It's always a bit of a laugh these days when I hear presidential candidates talk about “bringing the country together.” Say what? Really? Bring the country together? You're gonna get, say, the transgender community of Chicago all tight with the cattle ranchers of eastern Oregon? Get the crack dealers of Philadelphia on the same page with insurance agents from Spokane? Get the diesel mechanics of Fort Lauderdale all chummy with Greenpeace staffers from San Diego?
Well, good luck with that. Honestly, bringing the country together is pretty far down on my list of things I want from my new president. Way way way down. I'm at this point solidly convinced that the United States is irretrievably fragmented into about 250,000 different factions that are about as unifiable as rat poop and pudding. I would be happy with just a few simple things from the new president—like a trillion-dollar program to rebuild the country's highways and bridges.
I continue to see various pundits and commentators acting all bewildered about the Donald's staying power in terms of his perch atop the polls. Along with that bewilderment is a barely concealed question that lurks just below the surface—“Have you friggin' people lost your minds?”
Once again, I counsel a stressless attitude of devil-may-care smugness. Let millions of Republicans make their statements of support for their anti-establishment rogues, Trump and Carson. And reasonable semi-sane types, don't let it get you all wasted, worried or weirded. Remember the last time Republicans nominated a colorful kook for the presidency? Before your time? I'm heading back 51 years, to 1964, when a senator from Arizona got the nomination, a gent named Barry Goldwater, who was far enough out on the right end of the political spectrum to make Ronald Reagan look like Tim Leary. In the election of '64, Dem Daddy Lyndon Johnson beat Goldwater by 61-39 percent, the biggest popular vote stomping in American history.
I'm not saying Hill will kill Trump/Ben in a landslide of similar proportions. But with the various voting blocs that have already been mildly irritated to totally alienated by bizarre GOP bloviating, I'm not gonna bet on a nail-biter a year from now, either. And I'm not gonna bet against Rubio, either.
The strange case of Colin Kaepernick gets ever more perplexing. Here's a guy who was riding about as high as a quarterback could ride less than two years ago, when the Niners lost that brutal NFC title game in Seattle in January of '14. Then, via a series of unfortunate front office blunders (firing Harbaugh being the most glaring) and mass retirement of key Niner stars, Kap began to slide—and slide—and slide. Now, the poor guy looks like he couldn't throw a golf ball into Lake Tahoe. The best thing for him now would be a trade. How 'bout Cowboy Kap? Or KC? Have him back up Alex again?