There’s always chatter about the media’s low-standing in public opinion polls—which you can believe to feed the imagination, or indignation—and for some that assessment is particularly acute today. Probably true, although the now-mythical dog catchers and Bugs Bunny-like “truant officers” who regularly rounded up Alfalfa, Buckwheat, IRS agents and USPS workers might still give key-punchers a run for the loot. I can’t remember a time in modern American culture that media figures weren’t disparaged, and that includes the late St. Walter Cronkite. One caveat: in three years the industry might hit below-zero numbers, although I expect certain practitioners, at certain well-financed institutions, will still fret more about the price of a Barbados villa than a gallon of gas or pack of chewing gum.
As I’ve noted before it’d behoove the country’s shrink-wrapped commentators and editorialists to take a load off their feet, Pete, pretend it’s the summer, maybe work on books that no one will read or coach a t-ball team rather than reacting instantaneously to Donald Trump’s herky-jerky start to his second administration. I’ve no idea whatsoever what Trump’s gyrating tariff threats and retreats will mean in the long run. Too soon to tell. I do believe that the insane reaction to the financial markets plunge recently is premature: the Dow (no longer a reliable indicator of much, just like polls) has fallen to around 42,400; when Covid was at its height of fear in 2000, the index dipped to just over 20,000. Yet political pundits take the instability as a sign of Trump’s failure and perhaps the start of a new crippling recession. Has anyone taken a breath and considered the markets are oversold?
The Washington Post’s Dana Milbank—still at that swinging-in-the-wind daily, although undoubtedly trying to finagle a lifeboat contract at The Atlantic or even The Bulwark—was apocalyptic, as his de facto response to anything Trump does or doesn’t do, last week. He wrote about Trump’s Congressional address: “[L]et us give credit where it is due: Trump has made history. In fact, it’s not much of an exaggeration to say that, over the course of the past five days, he has set the United States back 100 years.” I’m not sure if Milbank was sloshed, hopped up on Percocet or merely stoned when he jotted down that absurdity (more crazy than usual) but one thing’s certain: there are no more editors at Jeff Bezos’ five-cents-on-the-dollar property.
On the other side, sort of, is Peggy Noonan, still mired in the late-20th century, who needled the Democrats. She wrote about the speech: “Three thoughts. One, these aren’t serious people. [A cliché about politicians in the past 10 or so years; did anyone, given truth serum, believe the likes of Fritz Mondale or Fred Thompson were “serious people” rather than pencil-pushers who were always on the make for fat-cat donors?] Two, their job was to show they are an alternative to Mr. Trump, and instead they showed why he won. Third and most important, they will continue to lose for a long time. I hadn’t known that until Tuesday.”
Really? After three successive one-term presidents, and shifting Congressional control, I’ll bet four banana Turkish Taffy bars that the Democrats will rule the roost in either 2028 or 2032. That’s not a long time.
Meanwhile, as someone who’s onboard with Daylight Savings Time—a perennial debate since I was a kid—I’m glad the there’s more light at night. In The Wall Street Journal last week Matthew Hennessey wrote a mildly contrarian essay about the Yankees new policy that allows presentable beards. Naturally, he starts off with a cliché (still preferable to Milbank): “Baseballs are flying again in Florida and Arizona, signaling the imminent return of America’s great game. Opening Day can’t come soon enough It’s been a long winter.” In my book, the winter is always too long.
Hennessey, a Yanks fan, finds his team’s acquiescence to the 21st century an inexcusable revocation of tradition. He writes: “George Steinbrenner instituted the beard ban in the mid-1970’s, when teams started looking les like Brooks Brothers and more like the Allman Brothers… I don’t mind the pitch clock. But a world where Yankees wear beards is a world where legacy means nothing. What’s next, iPhones in the bullpen?”
There are iPhones in every MLB bullpen, as well as thousands in the stands. I find it strange that a spectator is looking at his or her cell during a game, but maybe they’re checking the gambling sites. Fifteen years ago, my younger son and I were watching a Red Sox game and one of us said, “Soon baseball players will wear advertisements on their sleeves.” We both take credit for that correct prediction, but the ads don’t annoy me. Better than the tattoos and strands of jewelry, not to mention the once-unfathomable joking around between competitors at first base. I also hate the “Buster Posey” rule. Nevertheless, if you’re a lifelong baseball fan you can (and will) gripe about the “evolution” of the game—such as the “ghost runner” in extra innings—but none of that matters compared to your team’s win-loss record.
—Follow Russ Smith on Twitter: @MUGGER2023