Baiting The Bushes and their New Boss Fidel

CHALK TALK FOUR

I’m told that Jeb Bush is seeking another term in office as Governor of Florida, a nice bullpen for him to warm up for his expected run for the Presidency after Senator Hillary Clinton’s turn at bat. Hopefully, that will be the completion of the Bush/Clinton Oval Office Badminton Game. However, and it’s anybody’s guess, since no one has rewritten the U.S. Constitution and Bill of Rights more successfully than the Clinton family, Chelsea might qualify for office after Jeb. A little too obvious? Perhaps.

I am being enticed to Florida as a second chance in the ring with former Attorney General Janet Reno. Back in 1993, after she treated me and my television-network colleagues as if we were accessories to drive-by shootings, I fought valiantly against her unconstitutional stance and lost. A former friend who played in the Clinton Inaugural Big Band asked if I was "winning." I said: "No, but I’m free."

I’m still free, and more myself than I’ve ever been. This tag on me of ‘Ben Stone’, after reruns of 88 episodes of Law and Order, has worn so thin that strangers up in Canada now call me ‘Mike’. Down in Florida, I hope they call me ‘McMurphy’ and Reno ‘Mildred’. That’s Nurse Ratched’s first name; you may recall her as the authority figure in the mental hospital dramedy One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

However, when you’re bitten by attack dogs, you don’t talk to the dogs, you talk to the owners. I wrote a letter to President Bill Clinton, describing the rather unacceptable behavior of his pit bull Attorney General, but somehow the White House complaint box wasn’t opened up that day.

Oh, well, fate has obviously given me another round in the ring, or perhaps a few hours in the coliseum of George Bush’s Americo-Roman Empire. Or is it Massa Clinton’s idea of the Socialist Federation Plantation?

"I don’t have the vision thing," former President George Bush once remarked to explain his poor showing against Clinton. Well, if you’re going to run a Pax Americana along the lines of Augustus Caesar’s Pax Romana, you and your sons better know the roles they’re supposed to play in that grand Shakespearean drama. Right now, George Bush looks like the faintly-remembered Pompeii of the Roman Triumvirate of Pompeii, Mark Antony and Octavius Caesar. Well, the spoiled brat Octavius -- like Rhodes Scholar Clinton -- eventually won, and Pompeii barely got a footnote in the saga of the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.

With the handing of Elian Gonzales back to Fidel Castro—not possible without the invaluably tacit approval of Governor Jeb Bush -- the Leninist leanings in liberals became immediately apparent. Castro now calls all the shots in the coming Florida election. Governor Bush and Reno are merely Los Fidelitos, not the candidates of a Florida election but the umpires of a baseball game, the outcome of which is already predetermined.

Well, I think it’s time THE REALIST PARTY’s home ball club, The Mammoths, steps up to bat.

Socialism is the ultimate triumph of mediocrity, because the Marxist game plan is to own the referees even before we hear "Play ball!"

Well, the Mammoths are going to hand the North American Fidelitos a lesson in competitiveness. Presently, Castro is on second base. Hugo Chavez, President of Venezuela and heir apparent to Generalissimo Castro on the Marxist Latin American throne, is on first. Reno is at bat, aided and abetted by the home plate umpire, Jeb Bush, whose family record of political runs batted in is so appallingly high that the history books will call their administrations the Republican Black Sox.

This turf battle is decades old. So ancient that our shortstop in the early innings was Senator Joseph McCarthy. He wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree, thought he could save the Constitution by breaking it, but nonetheless he did slow down a few line drives out of Soviet Russia and Red China. McCarthy then tossed the metaphorical ball to another Irish-American infielder named John F. Kennedy, who stopped Fidelito’s Missiles of October in an ultimately terminal pile-up on a second base called Dallas. Not bad, considering Camelot’s King preferred touch football.

I am fated to be the third Irish-American to play Communist Cuba’s still-favorite sport – baseball. In the spirit of my grandfather -- a third baseman with the Detroit Tigers -- I’ll run down and, with the help of a Free-Cuban catcher, tag Fidelito Castro on the third baseline as forcefully as possible, while he futilely attempts to make Florida his home plate. If he’d held up on third, he might have stolen home with the next batter. Apparently, the capture of Elian Gonzales went to his head. He’s been carrying the boy around like a Stanley Cup of some sort.

My precipitous, franchise "trade" down to Florida will only be complete when I get the nod from a kind of Canadian Charles de Gaulle posing as George Steinbrenner. More about that in the next CHALK TALK.