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I realize everyone is probably already sick of hearing predictions about the Iowa Republican caucuses, and if this does indeed describe you then you should probably go watch a football game or something -- because that's exactly what we're going to do today: throw prognosticatory Hawkeye darts at the wall, and take our chances as we may.
We've been oppressed for so long, it just doesn't matter anymore. The government does what it wants when it wants. The name calling is going to stay around forever. But when you think about it, this is an insult.
I don't write about sports very often. This column isn't even really about sports, either, it's about doing what is right. In baseball terms: "stepping up to the plate." The Los Angeles Dodgers baseball team needs to do so, because it is already overdue.
Incivility seems to be running fairly high in the country right now, what with heads being crushed under boots by political supporters and whatnot. But the incivility which has me scratching my head has nothing to do with politics. Instead, I've been asking a question which (so far) has remained unanswered, so I toss it out today in the hopes that a sports whiz knows the answer: Why do professional baseball players not shake hands with the other team after the game?
Sheriff Joe Arpaio, of Arizona, recently made the news. In his own words: "I just got done welcoming Sarah Palin to our County [sic]. Had a nice chat and gave her a pair of pink underwear." This marks a turning point in the American political scene, where pink underwear has been rehabilitated, so to speak, within the Republican Party.
The mainstream media, led by the intrepid White House press corps, closely followed by the inside-the-Beltway punditocracy, has declared what must happen for the oil to stop flowing into the Gulf of Mexico: President Obama needs to get angry at the oil.
I wish I were kidding, but sadly, I am not. This is the [...]
Before we begin here, I'd like to humbly propose a new law. No American television station should be allowed to have an exclusive contract for any Olympic games. Period.
So it is with a heavy heart indeed that we salute Fred Morrison and his Pluto Platter, as he metaphorically floats off -- spinning gently, on the lightest of breezes -- into the sunset.
Welcome once again to our year-end wrapup and awards ceremony. Honesty dictates that I immediately genuflect to The McLaughlin Group, from whom I have stolen all these award categories. We will begin this week with Part 1 of these annual awards, and then next Friday on New Year's Day, we will present Part 2, with reduced volume levels (for those who are nursing hangovers... ahem).
Much like Sherlock Holmes' non-barking nocturnal canine, the remarkable thing about President Barack Obama's poll numbers last month was that nothing remarkable happened. Both trendlines were pretty flat for the month, which was the second month in a row of little movement. Things are not getting much better for Obama's approval rate, but then neither are they getting much worse.