We always knew David Wright was white bread personified, but we didn’t know he’d stoop (along with fellow baseball chuckleheads Trevor Hoffman, Vernon Wells, Lou Piniella, and Tim McCarver) to dine with the butcher of Baghdad at the White House. Organized by creepoid journalist/war apologist/right-wing whack job George Will
, the squarest life form in the Universe, these baseball greats ate roasted lamb--signifying, we assume, all those dead Iraqi babies--and signed each other’s menus. Oh the intellectual ideas crossing the air that night. How moving, art thou, Mr. President. But we were especially moved when White, er Wright, said that he “had goose bumps all night” from his brush with greatness.
We get goose bumps each time we see Sandra Oh’s photo--but what do we know.
What we don’t get, given that we live in New York and a 30-minute subway ride is too long, with the world on the brink of ecological, nuclear, and financial ruin, how did the most powerful man in the world find THREE HOURS to eat roasted lamb with the most boring third baseman ever?