By Alex
Not content in introducing a quasi-nationalized but not really socialized health care reform bill no one seems to understand, Obama has now set his sights on the sports industry.
Sharing ice-cream – two spoons. He chose chocolate, I French vanilla - I sat with President Obama in Lexington Square facing the White House and we talked about his big plans.
“I have a lot of them. It’s just that there are many stupid people in my way including Repukicans. Man, selling ideas is tough. Tougher than selling insurance. High five!”
After I missed his high five, I wondered about the lucidity about a plan needing 2700 pages. He chuckles. Chin up.
“Nancy assured me once the bill passes I’ll know what’s in it so, you know, trust me, ok? In the meantime, I want to talk sports.”
“You’re the boss,” I replied. He winks and tells me, “I feel naked without my chalk, you know that?”
I nod.
“So. What do you have planned for sports?”
“You’re gonna love this idea. You see, I’m not for all these dynasties. I don’t like when one or two teams dominate a sport. I mean, where’s the fairness in that? What I want to do is introduce a bill, let’s call it the “Rotating Champions” bill where each league must ensure a new team wins a title every year.”
My cigarette, which rested loosely on my lower lip, suddenly crashes to the ground. I gaze in a moment of delirium. I felt like James Stewart in Vertigo. A body falls by.
“Excuse me?” I meekly respond.
“What? Oh, I know it’s revolutionary but that’s why they pay me the big bucks. To make sure life is flattened and made equal. Capiche?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What don’t you get? Hey, you do have a College degree right?”
“In Canada it’s called a University degree.”
“Hm. Is that like a Community College?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Sometimes I wonder.”
“Whatever. As long as you’re not one of those obnoxious, obstructionist douches from the Tea party.”
I assure him I wasn’t. That I preferred espresso. He laughs.
“Man, boy! That’s a good one! High five!”
“Mr. President. I don’t understand. Won’t you be meddling in the affairs of private enterprise? And besides, don’t you have bigger problems?”
He sighs. “I guess. But I see so much injustice. I don’t think it’s fair some organizations have smarter people than others.”
He pauses and looks up and sees a black crow fly by. He snaps his fingers. “Hey, wait a sec! I can legislate a bill forcing teams to rotate management too! God, I’m so smart! Oh my, I think we should cap salaries to, say, $100 000, that way I can tax them to pay for my interventionism! I’m too sexy for Lexy!”
A passerby looks at Obama and shakes her head furiously while feeding pigeons.
Obama focuses intently on her, “I can out stare her. Watch.”
“I kinda like dynasties.”
Obama snaps out of his game with the commoner. He acts like he’s looking at a gargoyle with a blank look of despair. “Is this some sort of twisted Von Misian joke? Are you Darwin reincarnated? What, you like Hayek or something? Screw the Packers! Fuck the Celtics! Rot, rottenYankees. Go to hell – which team was a dynasty in hockey, oh yeah – les Canadiens! I knew you were off from the minute you insisted on French vanilla. People who push for choices and don’t follow make me angry. This. Interview. Is. Ov-ah, brotha!
He snaps his fingers incessantly, makes a pirouette and adds, “They’ll all love me one day. You’ll see, yeah. You’ll see.”
“Mr. President… are you awright?”
“Ever watch, Sunset Boulevard?”
“Yeah. A while ago. Creepy stuff.”
“Creepy? To you maybe, but not me. Not me.”
He turns facing The White House, once inhabited by men of genius like Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, and yells, “I am big. It’s the pictures that got small.”
That was my cue I reckon.
“Thank you, Mr President. This was, shall we say, enlightening?”
“You owe me a buck for the cream. Do you think I’m made of money?”
He doesn’t budge as he stretches his arms wide while the gentle Southern wind whisks and crashes upon his face.
Then.
A fart.
