The Aggravator

Wright Or Wrong

If you needed a reminder of what a farce American political life is, you can thank Sen. Barack Obama’s spiritual mentor, the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, for stepping up to the plate.

Seldom do we see such a sterling example of all our failings as we do in Rev. Wright: a nut, a numbskull and a media whore.

As both the signal influence on one of our most serious presidential aspirants and that very same man’s undoing, we might rightly call this pastor the most powerful man in American politics today.

I’m going to give you a second to absorb the stunning truth of that statement before I ask the logical follow-up: What in the hell are we doing in this country?

Didn’t we recently see 2,000 of our countrymen incinerated in the name of religious quackery? Weren’t we willing to spill oceans of blood ourselves, in multiple wars, waste billions of dollars, destabilize the world and give oil prices a hot foot, all to defeat crackpot mullahs?

And yet here is our eminent Democratic Party on the verge of rejecting one of this country’s legendary political families, the revered Clintons, to voluntarily anoint Rev. Wright’s protégé, Barack Obama.

Obama told us all from Day One about the sway the good Reverend held over him: How Wright “converted” him, presided over his marriage and baptized his girls. Obama told us how he even named his intellectual offspring, “The Audacity of Hope” after a Wright sermon.

Now we know what they might’ve talked about: They might have palavered about the U.S. government inventing the AIDS virus to slaughter American blacks. And hypothetically they blabbed about America the terrorist state.

Whether or not Obama actually knew about his reverend’s convictions, we must call into question his abilities as a chief executive since he made a mistake that any third-rate marketing professional would’ve avoided. He hitched his star to a celebrity spokesman. That’s not a bad strategy unless that spokesman turns out to have an unpleasant odor. Just ask Hertz Rent A Car how that O.J. endorsement is working out.

Obama has gone to great lengths to assure Americans that he is a Christian, yet his pastor walks around surrounded by a phalanx of armed Muslim bodyguards and praises extremist Muslim leader Louis Farrakhan as one of “the great men of the 20th century.” Wright even refers to Farrakhan as the “E.F. Hutton of the black community.” He’s also Farrakhan’s defender, claiming falsely that the Nation of Islam leader called Zionism, not Judaism, a gutter religion.

Are any of our readers members of the Zionist faith?

What’s really inexplicable is how many left-leaning Jews are untroubled by Obama’s connection to Wright. Can you imagine the reaction of our European forefathers? They had no say in choosing the politicians who ruled them, and they suffered centuries of calamity.

They would never believe that their very own descendants would one day willingly choose an Obama and his despicable pastor.

What would they do if they could see it?

In the 26 volumes of the Queen’s English, there’s not a single word fit to describe it. No, for this, we need to turn to the Yiddish. Because the only way to say it is, those old Jews would plotz

Oybama

So it looks like the Democratic people have spoken. Their choice is Barack Hussein Obama.

Oy gevalt!

Two years ago, the guy was an Illinois state senator and now he’s in line to fidget with the whole shebang. Doesn’t anybody read a resume anymore? Check references?

At first, the only thing most Americans knew about Obama was that he authored “The Audacity of Hope.” Nobody’s going to actually read a snoozer like that, but at least the title is distinctive — as the most moronic in literary history.

And yet “The Audacity of Hope” suggests many things about this successful young candidate.

First of all, it speaks to Obama’s supposed eloquence. They keep telling us that he’s a wonder on the stump, but to me he seems to accomplish the same things for inspirational oratory that oatmeal does for spicy cuisine.

To paraphrase Lloyd Bentsen, who really could light up a room, Obama’s no Jack Kennedy or, for that matter, William Kennedy Smith. I know why they claim he’s a great speaker. He spouts the crackpot join-hands-with-the-world platitudes that are like fine erotica to the left. But he does so with a kind of emotional insolvency.

And speaking of loony optimism, “The Audacity of Hope” also speaks to his views (read: lies) about Iraq. He’s been foolishly rash in his assessments of the war and its meaning.

First, he claimed that he was always against the war (unlike virtually everyone else in his party). Of course, his views back then mean bupkis since he was still just a state hack at that time. Oprah hadn’t told him to go out and run America yet.

Once she did, and he was legitimately an exalted candidate, he stated that he would immediately withdraw the troops. Now he backtracks on that and says he’ll try to fade the war out. That’s the Audacity of Baloney.

So maybe his eloquence should be described as Clintonian since, like our former president, he seems to believe the theory that lingual elegance increases when it’s slouching out of two sides of the same horrific mouth.

For the Jewish readers of our magazine, and I understand there are a few, there’s another reason to mistrust the mellifluous tones of Citizen Obama. Maybe you noticed his warm friendship with a Chicago pastor named Jeremiah Wright?

Obama attended Pastor Wright’s shul for 20 years. Wright married Obama and his wife and baptized their children. Obama gave Rev. Wright “credit” for inspiring “The Audacity of Hope” title.

It’s a truly beautiful thing to see all the man love between these two, but, as usual, there are just a couple little problems. It seems as though Rev. Wright believes America should be “damned” and screams it from the pulpit every chance he gets. He also believes that the Rev. Louis Farrakhan is a “great” man and throws parties in his honor.

Obama has never satisfactorily answered why he was so close to this racist for so long.

Moving forward, Jewish voters must wonder how this tolerance for anti-Jewish sentiment might affect an “Obama administration.” There are plenty of advisers on the left hostile to Israel and Judaism; will they find a welcome home in his Cabinet?

On the other hand, maybe Obama’s a statesman. At least his candidacy exposed the Clintons’ naked lust for power and foul belief in their own entitlement.

Hmm, on second thought, maybe Barack’s not such a bad guy after all. 

The Contender

As regular readers of this column know, I’ve leveled some pretty vicious insults over the years, raking politicians, academics and other nefarious figures over the red hot coals. But I’ve never written anything as downright scurrilous as I did last month when I targeted my own son, tragically suggesting that his athletic ability was roughly equal to mine.

That, as it turns out, was a gross distortion of the truth.

As a reminder, my column was about my six-year-old son Max’s burgeoning wrestling career. The piece ended ignominiously, with Max tragically reduced to a pretzel and gazing heavenward faster than it usually takes him to hide his vegetables.

This is what forced me to draw the comparisons to my own career as high school grappler, midfielder and quarterback. Crappiness nonpareil.

In truth my son looks a lot like me (or a barnyard rooster). He’s short, thick of chest and cocky. Very, very cocky. But unlike his old man, he’s got the goods to back it up.

A few Sundays ago we landed at the Maryland State wrestling tournament, “The States.” Viewing it all reverently, I thought it looked like Hoosiers on a mat. Someone less charitable referred to it as “a kind of JonBenet pageant for stinky little boys.”

Either way, going into The States, Max was on fire. In his last two tournaments, his record was five and one, including his first gold medal.

Perhaps that was on his mind when he walked through the tournament doors and announced: “Dad, today is my day. I’m gonna win this whole thing.”

I told him to shut his mouth, lest he jinx it. “Get your skinny little tuchus out there and just wrestle,” I said.

The first match didn’t bode well. Max drew a scrappy kid, more than a year younger and even smaller than he was. Despite these advantages, Max struggled. There was even controversy when one of his fingers clipped the poor kid in the eye, causing an eruption of protest from his corner.

In the end, Max squeaked out a victory on points, but he came off the mat chastened: “Dad, I was lucky to beat him,” he said. “He’s way tougher and stronger than I am.”

Max was right. That kid, the brother of a U.S. champion, went on to beat every other wrestler in the weight class, pinning three hapless victims along the way. But Max kept ticking off the victories, too. And the once unthinkable was becoming plausible; he had a real shot to be State Champ.

But first The Contender had to pee. Chaperoning him to the men’s room I shielded him from the ruinous siren of the trophy table.

He must’ve peeked, anyway. When we got back, he finally faltered, counter-moved to defeat by a crafty little puppy.

That left the title in doubt. Max and his first opponent finished with identical records. This kid’s old man, a tough customer in his own right, kept a watchful eye on the officials’ deliberations. And so did I.

When the judges awarded Max the title, due to his head-to-head victory, the other father pronounced the tournament, “A joke.” Then he crowded me: “Your kid’s a cheater,” he growled. “He gouged my son’s eyes.”

Max’s mother, viewing from a distance, asked me if I retaliated. “It’s little kid wrestling,” I shrugged, “Anyway, did you see the size of that guy?”

Max toted his gigantic trophy from the room to a million back slaps. His coach, smiling, put an arm around him: “You have a great chance to win it again next year,” he said.

“No thanks,” the Champ responded. “Next year, I’m playing basketball.”