Dear Friends: Progressives have finally found their religion, and its name is Harvey. It's a selective religion, of course -- in line with their selective memories, selective histories, and selective outrage -- for clearly, progressives believe, Harvey is Texas's punishment for helping elect our President Donald J. Trump.
After all, progressives control Mother Nature. Didn't you know? What is global warming if not an argument that humans can somehow affect the weather? And by logical extension, if humans can somehow affect the weather, we can eventually control the weather. And if we control the weather, we control Mother Nature. (Their computer-geeks call it climate control. Witty.) After all, they say, we're already changing the climate. Didn't you know? That's right, we're changing the climate. Apparently, humans are all powerful in the face of Mother Nature, and if we imagine Mother Nature as the deity of their progressive religion, and by controlling Mother Nature they usurp Her, what does it make the usurpers? Exactly. (Cue the Church Lady here, or, simply think about the abject arrogance of progressives. But don't think about it too hard. You might get a thought-concussion. Or a two-by-four to the head.)
And as for the suffering masses of Texas, does anybody believe progressives care for them, even a little bit? They'll cross the country to either cause or participate in mayhem, but you don't see any black-uniform-and-masks helping out in Texas. (However, they'll probably show up to loot, but only once they turn the weather back to California clear and sunny.) But no! they'll argue. They absolutely care! so far as it affected the Nielsen ratings for Game of Thrones. All that lost viewership, and they really, really, really wanted the record for a season finale's viewership. Progressives love the medieval anarchy, the medieval violence, and they really love the medieval politics. Hell, they pine for it.
But not us. We send our prayers, our thoughts, and our money to all the devasted in Texas, and wish them Godspeed in the rescue from their immediate plight and their long recovery road ahead. (And as for Game of Thrones, we view it as an entertainment, and not a way of life. Or a plausible lifestyle choice. And when will HBO et.al. get on the ball and realize they can easily sell all season/series finale's as massive pay-per-view events? Imagine the revenue, which in this case, much or all of it could easily have been donated to help out in Texas, particularly since the finale of the finale was so amusingly entertaining. The visual of The Wall was pure Titanic, but subtle, in that it only lacked Leo & Kate at the helm, and the unheard soundtrack was pure Roger Waters. Spoiler alert.)
But for pure entertainment, meant only to take us away from the world's problems, the spoils of the weekend belong to Boxing, for Boxing has saved itself. The grand old sport-of-sports was this close to extinction, until resurrected by the mighty magic of the all-mighty dollar. (That's why we love America. It truly is the land of opportunity. More on that later.) Boxing's bet: place a gargantuan sum of money in the center of a ring, and let Floyd Mayweather, Jr., and Conor McGregor decide how many times they want to fight it out. The decision: all around victory. Translated: Mayweather may very well go 54-0 (currently 50-0), and McGregor may very well end up 0-5. But when all's said and done, they will have split upwards of a $3 Billion ($3,000,000,000) pot of gold equally, about $2 Bil to the champ and $1 Bil to the chump. (That's what Mayweather will call McGregor: the chump. The World's foremost Billion Dollar chump. And if those numbers seem outrageous, remember that reports guaranteed Mayweather $200 Mil and McGregor $100 Mil, minimum, and those numbers will rise dramatically in future fights. And remember, by all reports McGregor was unemployed only some four or so years ago. Conclusion: Only in America. The Land of Opportunity, Indeed. And let's all hope some of that finds it's way to the Heart of Texas.)
Why the bold prediction? The fight was fantastic, worth the $100 PPV price of admission, and will be every time. Those of us lucky enough to have seen the fight were indeed treated to a treat. (The short history of these two fighters is worthy of its own long-form story, but the long and short of it is that they appear not to like each other. Words were exchanged, weights were weighed, and primal-banshee-screams were made, by McGregor. Mayweather appeared to want to kiss him, mockingly. Boxing is the rare institution that allows a relentless build-up of insults, with the full knowledge that at some point, fists will be thrown.)
Of course, the out-of-the-ring stuff is all for show, a practice attributed to and perfected by the Greatest of all Time, Muhammad Ali. Taunt a man and then fight him in the ring? Brilliant strategy for him, brilliant entertainment for us. (Unfortunately for Ali, he paid too big a price for his brash arrogance, even if we all loved him for it. (Except for his opponents, especially Smokin Joe Frazier, who made the mistake of taking it personally. Open yourself up to that kind of weak spot, and Ali only pounced on it. Of course, that was Smokin Joe's only weak spot, and their fights are the stuff of legend.))
And unfortunately for Boxing as a sport, the inside-the-ring "fight" eventually became all for show as well. (To wit: Mayweather v. Pacquiao.)
But not this time. This fight was the real deal. And half the fun was gambling that your $100 wouldn't be wasted. For not knowing what to expect, but betting on the inside chance that McGregor was as crazy as he seemed, but not, and Mayweather may (be) set up (for) a rematch by "losing", but not, it just seemed worth a shot. (Note: Mayweather retired at 50-0, but would never retire a loser, and even now, will never leave the rest of his $2 Bil on the table. And McGregor, as crazy as he is, will fight him every time. Put another way, McGregor's crazy, maybe, but Mayweather's not stupid, maybe. He's just all about the money, even if he should stay retired: he's set for life, he's 40, he's 50-0. But he won't. $2 Bil isn't chump change.)
And McGregor, bless his crazy-heart, can fight. I mean, man, can that guy fight. (And just imagine when he's "Boxing-fit" and not "MMA-fit"; the fights will go the distance, even if Mayweather will likely win every time. Maybe.) That was easily and decidedly the best Big-Time-Fight we've seen in I can't remember how long. (We've all taken our hits to the head. Some more than others.) And even the undercard was a huge bit of gravy, especially the Tabiti v. Cunningham cruiserweight bout: young v. old, brash v. stately, both ripped out of rock, it went the distance, and there was a clear respect.
Respect, however, seems not to be an issue between Mayweather and McGregor. Apparently, there is none. They dislike each other primally, and disrespect each other even more so. And it showed in the ring, which is why it was a real fight. And clearly, it showed after the fight, when McGregor said, "I made him into a Mexican (fighter, we presume)." Okay. Clearly to be misunderstood, on the heels of already having called Mayweather "boy." Oops. And exactly. For obviously, McGregor is not a racist. He's simply (playing) dumb. Like rocks-in-the-head dumb. Does he get that Mexican fighters are amongst the best in history? Yes, he's that (play) dumb. But not dumb enough that he doesn't know how to cash a $100 Million Dollar check. And that isn't play money.
No, it isn't play money at all. And let's all be thankful that Boxing is back. Maybe if we allow those two to beat the hell out of each other in the ring, for entertainment purposes only, we won't beat the hell out of each other in the streets. Tough odds on that, I know, but how about if we all give it a shot.
And with that, Dear Friends, your humble narrator concludes this chronicle of this Campaign Summer, still with a head full of hope and a heart beating red. Labor Day, our traditional end of summer, is around the corner, a time of significance for all, and for yours truly a time of true significance, for this labor of love began on a Labor Day Weekend some many years ago. In that spirit, time must again be taken to contemplate the story at large, with a solid ear to the ground-swell that is America in the year of our Lord, 2017, and an ever-present eye for The Fine Line.
Respectfully submitted, and to be continued....
THD: August 29, 2017