences where I've learned more about the Human groin than I thought possible outside the marbled edifice of Harvard Medical School.
How about 90 year old sports reporters like Bob Lobel putting the cards on the table with the following inquiries at the next sports gaggle, where Tom likes to sport that winter cap despite the pressing 100 degree temperature of all the klieg lights.
"Excuse me, Tom, but as you're someone whose a phenomenal role model to young people everywhere, can you tell us what you are doing to play an active role in your new baby's life?"
or,
"Excuse me, Tom, but since the paparazzi would not have missed your jetting off to California anymore than they'd miss Martians landing in Central Park, can you tell us why you're spending zilch time with your son?"
or,
"Excuse me, Tom, but since women are a huge constituency to the Kraft financial empire, where the football team franchise is now the crown jewel, can you tell us if they might start to be turned off a little were the press to remind them that after making a baby on one coast, you quickly jetted off to Europe with super model what's-her-name from an airport on the other coast? Is this how men should treat women and is this how the young men in American high schools should behave when it's their turn on the gridiron of modern romance?"
But the Q and Q we're exposed to is instead, dreadfully oblivous to Brady's painfully obvious flaws. How will you trounce the Giants, is the ankle a problem, and when was the last time you actually saw your jet-set super model Gisele Bundchen eat?
But in my playbook of old fashioned values - they being that paternal responsibility is equal to maternal responsibility - Brady's Achilles heel going into the football game of the century is hardly his ankle. It's his broken relationship with his son and his Clintonian narcissism that turns me off even more than the duplicitous Boston press corp which is needlessly mesmerized by six feet, four inches and 225 pounds of impish immaturity.
So pretend, if you will, how things would be different if.......Tom Brady were Black. Let's say our star Q. B. was, shall we say, Vince Young of Tennessee Titans fame. Can you imagine the typical Bostonian reaction? I can almost visualize the Bill Cosby tour de force on yet another example what he would call the broken Black family. Then then there'd be the columnists, chirping away accordingly.
And I'll bet you a year of tolls on the Tobin that last Saturday's Boston Herald page one would have been a little different if Brady looked like Young. Instead of that comical photo of Tom Brady posted as a milk carton missing person, it would have been a likeness of Young's baby with some editorial about what a bum this guy is.
But Brady's no bum, atleast not from the Bostonian point of view. He's very pretty, very preppy and very white. If he's not sending the baby hugs and kisses that's no problem; as long as the public doesn't see him on one of those dead beat dad posters.
On Sunday, baby John Edward Thomas Moynahan will be about six months old. His Dad's the undefeated quarterback going into the Superbowl, but the poor kid can't even get a ticket to sit with his grandparents and be hugged by his dad when the Patriots bring home the big win.
File under pathetic.
by Kevin John Sowyrda
I don't' know where Tom Brady's been hiding, but I do know where his baby is and where the father isn't. Tom's baby is the little secret of Boston society which apparently no reporter will have the temerity to querie the Patriot's Quarterback on, who at this precise moment in time has been elevated in status comparable to that of God, or maybe the next best thing.
Quite Frankly, before leaving Bean Town on Sunday, had any Bostonian seen Pope Benedict walking between them and Tom Brady, His Holiness would have had hoof prints on his face as crowds stampeded to view the third coming of Christ; New England's ace quarterback, part-time hunky male model, and father in absentia.
The 'B' word (baby) not withstanding, Tom's not just at the top of his game, he's at the top of the world. Sir Edmund Hillary never saw heights like this, and it probably doesn't get any better in the world of fame and acclaim and adoration. If the broad smiled Tom announced for president on the Democratic side today, Bill Clinton would probably beg to be the campaign manager and Mrs. Obama would likely jump on board to write the ads. Really.
In this uber sports compulsive town...make that uber sports compulsive nation.... where jocks are literally worshipped like Buddha, Tom Brady is a jock's jock, pure as the white driven snow. New England's Q.B. loves his pig skin, tosses it better than anyone ever has, and makes us feel just a little bit better about our boring lives as we live extemporaneously through him, dazzled for some ridiculous reason because the boy from San Mateo, California can run fast and throw.
But with all do respects to the Pontiff of pig skin, where the Hell is the little bundle of joy? And, why can't we just ask the following questions at those Foxborough Press conferences where I've learned more about the Human groin than I thought possible outside the marbled edifice of Harvard Medical School.
How about 90 year old sports reporters like Bob Lobel putting the cards on the table with the following inquiries at the next sports gaggle, where Tom likes to sport that winter cap despite the pressing 100 degree temperature of all the klieg lights.
"Excuse me, Tom, but as you're someone whose a phenomenal role model to young people everywhere, can you tell us what you are doing to play an active role in your new baby's life?"
or,
"Excuse me, Tom, but since the paparazzi would not have missed your jetting off to California anymore than they'd miss Martians landing in Central Park, can you tell us why you're spending zilch time with your son?"
or,
"Excuse me, Tom, but since women are a huge constituency to the Kraft financial empire, where the football team franchise is now the crown jewel, can you tell us if they might start to be turned off a little were the press to remind them that after making a baby on one coast, you quickly jetted off to Europe with super model what's-her-name from an airport on the other coast? Is this how men should treat women and is this how the young men in American high schools should behave when it's their turn on the gridiron of modern romance?"
But the Q and Q we're exposed to is instead, dreadfully oblivous to Brady's painfully obvious flaws. How will you trounce the Giants, is the ankle a problem, and when was the last time you actually saw your jet-set super model Gisele Bundchen eat?
But in my playbook of old fashioned values - they being that paternal responsibility is equal to maternal responsibility - Brady's Achilles heel going into the football game of the century is hardly his ankle. It's his broken relationship with his son and his Clintonian narcissism that turns me off even more than the duplicitous Boston press corp which is needlessly mesmerized by six feet, four inches and 225 pounds of impish immaturity.
So pretend, if you will, how things would be different if.......Tom Brady were Black. Let's say our star Q. B. was, shall we say, Vince Young of Tennessee Titans fame. Can you imagine the typical Bostonian reaction? I can almost visualize the Bill Cosby tour de force on yet another example what he would call the broken Black family. Then then there'd be the columnists, chirping away accordingly.
And I'll bet you a year of tolls on the Tobin that last Saturday's Boston Herald page one would have been a little different if Brady looked like Young. Instead of that comical photo of Tom Brady posted as a milk carton missing person, it would have been a likeness of Young's baby with some editorial about what a bum this guy is.
But Brady's no bum, atleast not from the Bostonian point of view. He's very pretty, very preppy and very white. If he's not sending the baby hugs and kisses that's no problem; as long as the public doesn't see him on one of those dead beat dad posters.
On Sunday, baby John Edward Thomas Moynahan will be about six months old. His Dad's the undefeated quarterback going into the Superbowl, but the poor kid can't even get a ticket to sit with his grandparents and be hugged by his dad when the Patriots bring home the big win.
File under pathetic.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
NH PRIMARY
Romney's Wrinkles
by Kevin John Sowyrda
Reporting from New Hampshire
Maybe the hair was just too pretty, the boys too pretty, the wife too pretty, the Belmont
Mc Mansion too pretty or the manse at Lake Winnepesaukah too pretty. Maybe it was hurling the dog Seamus on the station wagon roof for a half day sojourn to Ontario. And maybe it was none of the above.
Maybe voters in New, New Hampshire decided that a veteran Republican whose also a decorated veteran was a better bet than a nouveau rich Republican who just seemed too decorated.
In the end, the history book on Romney's evaporating presidential ambitions will showcase the following key chapters of discontent and old fashioned arrogance.
Chapter One - Romney should have scheduled a sit down with Dr. Phil. Broadcast on the airwaves or not, some form of intervention was required for a man who is unquestionably clinically homophobic. If you Google 'Mitt Romney Gay,' you'll get about 451,000 hits. I kid you not. Do you think the Mormon Bishop was a bit obsessed with a certain subject?
Based on empirical data from an event on January 14th, in a state with as many steepled churches as fat and happy cows, the Romney social agenda sold about as well as what the fat and happy cows leave behind in their trail. Even Governor Huckleberry Finn.....whatever.... an unabashed Baptist preacher for Christ's sake........didn't lash out at Gay people like our x-governor.
Lesson learned? When right wing social issues don't sell even in Iowa - even in Iowa - you know that political figures like Romney are as out of fashion as Greg Brady's bell bottoms.
Chapter Two - Think twice before you pick two certifiable political hacks to run your campaign. For Romney, two princes of the blood in his imperial Romanov-like family were Eric Fehrnstrom and Beth Myers; both top operatives in the campaign according to the Washington Post. The "evil twins," as one Beacon Hill Democrat used to call them, are perfectly infamous for running the Massachusetts State Treasurer's Office exactly when nine million dollars was embezzled. Fehrnstrom was the deputy treasurer at the time as was Myers the chief of staff. Of course, they were never implicated and knew nothing at all about what was going on. Really. They also knew nothing about New Hampshire.
Chapter Three - Hypocritical pontificating will get you no where. During heated debate exchanges with Senator McCain, Mitt Romney hurled insults at the senior senator regarding his authorship of the Secure America and Orderly Immigration Act, co-written with Senator Ted Kennedy in 2005. It was only out of gentlemanly generosity that McCain didn't remind Romney that while he, McCain, was trying to address the issue of illegal aliens, Romney was employing them to cut his grass.
Chapter Four - Given his 61 years on the planet, one might have expected some semblance of consistency from the corporate chieftain who knew how to make money by buying out companies and laying off trucks loads of workers, and I don't mean illegal ones. But Romney didn't know how to make up his mind. He flipped and flopped on core public policy issues more than that fish I caught at Castle Island this summer, and it hurt him more than he was ever counting on.
Chapter Five - When searching for a political pinata to pulverize, choosing something other than your own state would be a great idea. Forget the given that Massachusetts voters were somewhat irked when the incumbent governor Romney used Massachusetts as the negative punch line when traveling to venues far from Beacon Hill. Observers from bordering New Hampshire may have also seen that routine for what it was - classless and un presidential.
Chapter Six - Never, never, never lecture a war hero on leadership. You might as well try to beat Tiger Woods in an eighteen hole golf game. Though the final Republican debate in New Hampshire was spun as Mitt's triumph, I saw it as his ultimate demise in the Granite State. After Romney sermonized about his executive leadership skills, McCain shot back with his resume of leading a jet fighter squadron; which clearly triggered sympathetic thoughts of the senator's five years in a P.O.W. camp.
And finally, this epilogue to the Mitt Romney campaign book. Though he's stubbornly not ready to throw in the towel, Mitt's starting to look wrinkled. It's sort of like his dad before him, George Romney, who ran for president in 1968 until his three month fledgling campaign folded after Romney senior claimed he had been brainwashed by the military.
Romney junior, now tired, frumpled and electorally bashed, was never himself brainwashed; just the voters who supported him who are now drifting away, having come back to their senses that McCain's the best bet for the G.O.P. in November.
by Kevin John Sowyrda
Reporting from New Hampshire
Maybe the hair was just too pretty, the boys too pretty, the wife too pretty, the Belmont
Mc Mansion too pretty or the manse at Lake Winnepesaukah too pretty. Maybe it was hurling the dog Seamus on the station wagon roof for a half day sojourn to Ontario. And maybe it was none of the above.
Maybe voters in New, New Hampshire decided that a veteran Republican whose also a decorated veteran was a better bet than a nouveau rich Republican who just seemed too decorated.
In the end, the history book on Romney's evaporating presidential ambitions will showcase the following key chapters of discontent and old fashioned arrogance.
Chapter One - Romney should have scheduled a sit down with Dr. Phil. Broadcast on the airwaves or not, some form of intervention was required for a man who is unquestionably clinically homophobic. If you Google 'Mitt Romney Gay,' you'll get about 451,000 hits. I kid you not. Do you think the Mormon Bishop was a bit obsessed with a certain subject?
Based on empirical data from an event on January 14th, in a state with as many steepled churches as fat and happy cows, the Romney social agenda sold about as well as what the fat and happy cows leave behind in their trail. Even Governor Huckleberry Finn.....whatever.... an unabashed Baptist preacher for Christ's sake........didn't lash out at Gay people like our x-governor.
Lesson learned? When right wing social issues don't sell even in Iowa - even in Iowa - you know that political figures like Romney are as out of fashion as Greg Brady's bell bottoms.
Chapter Two - Think twice before you pick two certifiable political hacks to run your campaign. For Romney, two princes of the blood in his imperial Romanov-like family were Eric Fehrnstrom and Beth Myers; both top operatives in the campaign according to the Washington Post. The "evil twins," as one Beacon Hill Democrat used to call them, are perfectly infamous for running the Massachusetts State Treasurer's Office exactly when nine million dollars was embezzled. Fehrnstrom was the deputy treasurer at the time as was Myers the chief of staff. Of course, they were never implicated and knew nothing at all about what was going on. Really. They also knew nothing about New Hampshire.
Chapter Three - Hypocritical pontificating will get you no where. During heated debate exchanges with Senator McCain, Mitt Romney hurled insults at the senior senator regarding his authorship of the Secure America and Orderly Immigration Act, co-written with Senator Ted Kennedy in 2005. It was only out of gentlemanly generosity that McCain didn't remind Romney that while he, McCain, was trying to address the issue of illegal aliens, Romney was employing them to cut his grass.
Chapter Four - Given his 61 years on the planet, one might have expected some semblance of consistency from the corporate chieftain who knew how to make money by buying out companies and laying off trucks loads of workers, and I don't mean illegal ones. But Romney didn't know how to make up his mind. He flipped and flopped on core public policy issues more than that fish I caught at Castle Island this summer, and it hurt him more than he was ever counting on.
Chapter Five - When searching for a political pinata to pulverize, choosing something other than your own state would be a great idea. Forget the given that Massachusetts voters were somewhat irked when the incumbent governor Romney used Massachusetts as the negative punch line when traveling to venues far from Beacon Hill. Observers from bordering New Hampshire may have also seen that routine for what it was - classless and un presidential.
Chapter Six - Never, never, never lecture a war hero on leadership. You might as well try to beat Tiger Woods in an eighteen hole golf game. Though the final Republican debate in New Hampshire was spun as Mitt's triumph, I saw it as his ultimate demise in the Granite State. After Romney sermonized about his executive leadership skills, McCain shot back with his resume of leading a jet fighter squadron; which clearly triggered sympathetic thoughts of the senator's five years in a P.O.W. camp.
And finally, this epilogue to the Mitt Romney campaign book. Though he's stubbornly not ready to throw in the towel, Mitt's starting to look wrinkled. It's sort of like his dad before him, George Romney, who ran for president in 1968 until his three month fledgling campaign folded after Romney senior claimed he had been brainwashed by the military.
Romney junior, now tired, frumpled and electorally bashed, was never himself brainwashed; just the voters who supported him who are now drifting away, having come back to their senses that McCain's the best bet for the G.O.P. in November.
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