On how pure politics can destroy the purest of politicians

So Jeremy Corbyn is fighting for the soul of the Labour Party is he? Well good for Jeremy, but what he doesn’t seem to realise is that Tony Blair suffocated it years ago. It was wrapped in a red flag and buried up at Highgate Cemetery on the 21st of July 1994. There was a rumour that, in 1997, someone placed a single red rose on the grave and named it The Tomb of the Unknown Socialist, but the rose and any external markings have long-since disappeared.

Irrespective of whether he splits the labour party or somehow and miraculously mends all those burned bridges, before leading the new-old-Labour Party into the electoral sunrise of a socialist nirvana, Jeremy Corbyn, will surely learn what Michael Foot and Neil Kinnock, and Viscount Stansgate, and all those other hoary old left-wing anachronisms learnt some years earlier. . .

You can either have principles or you can have power, but you can’t have both

And on the subject of that. . .

It seems Sir John Chilcot has decided that Tony Blair was somewhat less than entirely truthful with Parliament and the country, when he put an arm around the then U.S. President George Walker Bush, and said, ‘don’t worry, George, I’ll be there with you when you invade Iraq’.

For G.W. Bush it was unfinished family business, but for Tony Blair there was no personal motivation in deceiving the electorate, his Parliamentary colleagues, and himself. It was simply Tony Blair being Tony Blair.

Anyone with half a brain already knew what Tony Blair was like. I mean, let’s not kid ourselves. He joined the Labour Party and immediately saw that social conscience and fiscal irresponsibility go hand-in-hand. More importantly, he saw that Old Labour’s ‘tax the rich and feed the poor’ mentality was never going to be elected in a post-Thatcher Britain.

And so he hijacked what was left of the Labour Party, after Thatcher had finished doing what Thatcher did so well to the trade unions, dumped both his and the Labour Party’s ‘socialist principles’ at the nearest recycling plant, and set about building New Labour.

All of those once strongly held principles went straight out of the window, along with Labour’s traditional reliance on ‘the working class vote and trade union memberships.

At Party Conferences, The Red Flag was hauled down in favour of a single-stemmed red rose.We’ll Keep the Red Flag Flying Here was replaced with Things Can Only Get Better (and just about anything by Oasis) and all those unpopular taxes on the rich were similarly and unceremoniously junked in favour of a breadth of celebrity and big business courtships.

Now why anyone would believe that a man who could dump his beliefs, his principles, and the once-proud history of The Labour Party, so easily and so quickly in the pursuit of power and popularity, and then instantly become a reformed character once that same power and popularity was his to command is beyond me. . . But believe it they did.

And on the subject of power and popularity, it seems that Theresa May is the new ‘anointed one’, and Britain is about to truly understand why the country so desperately needs a credible opposition.

According to Theresa May, Brexit means Brexit and there will be no new general election before 2020 (As Theresa makes no mention of achieving a sudden and unexpected clarity of vision, I have to assume that she meant the year).

Let’s face it we haven’t had a British Prime Minister with an ounce of brain and a full set since Margaret Thatcher. Like her or loathe her Thatcher did restore Britain’s democracy, economic strength, and international repute.

I mean, John Major was a likeable enough individual, even though he suffered from a severe case of charisma bypass, but he was no Thatcher. History records that he was ultimately betrayed by all those right-wing “Bastards!” (Now who does that remind you of?). It also records that his laying of the soon-to-be Secretary of State for Health, proved a whole lot easier than his laying of the ghost of Margaret Thatcher.

Then along came Tony Blair; who saw Thatcher’s phenomenal jump in popularity following the Falkland’s War, and tried the same thing in Iraq, with tragically predictable consequences, or at least according to the Chilcot report.

Glossing over the short and thoroughly unremarkable premiership of Gordon Brown, we then come to David Cameron, who has, sadly, proved to be no exception to this rule of the unexceptional.david_cameron_0

On a personal note I like David Cameron. He seems a genuine sort of man who actually tried to do the right thing, but in terms of a place in history, and let’s face it that is what this quest for political power always eventually comes down to, his premiership will be seen as a disaster for Great Britain and a disaster for democracy.

Maybe Theresa May will prove to be the real deal. Maybe she will unite a bickering Conservative Party, galvanise Her Majesties’ official Opposition, re-unite a bitterly divided country, halt excessive immigration, strengthen Sterling, reinvigorate the NHS, lower taxes, increase productivity, boost exports, reduce imports, cancel the national debt, restore the empire, and make Marks & Spencer profitable again.

Or maybe, just maybe, as she takes her unelected place in both Downing Street and the history books, she will come to learn what David Cameron and all those who went before her learnt to their individual cost . . .

That promises can sometimes become prisons.

Have a good one

Britain has lost its way, but has it also lost its soul?

Right now it seems everyone is petrified that Donald Trump’s courtship of America’s intellectually bankrupt will bear fruit, and I suppose there is an outside chance that might happen, but there is also a silver lining draped around America’s cloud of trepidation, because, if he is elected President, in four years’ time those same Americans will get to vote him out again.

Always assuming that he hasn’t diverted the Rio Grande, ring-fenced El Paso, and carpet-bombed Chihuahua, they will also get to elect someone with a modicum of common sense to swiftly repair all those burned diplomatic bridges.ElPasoWildSign

No harm, no foul; just four years of Americans having to sit with their arses twitching and their fingers in their ears.

However, in The United Kingdom we don’t have that same luxury.

With us the damage of the referendum is both deadly serious and permanent, but the Brexit vote is not the only damage that has been done to our nation in recent history.

It seems to me that Britain, and especially England, has lost its way over the last few years. Once we were the empire, upon which the sun never set, but nowadays Britain is an insular country, cloaked in gloom and despondency, a bitterly divided nation of resentment and polarised opinion . . . and it is easy to see why.

In the last few years we have lost our freedom of speech, we have lost our tolerance, we have lost the presumption of innocence, we have lost our democratic process, we have lost our self-respect, we have lost our national pride, and we are about to lose our national identity.

Let’s face it; we’re in a bit of a mess, and I believe it is all because we no longer accept responsibility for any of our faults, ills, or troubles. In today’s Britain it is always someone else’s fault, and that ‘someone else’ is invariably those European bogeymen in Brussels.

Never mind that, when we implemented legislation to stop racism and homophobia, we threw the baby out with the bathwater and silenced the racists and bigots long-held right to freedom of speech. VoltaireVoltaire was screaming down from the heavens, but of course we ignored him, because he was just another one of those interfering Europeans.

Never mind that, when we started a series of witch-hunts to impose our newly-formed 21st century morality on the 20th century activities of others, and exposed all those shamefully randy celebrities of yesteryear, we paid no regard to the changing fashions of behaviour, and rarely presented so much as a shred of corroborated evidence to a court of law. What’s that got to do with anything, and anyway, all this nonsense about The Presumption of Innocence; we all know they’re as guilty as hell. After all, The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Daily Express all said they were, and there’s no smoke without fire.

Never mind that, when we send our thugs, morons, tarts, and moral bankrupts on holiday to Europe, they drag our reputation into the same gutter they’ve just thrown up in. After all is said and done that’s Europe’s fault . . . I mean, all those greedy hotel and bar owners are just asking for trouble. All that cheap booze and hot weather when you’re not used to it; bound to get the blood pumping and the juices flowing. They hate us over there anyway; just look at The Eurovision Song Contest.


Never mind that, when we chose our representatives for the European Union, we downgraded the role of MEP’s, treated the European parliament and election process with apathy and disdain, and consequently sent the political dregs of humanity to represent us.

It was never our fault, just as it was never the responsibility of those inadequate representatives, and fifth-columnists like Nigel Farage to thrash out decent agreements, make our case, and stand-up for the country that elected them. . .

Oh no, it was all the fault of those Brussels bureaucrats.

Never mind that the process for leaving the European Union and taking the most important political decision of our lifetime was deeply flawed, unfairly influenced by a shockingly jingoistic media, and undemocratic to the point of farce. It just serves those bureaucrats over there in Brussels right, they brought it on themselves, and at least now we can get our sausages made the right way and then weighed on scales that we all understand.

Never mind that Scotland will probably leave the Union, and in so doing act as a catalyst for the eventual break-up of The United Kingdom. After all, they haven’t liked us and we haven’t trusted them since we gave them a right good kicking up on Culloden Moor. Anyway, they were bound to go sooner or later; might as well be sooner.union1

Never mind that it will leave England politically and economically weakened, isolated, and disliked by even our closest neighbours. That’s not our fault is it? After all . . . How could it possibly be?

So don’t worry about a thing, mate. We ain’t lost our soul . . . After all it’s still called Dover, ain’t it? And don’t worry about us leaving Europe, either; there will always be someone else to blame. . .white-cliffs-of-dover

There will be, won’t there?

Have a good one.

On why true democracy requires democratic process, not funny one-liners.

I think it is long overdue for me to address all those victorious Brexit voters, who decry any calls for a fresh vote or a new referendum as either the bleating of poor losers or an attack on the nation’s democratic soul.getimage
I am getting heartily sick and tired of the Brexit lot, screaming about the EU referendum being a legitimate product of Britain’s democracy, and let me tell you why. . .

True democracy must follow a democratic process, and the democratic process in Britain is very simpledemocracy-voting-rights-voting-restrictions-and-tricks-e1317240867973
A group of politicians, hereafter called a political party, makes a whole raft of promises before a general election, which they set-out, print and publish, in a manifesto.

Party manifestos allow each voter to make an informed decision before casting his or her vote, because they lay out precisely what each political party would do in the event of winning the upcoming election.

After the nation has voted and the votes have been counted, whichever political party has won a workable majority of the 650 parliamentary constituencies available then forms a government and sets about making good on the promises contained in their manifesto.General-Election-2015
At the end of five years that government and its manifesto are judged by the electorate at another general election. If the incumbent government hasn’t made good on their previous manifesto promises, or if they have dragged the country into economic chaos or anarchy or worse, the British public votes those duplicitous and incompetent politicians out of office and somebody else gets to make good on the raft of their promises, as outlined in their manifesto. . .

This is called a democratic process.
Brexit 350 million lieIn the E.U. referendum a group of self-serving politicians, hereafter called the Brexit campaign, made a whole raft of promises that, within two days of the result, were shown to be nothing more than a tissue of lies and misrepresentation. They did not produce a manifesto to allow voters to make an informed decision, because they had no idea of what would happen or of what they would do if they won.

And here’s another news flash for you. . . They still don’t.

Had the Brexit campaign been required to produce a manifesto I would hazard a guess that it would have articulated similar thoughts to those of defending council Joe Pesci in the feature film ‘My Cousin Vinny’, when he first stood up in court to rebuff the prosecuting council’s opening argument, and said. . . .maxresdefault (1)

“Everything that guy just said is bullshit!”

In My Cousin Vinny it was a great line for a laugh, but was it the basis for a nation of sixty-four million people to make an informed and serious decision on the irrevocable future path for themselves, their children, and their children’s children?e2da43305e8e11e5901ead845c7a62d9_big

No sane or rational person could think that it was, but that is precisely what has happened, with one notable exception . . . Instead of the likeable Joe Pesci’s funny one-liner, the British public was treated to an altogether unfunny one-liner that was intended to rebuff all rational thought and opposing argument. It went something like. . .

“That’s just Project Fear.”

The British electorate has been conned and cheated and lied to by a bunch of self-serving opportunistic politicians, of that there can be no serious argument, but unlike general elections that follow strict guidelines and a tried and trusted democratic process that same duped and cheated British electorate will NEVER be allowed to change its mind, alter its vote, or hold those lying opportunistic politicians to account.


For those polarised Brexiters who still haven’t figured it out yet, this is not called democracy. This is called the beginning of the end of democracy. . .

 Do you get it now?

Have a good one.

On granny’s wisdom

As a young child at home I was never subjected to politicians, or any external influence, because we didn’t have a television or even a telephone in the house. My sister and I would occasionally be allowed to visit the house next door, to watch an episode of Emergency Ward 10, because they were one of the few with a television set and my sister always wanted to be a nurse, but the idea that strangers could invade your home and influence your decisions or the way that you lived your life was anathema to us.


Not that we were especially poor or deprived, but for most in the mid-fifties the only outside influence or interference came from the wireless, and my parents ruled the on/off switch and tuning dial with a rod of iron. In other words; the gravelled voice of Walter Gabriel and the rest of the cast from The Archers everyday story of country folk constituted an acceptable intrusion, the-archersas did Mrs Dale’s Diary and a little light music from Bernard Herman and the BBC Northern Dance Orchestra, and we would avidly consume the national six-o-clock news from a staunchly pro-government BBC, but that was the sole extent of our external influences and intrusions.

Occasionally, when there was a general election or local election in the offing, we would hear a noise outside and rush to the open window to see a car with a large trumpet-shaped loudspeaker on the top, passing along the street and asking people to vote for Joe Blogs or Fred Smith, but that was just about the only political propaganda I was ever made aware of.


My parents would occasionally indulge this violation of our space and privacy, but not my gran. She would glare her displeasure at whoever was responsible for the racket and firmly shut the window, as she said “That’s quite enough of that.” And then, in response to our obvious looks of disappointment, she would add. . . “Empty vessels always make the most noise.”


When I once asked her what she meant by that she took my hand in hers and said, “You will soon learn in life, Michael, that the people who make the most noise are generally those with nothing to say worth listening to.”

It is an adage that I have never forgotten.

In truth I didn’t really understand the full extent of her wisdom at the time. Perhaps, because I was young and naive in those days and failed to see the darker motivations of mankind, but now I know that she was absolutely right. The world had only just emerged from a conflict that had claimed 44 million lives, and to have allowed our hard-won freedom of speech and thought to be influenced or overruled by such Machiavellian Niccolò Machiavelliindividuals as self-serving politicians and media moguls, would have been to somehow sully the incredible sacrifices of those so many who gave so much.

Well, sixty years on those incredible sacrifices have been all-but forgotten. I am reliably informed that the world has moved on from those simple and backward times. The great god of information technology has reared its ugly head, and people are apparently so much better informed than they were in those bygone days.

Do you really think so?

All I know is that, over the past few weeks and months, I have been listening to an awful lot of ‘empty vessels’ with very little to say of any worth, and at this moment, when I look at many of those same empty vessels, I ask myself just what were they all shouting about?

It cannot have been heartfelt belief in forging a better world, because as soon as each of them discovered that they couldn’t further their individual and selfish ambitions they quit and walked away, leaving our country in a rudderless state of economic chaos.


It can’t have been personal conviction, because after forty odd years of our belonging to the European Union, many of them had apparently changed their political viewpoint, from being supporters of the European Union to Brexiters, in the space of just a few short months.european_union_map_flag-100310373-primary.idge_

The only conclusion I can come to is that it must have been for personal elevation and selfish gain, and to see a nation with such a proud heritage of sacrifice and achievement brought to its economic knees by such crass, empty and shallow individuals is heart-breaking.

Have a good one.


Et tu, Michael

A couple of days ago I wrote about Boris Johnson crossing the Rubicon, and said that he was now regretting it. Well, it seems the warnings from history just go on and on, but today it is fast forward five years or so (from 49 to 44 B.C.) and the fleeting champion of Rome finds himself lying in blood spattered tragedy on the Senate Floor, or at least it must feel like that to Boris Johnson.


If there was ever a more despicable act among so-called colleagues in the history of the Conservative Party I cannot recall it (and let’s face it there are plenty of examples to choose from). Even Geoffrey Howe’s betrayal of Margaret Thatcher pales by comparison.


And who was it, who conspired to commit this foul deed; certainly not the Noblest Conservative of them all, that’s for sure.

Not content with stabbing his long-time friend, colleague, party leader and Prime Minister in the back, not content with lying to a gullible British public about reducing immigration, not content with lying to that same gullible British public about diverting hundreds of millions a week from the European Community into the NHS, not content with courting the fascist UKIP vote in an effort to dupe the great unwashed into furthering his political ambitions, the man who was once the most despised Education Secretary in living memory has behaved even more despicably than even I thought possible.

Gove and Farage

I have to admit, though, I didn’t see this coming. From Gove’s abuse of his long-time friendship with David Cameron we all knew that he was duplicitous, but to stab his newest friend and colleague, and I might add ‘Leader’ of the victorious Brexit campaign so quickly and in such a brutal and underhanded way is absolutely gob-smacking.

I have been a Conservative supporter since the age of 14, when I stood as Conservative Party candidate at my school election, and was soundly thrashed by both the Labour and Liberal candidates, but if Michael Gove profits in any way from this appalling act of deception and betrayal I will never again vote for the Conservative Party.


Somehow I doubt they’ll care about losing my vote, but to Boris Johnson and the rest of the Conservative Party I would say. . .  remember the tale of the scorpion and the frog; fundamentally vicious nature cannot change. Please remember that when you decide upon our next Prime Minister.

And to all those millions of people, who voted for Brexit on the basis that they wanted Boris Johnson to ‘Take Back Control’ I would ask this. . . Why are you not furious?Boris-Johnson

You were lied to about everything; about immigration, about EU contributions, about the so-called Project Fear, even about the duplicitous Michael Gove’s political ambitions.

But, there you have it; they’re not and I am.

And so, the man many in Britain hoped would be the new Caesar is lying mortally wounded on The Senate Floor. The dastardly perpetrator, Michael Gove, is reaching for the ultimate prize that this shabby and sordid tissue of lies and betrayal has brought within his grasping reach.

brexit-copyI wonder how all those Brexiters feel now?

Have a good one.

On Brexit, the lessons of history, and a shamefully unbalanced argument

Over the last few days, following the Brexit result, I’ve suffered something of an inner turmoil.
I have tried to be objective. I have tried to blithely accept the wishes of the 52% of those who voted. I have tried to accept that, despite the patent lunacy of such a large number of people making such a catastrophic mistake, we must all come together (much like Evelyn Waugh’s ‘motto of a knocking shop in Marrakesh’), but I’m sorry, as hard as I try, I cannot bring myself to do that, I simply cannot.

You see, this is not like seeing a Jeremy Corbyn style rebel win a general election, because in 5 years’ time we can undo the short-term harm of that. This is dreadful, and this is permanent.

But, and as a lover of modern history, there is another reason that goes beyond the immediate aftermath of such an act of foolishness; a nagging doubt of a nightmare scenario far worse than financial meltdown, isolationism, and insularity. It is a nagging doubt of what we might become, if we are not very very careful.

The nightmare scenario goes something like this. . .
So we have a charismatic and desperately ambitious individual, born in another country, shunned by the political establishment, and yet swept into power on the basis of lies, unrealistic promises, and the resentment of an existing and unfair agreement.

For those who have no love or time for history, this was a person who appealed to the lowest common denominator of criminal ignorance; people who had no real idea of what they were supporting or of what they were allowing to happen; a dissatisfied cross-section of resentful individuals looking for someone to blame for their unhappy lot in life, and knowing only that they were ‘pissed off’ with both ‘Johnny Foreigner’ and an existing treaty they considered to be oppressive and unfair.

I am, of course, referring to Nazi Germany and Versailles, and if you don’t see the correlation, because Boris Johnson is a fundamentally decent man, allow me to explain further.
I think that if anyone from this whole sorry sordid mess could turn back the clock then that man would be Boris Johnson, but it is too late. He has crossed the Rubicon and alea iacta est; the die is now irreversibly cast.
The saddest thing of all, as far as Boris and his place in history is concerned, is that he sees himself as a reincarnation of Winston Churchill, but to date he has shown more of the less edifying traits of Churchill’s lunatic adversary than those of the great statesman who was Churchill.

And let us not forget that other charismatic and equally dangerous individual, Nigel Farage (the grandson of a German private who was wounded in World War One, would you believe) waiting in the wings for a general election that will further polarise the country, boost the UKIP lunatic fringe, and possibly force a weakened Prime Minister Johnson to turn to those same UKIP fascists to prop up a wounded government.
“Yes,” I hear you scoff, “but we don’t have the same economic circumstance as 1930’s Germany.
You are, of course, absolutely right. . .  but then again. . .
The Brexit vote will undoubtedly bring this country to its economic knees; just as the Wall Street Crash of 1929 brought Germany to its economic knees.

What was that you said. . ? “You don’t believe that will happen, and even if it did; we don’t have Brown Shirts and Black shirts in the United Kingdom.”

Perhaps not, but have you seen the sudden rise in xenophobia and overt racism on our streets and on social media. Today we have sections of the media and social media that are every bit as bullying and divisive. . . . and if you don’t believe me try reading the Daily Express, or perhaps you could try the Daily Mail’s comments sections on any of its shamelessly anti-Europe articles. . . I can tell you, Joseph Goebbels would have proud of these thugs.

“More ridiculous scaremongering,” I hear you saying, “next you’ll be saying that Michael Gove looks like Heinrich Himmler. What you paint is a picture of pure fantasy; it couldn’t possibly happen here.”

You don’t think so? Well, I hope you’re right, but I’m sure those same criminally ignorant people of 1933 Germany also permitted themselves that same sadly delusional comfort. . . and, now you come to mention it, you do have a point about Michael Gove.Gove and Himmler
Have a good one.

On ‘Being There’, Jose Mourinho, and the folly of English football’s intelligentsia.

Cautiously stepping onto Stephen Pinker’s ‘euphemism treadmill’ for a moment, I was wondering if you have ever watched the 1979 motion picture ‘Being There’.

Being There (1979)

If not, you should. It’s a wonderfully black comedy; a sort of verbal version of ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’.

‘Being There’ tells the story of a middle-aged gardener, called Chauncey (brilliantly played by Peter Sellers). Chauncey suffers from severe learning difficulties and has the mental age of a child, but is looked after by an extremely wealthy man who allows him to work in his extensive garden; it proves to be an environment where the otherwise intellectually disabled Chauncey excels.

From his earliest years, and on into middle-age, all the vulnerable and inoffensive Chauncey has known is that garden and his room in the main house, but when the old man dies he is left to fend for himself.

For Chauncey the future looks bleak. With his gardening job gone, and the old man’s house put up for sale, he is reduced to wandering the streets in search of ‘a new garden to tend’. However, as luck has it, he then meets an extremely influential billionaire who mistakes his simple and childish comments, about gardening and the passing seasons, as profound political and economic wisdom.281d7f3606444e6be2a9600949d

The billionaire’s mistake remains undetected throughout the film, and as Chauncey (Gardener) works his way through the ranks of the Washington elite we are treated to a litany of inane comments from our simple-minded hero, with each mistakenly interpreted as deeply insightful financial and political wisdom.

One of the most hilarious scenes, sees the billionaires’ younger wife (played by Shirley MacLaine) attempting to seduce Chauncey (with her aged husband’s blessing). The naïve and oblivious Chauncey remarks on his love of watching television, and yet another deliciously wicked misinterpretation leaves our Shirley feeling both liberated and satisfied.277875

Chauncey’s undeserved fame goes before him. He becomes the darling of the media, and even appears on political television shows, where he continues to spout his childish inanity, but still the pretentious and supercilious Washington elite fail to realise that he is just a simple-minded gardener. Even when he reaches The White House, and greets The President, the mistake remains undetected.

It is not until the housekeeper, from his first house, sees Chauncey on television and calls the billionaire’s family doctor that the mistake is finally realised. Even then the doctor keeps his own council, as he doesn’t want the truth to out and leave so many important and influential people to be seen as the fools they undoubtedly are.

And that brings me, rather nicely, to Chelsea Football Club’s very own Jose Mourinho. . .

Just as Chauncey was a fine gardener so Jose Mourinho is a fine football coach. And just as Chauncey Gardiner became a darling of the media, so has Jose Mourinho.jose

I can understand their fascination with him, because Jose Mourinho is undoubtedly a colourful character, but when they hang on to his every utterance, dissect his every word, and interpret his every sentence, as if in some way searching for deep-seated significance, I do feel they are assigning a profoundness and intelligence to his verbiage that simply doesn’t exist?

And the parallels between Mourinho and Chauncey the gardener don’t end there.

I have watched Mourinho’s career evolve as a succession of seriously wealthy and influential men, controlling some of Europe’s most revered footballing institutions, each learn too late that there is less to him than meets the eye. I have looked on in astonishment, as a bunch of pretentious and self-obsessed television ‘experts’ mistakenly interpret his infantile ramblings as pearls of wisdom. I have sat open-mouthed before my T.V. set as the rest of the illuminati of the football media assign hidden depth and meaning to his every puerile remark.

I am left to wonder how long will it be before the football world comes to collectively realise that, although Jose Mourinho is a fine coach who organises and drills his teams well, he is about as close to being football’s equivalent of the burning bush as his club captain John Terry is to being the ‘Let’s Kick Racism out of Football’ campaign’s man of the year?john-terry-right-speaking-with-qpr-s-anton-ferdinand-image-2-715392679

And I am also left to wonder how long will it be before the remainder of football’s punditry, who eulogise one day and castigate the next, are similarly seen as the political chameleons and feeble-minded sycophants they undoubtedly are?

Somehow, given the sporting media’s ability to invisibly mend its own patent stupidity, I think I can guess the answer.