TWTW's Super Bowl LI Preview

Danville, Kentucky -- Long, long, ago, in a far-off distant land called Foxborough, legend tells of a boy who rose from obscurity to become a great leader of men. A man who stood in the shadow of lesser men while serving as the backup quarterback of the Michigan Wolverines. A Michigan man who became a New England man, thrust into service after the injury of Drew Bledsoe back in that fateful 2001 NFL season. An unheralded 6th round draft pick who showed America that any man can do anything with hard work and a little luck.

Folks, I remember where I was in February of 2002, when Tom Brady and the New England Patriots faced a team from St. Louis that belonged in Los Angeles in Super Bowl XXXVI. After Bledsoe's injury, I followed Mr. Brady with a great degree of curiosity; even then, it seemed as though we were witnessing history in the making. Fast forward 15 years, several lousy trade deals and disastrous forays into nation-building in the Middle East later, and Tom Brady is on the precipice of providing a tidy bookend to an illustrious NFL career that began with an improbable Super Bowl victory all those years ago.

Tom Brady's path to Super Bowl LI, to be played tonight against the Atlanta Falcons, was not without controversy. Folks, I thought Brady was dead to me after news of the heart-breaking Deflate-Gate scandal of 2015 broke. To an uninformed outsider, it seemed as though Brady had abandoned the Michigan Man grit so central to his legend and mythos, in favor of becoming a member of the NFL aristocracy that plays by a different set of rules. But sometimes, a man must admit when he has made a mistake.

Folks, more often than not I'm right. I correctly predicted that the Kansas City Royals would emerge victorious in both the 2015 American League Championship Series and World Series. I correctly predicted the resurgence of Detroit Tigers ace Justin Verlander. I correctly predicted that Peyton Manning would lead the Denver Broncos to victory in the last Superbowl, despite the scorn I received from liberal commentators heralding the rise of Cam Newton. I correctly predicted that Donald Trump would win the 2016 election. Folks, if liberals didn't look at me like I'm some sort of neanderthal just because I enjoy a good bowl of queso at Chilis now and then, I'd already have a job at FiveThirtyEight given this pedigree and resume of correct forecasts. But I'll admit: I got Tom Brady wrong.

When the Deflate-Gate news broke, I was dumbstruck. How could the man who had authored so many Super Bowl success stories be nothing more than a liar and a crook? I even called for the man to be banned from the NFL. In retrospect, the swiftness with which I condemned Mr. Brady was uncalled for. But the mainstream media deserves its share of the blame. The media is always quick to pounce upon those who wear their political opinions on their sleeves like Mr. Brady. Crooked Roger Goodell was also quick to stack the deck against Brady by falsifying pounds-per-square-inch data, cooking the books worse than the National Park service did with Trump's historically well-attended inaugural address.

@wikileaks I was at Trump's inauguration! I know what I saw! --> https://t.co/6fWNZwWpb7 pic.twitter.com/OociYZHsiC

— The Will To Win (@TWTWsports) January 22, 2017

I was misled by the corrupt NFL establishment and their media toadies. But I won't be misled again. I un-apologetically predict a Tom Brady triumph tonight, on the biggest stage in all of professional sports.

Touchdown Tom has so much more to play for than the Atlanta Falcons: with his 5th Super Bowl victory, he would secure his legacy as the greatest NFL quarterback of all time. A final Super Bowl ring would be a fitting bookend to career that has spanned nearly two decades, beginning with his first Super Bowl win at age 24 and a 2017 swan song at age 39.

My unabashed admiration for Mr. Brady is no longer fashionable; the radical left is determined to politicize this Super Bowl, citing Brady's "Trump Problem." Folks, I don't know when it became a "Problem" to be on the winning team or why it is now politically incorrect to be an outspoken supporter of the President of the United States. St. Louis Cardinals slugger Stan Musial didn't get lambasted by the media for campaigning with John F. Kennedy, the man who brought us the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion. Folks, I don't remember Steph Curry getting criticized for being an avowed supported of Marxist tyrant Barack Obama.

Nope, this is just part of the continuing double standard, a double standard that leads the media to smear good men like Brady, a double standard that keeps me unemployed while Nate Silver lives large despite an awful track record of predictions. It turns out that in the world of sports, only liberals are allowed to express their political opinions.

The Atlanta Falcons really have nothing on the Patriots. Teams from Atlanta can't win; it probably has something to do with lingering humiliation over Sherman's March. Just ask the Atlanta Braves: perennial regular season champs, permanent postseason losers. I have no respect for the city of Atlanta ever since my wife deserted me at The Varsity drive-in restaurant, taking my kids, my car, and my collection of Bon Jovi cassettes with her. Matt Ryan, aka "Matty Ice," is a Boston College educated elitist who has never known the crisp taste of "Natty Ice," a drink of the people.

Super Bowl LI has become more than a football game. It is now a referendum on Trump's America writ large. The stakes are high: this game will decide the fate of both Tom Brady and Donald Trump's legacies. This Super Bowl presents the nation with an easy choice: a New England Patriots win will be yet another victory for the still-young Trump administration, imbuing further momentum in Donald's efforts to Make America Great Again. An Atlanta Falcons win would be a catastrophic setback, imperiling Trump's efforts to repeal and replace Obamacare, secure our borders, and reverse globalization. Tom Brady's journey to legend status began some 15 years ago. It's ending has not yet been written. Tonight, Mr. Brady will not only deliver a win for the New England Patriots; America itself will be taught a valuable lesson on how to win with class and dignity. That should cause every loyal American patriot's heart to inflate with pride.

De-Fund Berkeley and Bring Back Logging

Danville, Kentucky -- For several fruitful centuries, the lumber industry was a vital driver of economic prosperity and job growth in the nascent American colonies. When the English settlers landed in the New World, they encountered massive forests full of fresh timber, begging to be logged and used as the raw material for houses, furniture, and sturdy wooden paddles perfect for disciplining an unruly child. The lumber industry was the lifeblood of the newly independent American nation's economy; millions of feet worth of timber were exported each year, providing bountiful profit to industrious loggers and millers while employing thousands of honest Americans. A man could make a dignified living by going out into the woods and communing with nature before harvesting the mighty oak, elm, and pine trees of America's forests.

But somewhere along the line, something went wrong. The sawmills of old were shut down, no longer churning out freshly-hewn logs at their once prolific rate. Many an ax became dull and rusty as it fell into idleness and disuse. The stout lumberjacks of old were forced to leave this once proud industry for other jobs. The sounds of swinging axes and slicing saws in the forests became anachronistic and rare.

Why did the logging industry suffer such a precipitous decline? Some would say overbearing big government regulations. Some would say NAFTA. Some would blame tree-hugging environmentalists, with their shrill shrieking about "deforestation" and "irreversible ecosystem collapse culminating in devastating loss of biodiversity." They all have a point. But the true culprit was much more sinister: college education.

Somewhere around the 1960s, American men went soft. They stopped going out into the woods to appreciate its sights, sounds, and smells: the tarry trickle of sticky maple sap, the sound of wind whispering through leaves, the feel of dirt and bark in one's fingers. They went to college instead. Economists heralded the advent of a "consumer" economy rather than a production-oriented economy.

Look where college education has gotten us, folks.

Kids these days don't make anything with their hands like greater generations of Americans once did. They'll never know the smooth touch of a well-crafted ax in one's fingers, and the feeling of power that toppling a majestic tree brings. College educated snowflake brats don't know what it feels like to make something, to produce something. They only know how to riot and destroy whenever they encounter somebody who disagrees with them.

If U.C. Berkeley does not allow free speech and practices violence on innocent people with a different point of view - NO FEDERAL FUNDS?

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) February 2, 2017

President Trump is exactly right to demand that our college campuses protect free speech while remaining riot-free. Instead of funding some rebellious urchin's Art History degree, why not put our taxpayer dollars to better use? All that money could be better spent building The Wall, investigating Rafael Cruz, or invading the crime-ridden scum-hole of Chicago.

These days, a college degree isn't worth much. So many kids can't find jobs after graduating college, and find themselves eternally burdened with student loans. We could use big government socialist loan bailouts to fix this problem, as Bernie Sanders has suggested. Or we could teach America's youth a valuable lesson in diligence.

The President should immediately de-fund Berkeley and similarly riotous universities. Instead, this money should be devoted to the logging industry, to encourage timber companies to hire America's youth in their lumber and sawmill operations. Teach America's youth how to produce, rather than teaching them how to riot and destroy. The best way to get America's youth off the streets is to get them back in the forests, harvesting our nation's glorious wooden bounty.

WH briefing

Spicer: “I want to go to my 3rd Skype seat: Lars Larson of the Lars Larson show.”

Lars: “Commander Spicer, it's a pleasure...” pic.twitter.com/CixxjU7wgk

— Bradd Jaffy (@BraddJaffy) February 1, 2017

Rudy Giuliani for Supreme Court Justice

Danville, Kentucky -- The moment of truth has come. The moment they said would never come. The moment that Nate Silver and Nate Cohn and countless other bespectacled data gurus named Nate said would never happen. The moment when Donald J. Trump, 45th President of the United States, picks a Supreme Court Justice and forever alters the destiny of our great nation.

Folks, I'll give you a recap if you're just tuning in. Last season on the smash-hit TV show "American Democracy," beloved textualist, traditionalist and constructionist Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia mysteriously died. This left a vacancy on the nation's highest court, one which Donald must now fill. Scalia had dutifully held that seat since 1986, a simpler time when America's enemies wore uniforms and our battles were fought on ideological rather than civilizational grounds. The circumstances of his untimely passage are still murky, and I suspect Hillary Clinton was involved, adding to the already prolific count of important political figures to have been slain by the former First Lady and Secretary of State.

Donald Trump can delay no longer. He must appoint Scalia's successor; a man who will uphold our precious constitution. A man who knows that the constitution is not a "living document" because documents are definitionally just pieces of paper and not sentient beings capable of adapting to rapidly changing political contexts. I once thought Donald should appoint himself to the Supreme Court. I still stand by that plan; Donald would easily win confirmation. But now I have a better plan: Rudy Giuliani for Supreme Court Justice.

It makes too much sense, folks. Not only is Rudy America's mayor, he knows the ins and outs of the US legal system. He used his connections at the FBI to help convince FBI director James Comey to investigate Hillary Clinton, flipping the election to Donald. He helped craft Donald's wildly successful and expertly-implemented travel ban. More importantly, he's loyal to both the constitution and Mr. Trump. I know many conservatives are hoping Trump picks one of the names on the list of egghead lawyers that is currently circulating. I know these men have more law degrees and trial experience than Mr. Giuliani. But Trump shouldn't pick people just because they were writing for obscure law reviews nobody will read while Rudy was busy being America's mayor. We all know any college degree except a Trump University degree isn't worth the paper it's printed on.

Donald has done a fantastic job assembling a cabinet full of experts like Ben Carson, Betsy DeVos, and that guy who made the sexy Hardee's commercials. But he hasn't rewarded Rudy, who steadfastly defended Donald throughout the brutal 2016 campaign. Rudy's has been Donald's bulldog; barking loudly in defense of Mr. Trump in the face of a biased and malicious media. This type of loyalty must be rewarded. America needs a bulldog on the Supreme Court: somebody willing to defend Donald's signature accomplishments like The Wall, NAFTA renegotiation, taking ISIS's oil, prosecuting Rafael Cruz, deporting robots, investigating Pizzagate and pardoning Pete Rose. All of these policies and more will come under immediate fire thanks to the army of liberal lawyers chomping at the bit to hit Donald with frivolous lawsuits. These policies need a defender. They need a bulldog. Rudy can be that bulldog. Rudy Giuliani for Supreme Court, Mr. President.

Invade Chicago

Danville, Kentucky -- Sometimes, folks don't know what's best for them. People are often short-sighted and myopic, and don't always act in their best interest. Sometimes, even good and decent folk need to be saved from themselves. Nobody likes being told that they're ruining their own life; I've never responded kindly to my wife's criticism that spending $200 a week at Olive Garden is imprudent. She rightly outlines both fiscal and health reasons why I need to lay off the unlimited soup, salad, and bread-sticks festivities. Yes, I know a man only making about $20,000 a year shouldn't be spending hundreds of dollars a month on gnocchi and chicken parmesan. Yes, I know the intake of trans-fat, calories, sodium, and cholesterol associated with my Olive Garden habit is slowly killing me. But old habits die hard. Thank God I have my wife to badger me in to going to Subway or Jimmy John's instead once in a while so that I can eat healthier and more affordably.

Folks, somebody's got to set Chicago straight. They definitely do not know what is best for them. Chicago is rapidly becoming a warzone, a hell-scape, a nightmarish urban zone of sacrifice comparable to Fallujah, Kabul, or Jakku. Worse, there's no voice of reason like my wife to fix this situation. It's time for drastic action. It's time for President Trump to send in a federal counter-insurgency force of National Guard units, military personnel, special forces commandos, death troopers, Navy Seal teams, and heavy artillery pieces. The United States Navy should immediately deploy a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier -- perhaps a newly minted "U.S.S. Trump" -- to Lake Michigan's western shore so as to blockade this crime-infested murder den and prevent liberal sympathizers from sneaking supplies into the city.

Nothing less will bring an end to the bloodshed in Chicago. Nothing less will ensure lasting peace and stability in the Great State of Illinois, Land of Lincoln.

If Chicago doesn't fix the horrible "carnage" going on, 228 shootings in 2017 with 42 killings (up 24% from 2016), I will send in the Feds!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) January 25, 2017

So much is at stake in Chicago right now, which has become a lawless sanctuary city thanks to the corrupt reign of President Obama, Rahm Emanuel, and Joe Maddon. Here are the ironclad reasons Trump must swiftly restore order to Chicago by any means necessary:

1) Chicago-style hot dogs are a clear and present danger to national security

Folks, there are a two wrong ways to eat a hot dog: in the south, or in Chicago. Folks living south of my homeland Kentucky don't know how to cook and prepare a hot dog correctly. Southerners are best at preparing pork if it's barbecued or pulled, but not if it's served in hot dog form. Chicago's problem isn't that they don't know how to prepare a hot dog. It's that they load it up with foul and unnecessary condiments to the point where it becomes unrecognizable, a veritable atrocity warranting decisive federal intervention.

Two condiment choices in particular strike me as indefensible: the bright green sweet pickle relish and tomatoes. The sweet pickle relish pairs awfully with the savory and spicy notes of the peppers and onions that top this dog. It is also redundant with the pickle spear that typically accompanies any Chicago-style dog. Not only is this relish unappetizing, it's bright green color is aesthetically revolting, and reminds me of radioactive waste or Flubber. The choice to put tomatoes on a hot dog is similarly misguided and un-American. Folks, no true American eats tomatoes unless they are served as tomato sauce on a pizza, in salsa form, or as a canned Campbell's soup served with Goldfish crackers. These disgusting and slimy vegetables do not belong anywhere near a hot dog. If you want to eat a hot dog correctly, try a Cincinnati-style chili dog or a Detroit-style coney dog. Mr. Trump, please direct the United States Air Force to neutralize any known manufacturers of hot dogs in the Chicago area. The fate of American cuisine hangs in the balance.

2) Guaranteed Rate Field is a crime against humanity

No organization has suffered more from the humanitarian crisis unfolding in Chicago than the White Sox. The escalating violence has caused baseball talent to flee the city, with stars such as Chris Sale and Adam Eaton among the players to have left the south side in exile. The violence has taken its toll on the White Sox roster, but it has also taken its toll on the dignity of the franchise. Since leaving the legendary Comiskey Park, which hosted the White Sox in their glory days and also hosted a pair of famous Beatles concerts, the franchise has played in some really lousy stadiums. Cellular Field was an ugly tin can, more uncomfortable than a red-eye flight on a packed plane. The team's new digs, Guaranteed Rate Field, promises to be no better.

We’re excited to unveil the new Guaranteed Rate Field! pic.twitter.com/pAOXZM1R9h

— Guaranteed Rate (@GuaranteedRate) November 1, 2016

What corporate focus group is responsible for creating that logo? Not to mention the fact that "Guaranteed Rate Field" is perhaps the blandest, most nondescript stadium name in any sport. Nothing says "come to our ballpark" like a red arrow on a downward trajectory. Then again, the White Sox are also on a decades-long downward trajectory of their own.

White Sox branded with symbol of decline even though @GuaranteedRate admits "some fans disliked the down arrow" https://t.co/HMYGMtnyuu pic.twitter.com/nr0XxHj6Pk

— Kurt Gessler (@kurtgessler) November 1, 2016

To save the Chicago White Sox from themselves -- the once proud franchise that gave us legendary announcer Hawk Harrelson, Hall of Fame slugger Frank "the Big Hurt" Thomas, and all-time great glue-guy Tyler Saladino -- President Trump must impose martial law, occupy Guaranteed Rate Field, and begin the long process of building a new stadium with a less humiliating name. If we can tear down and rebuild Iraq, we can tear down and rebuild this awful stadium.

3) Jay Cutler is an enemy combatant and must be detained

The Cubs won the world series - but the rest of Chicago sports are in a largely sorry state. Dwayne Wade has not made the Chicago Bulls great again. But the biggest crime is happening just a stone's throw from the majestic Lake Michigan at the splendid Soldier Field. The formerly mighty Chicago Bears are mired in mediocrity thanks to their oft-injured and ineffective quarterback, Jay Cutler. He was recently signed to a massive extension. There is a strong argument that this is the worst contract in the NFL. Jay Cutler's continued existence is an existential threat to the Chicago Bears. President Trump should immediately issue a warrant for his arrest, and indefinitely detain him without trial at Guantanamo Bay or an equivalently secure C.I.A. black site.

Conclusion

Chicago is a tinderbox waiting to explode. Trump is faced with an unenviable choice. He can leave Chicago to fester and burn, sacrificing many innocent lives in the process. Or he can boldly order a federal intervention into the city, risking prolonged occupation, radicalization, blowback, and even more bloodshed. Abraham Lincoln was once faced with a similarly unenviable choice, and history rewarded him for risking blood and treasure to preserve our union. President Trump cannot delay any longer. Chicago must be invaded, for its own good.

Hands Off My Trumpcare!

Danville, Kentucky -- America is a nation of builders. We love to create, construct, craft, and assemble. We built the glorious visages of Mt. Rushmore, the Washington Monument’s skyward spire, the winding highways upon which our systems of commerce depend, and the golden arches that litter strip malls around our good land.

But America also loves to destroy. To demolish, obliterate, erase, and unmoor the foundations of yesterday to make room for tomorrow.

Folks, I know this truth more than most Americans. Around 2009 I had a gig on a demolition crew. We were the most over-qualified demolition crew ever. In the aftermath of the 2008 Obama recession, folks were desperate for jobs. My co-workers and fellow demolition enthusiasts included ex-real estate agents, laid off auto engineers, some scrawny kid with a degree in supply chain management, an ex-quality control specialist, a guy from middle management of a dishwasher manufacturer, and recent college graduates who left their cozy campuses only to find a barren job market. We were an unlikely bunch, but we all needed to provide for our families, and folks willing to get their hands dirty while knocking down old buildings are always in demand. Some of these folks were not accustomed to the blue-collar lifestyle, unfamiliar with the sound and the fury that accompanies demolition projects. But they didn’t complain. Beggars can’t be choosers. They were just grateful to have any job at all.

Folks, if you ignored the pressing economic conditions that led us to enter the demolition business, it was rewarding employment. Dismantling a building brick by brick and stone by stone is quite a rush. There's nothing more exhilarating than knocking down walls with only a sledgehammer and your own inner fury. Sometimes, as I would hack away with my trusty chainsaw, I’d imagine the faces of the elites who authored the financial crisis: John McCain, Harry Reid, Meryl Streep, George Bush, Bill Clinton, Michael Moore. It was an outlet for the lingering rage I felt towards a country and government that had abandoned and forsaken me.

A few months after starting the job, I had a horrible workplace accident. Some bozo dropped a tool-case full of heavy equipment on my right foot and shattered several bones. The foot had been infected with gout a few years prior. Insurance companies wouldn’t cover the injury because of this pre-existing condition. I can't really blame them, folks. Why would they want to insure me? I would cost the insurance company a ton of money, and the insurance company folks are trying to run a business after all. I couldn’t afford to pay for the surgical procedures that would repair my foot, or even a cast. But whose fault is that? I can't afford a Blu-Ray player or a motor scooter either, should the government provide me subsidies to purchase those too?

My dilemma illuminates the basic crisis facing the American healthcare system: folks get hurt or sick, and want big government to fix all their problems. Thanks to Obamacare, a startling throwback to the centrally-planned nightmare of Soviet Russia, America’s healthcare system is in worse shape than ever. The problem is that millennials want free stuff from the government, and they want taxpayers to foot the bill. Folks, we should know by now that government is the problem not the solution, as President Reagan once said. What America’s healthcare system needs is not more communist solutions like Obamacare. We need to unleash the ingenuity of America’s private sector.

When I look around America, I see folks struggling. I see folks in my own Kentucky neighborhood suffering from black lung, or toiling because of opioid addiction. Trump needs to fix this morass, and turn the socialist horrors of Obamacare into the free market brilliance of Trumpcare. Here’s how to make American healthcare great again – greater than ever before:

PROHIBIT DENIAL OF COVERAGE BECAUSE OF PRE-EXISTING CONDITIONS

Folks, the government needs to make sure that what happened to me never happens to anyone else. Because no company would give me insurance after my demolition accident, I could never receive treatment for my gout or the shattered bones in my foot. I had to wrap duct-tape around my foot until it healed. I went through so many pairs of socks because of my foot’s annoying habit of continually bleeding. It’s a no brainer for the government to step in and guarantee that the insurance companies don’t snub hardworking folks who are between a rock and a hard place.

CREATE TAX CREDITS FOR SMALL BUSINESSES THAT PROVIDE INSURANCE

Folks, providing healthcare can be expensive. Especially if you’re a “mom and pop” business. Many small businesses would like to offer healthcare plans to their employees, but have trouble finding the resources to do so. To nudge the market in the right direction, the government should offer tax credits to compensate businesses that help their employees pay for coverage. Loyalty to one’s employees should be rewarded, folks. Offering tax cuts to businesses that exhibit loyalty to their employees allows us to both expand coverage while adhering to conservative principles.

LET KIDS STAY ON THEIR PARENTS’ PLANS

Folks, it’s hard for young kids to get insurance these days thanks to the Obama recession. Fewer jobs means fewer employers willing to offer coverage to their employees. If their parents already have a coverage plan, why not let the kids stay on it just a little bit longer? How about until the children turn 26? Kids these days are already freeloaders, so there’s no harm in giving parents some peace of mind by making sure they can keep their kids covered for a little bit longer.

KEEP MEDICARE AND SOCIAL SECURITY

Trump did not campaign on corporate lackey Paul Ryan’s callous austerity platform which entails huge cuts to Medicare and Social Security. I voted for Trump because he promised to keep the good government programs that help people like me while ensuring that foreigners don't steal our entitlements. Trump reached me like no politician since Barry Goldwater or Joe Biden has reached me before. Trump understands that sometimes the government needs to lend a helping hand to hardworking folks like myself. That’s why Donald said “you need to help people” even though “it's not very Republican to say.”


Donald Trump is the man that told Americans he wouldn’t allow folks to die in the street. Meanwhile, Paul Ryan wants us to die in the streets, or at a minimum to be sent to poorhouses like Victorian England. Every senior citizen receiving affordable life-saving treatment thanks to LBJ’s Great Society programs is just a leech sapping resources and committing theft against taxpayers in the eyes of Paul Ryan, America's blue-eyed executioner. The silent majority did not vote to kill our grandparents. We did not vote for Paul Ryan’s “Better Way,” Donald.

REQUIRE PEOPLE TO BUY INSURANCE, AND OFFER SUBSIDIES TO THOSE WHO CAN’T

Nobody should have to foot their own healthcare bill when disaster strikes. When I grievously wounded my foot, I had to sell my cherished baseball card collection and favorite motorcycle to afford treatment. That’s not ideal. If we’re going to stop insurance companies from denying coverage to people with pre-existing conditions, we need to mandate that everyone has insurance or the market will enter a death spiral. We can’t have ONLY sick people in the insurance market, we need healthy people as well. Thomas Paine would call that commonsense, folks. The best part is that my plan utilizes free market forces to help increase coverage.

CONCLUSION

Thanks to my hard work, I eventually paid for the treatments and my foot healed. These days, I enjoy going to the old Danville High football field and practicing my field goal kick with that formerly maimed foot. I’m still a great kicker, better than lots of NFL kickers I’d reckon. But not all folks are as lucky as me. For those who can’t raise the funds to pay for their expensive medical treatments, the government should be a force for good and help these folks achieve their American Dream. America loves to both create and destroy. That’s why Trump should annihilate Obamacare and replace it with the commonsense conservative plan I have outlined here. From the ashes of our current healthcare disaster, we will build a workable alternative. You’re gonna love Trumpcare, folks.

TWTW's Packers vs. Lions Sunday Night Football Preview

Danville, Kentucky -- President Reagan once said "it is better to be respected than loved." This motto was the driving force behind his administration as he restored American moral authority worldwide and brought an end to the Cold War. Reagan's timeless adage is not only true in the realm of politics; it is also true on the gridiron. But respect is earned, not given. Like many men of my generation, I learned this lesson on the football field.

In my youth, football was the sport of choice for young Danville men during the brisk Kentucky fall. Every day after school we'd head to a patch of grass near an old, abandoned bottling factory and play two-hand touch football. As a 3rd grader, I fell in love with the game of football. I fell in love with the smell of dead leaves, the feel of slick mud and grass stains on my pants, and the touch of the leathery pigskin in my palms.

But there came a day when my gridiron utopia was assaulted. Some 5th graders showed up at our favorite playing spot near the long-closed bottling factory. They took over the field and imposed their own rules. The big kids didn't want to play two-hand touch. They played tackle football, a scary idea given the size and heft of some of these 5th graders. I could've backed down that day, and found some other place to play football with kids my own age, but I didn't.

Against my better judgement and my mom's pleas to not play such a violent and dangerous game, I began to play tackle football with the 5th graders. It didn't go well initially. The 5th graders wouldn't pass me the ball. When they did, I'd immediately get decked by kids twice my size. They seemed to enjoy beating up on me. We didn't wear helmets or pads, folks; each tackle meant a mouthful of earthy muck and unsightly bruises.

I remember the day I earned the respect of the 5th graders. It was winter of 1966. The ground was damp, and cold. We had already played three or four games of football that day, and everybody was more tired and worn-out than Megyn Kelly's sorry excuse for a prime-time news show. We agreed to play one last game that day before we would all head home for dinner. My team -- a rag-tag bunch of my fellow 3rd graders and a couple of 5th graders nice enough to join us -- had trailed most of the game but had an opportunity to head home on a high note. The game was tied. It was fourth down, and we were deep in enemy territory.

I was playing fullback, because I was one of the few kids big enough and wide enough to not get totally knocked around and brutalized by the 5th graders. Our quarterback called a fullback dive. He put the game in my hands. He had faith that I could punch the ball across the goal line to give our team the win. He believed in me. But he didn't respect me. Not yet.

On that fateful final play, I scored a touchdown, but not before getting mercilessly slammed into the ground. After emerging from the mangled pile of limbs in the end-zone, I had done it. I had EARNED the respect of the 5th graders. With blood trickling from my knees and dirty grass stains on my favorite Cleveland Browns shirt, a wry smile crept across my face as my teammates congratulated me. I felt a special type of satisfaction as I ate my mother's meatloaf that evening at dinner.

Lions vs. Packers: Pride and Respect On The Line

This Sunday night, the NFC North title is on the line. But respect is on the line as well. Folks, the Detroit Lions are on the cusp of finally earning the respect of the NFL's big kids; of graduating from two-hand touch to tackle football. Having endured decades of ridicule and derision from the NFL's talking head commentators, the Lions have a chance to silence their doubters and begin a new era of football in the Motor City. All they have to do is beat the Green Bay Packers and their immaculately photogenic quarterback, Aaron Rodgers.

Folks, it won't be an easy task. The Packers are a formidable opponent, and it's no secret that the NFL would rather have playoff games hosted in Lambeau than Ford Field. The NFL has a financial stake in continuing the Aaron Rodgers iron man narrative; he's one of the league's most recognizable faces and sells a ton of jerseys. Roger Goodell and company want Rodgers to succeed, and they're perfectly willing to stack the deck against the Lions do to so. The NFL hasn't hesitated to keep the Lions down in the past. The history of the Detroit Lions is a history of questionable calls against them.

Remember the 2014 playoffs, when the refs called pass interference on the Dallas Cowboys, only to pick up the flag?

Remember the no-call on Seattle's illegal bat last season?

Remember the phantom face-mask last year that set up an NFL-manufactured Packers comeback victory?

Folks, just a couple of weeks ago a referee admitted to improperly penalizing the Lions for an infraction committed by the Chicago Bears.

This is but a small taste of the daunting task before the Lions: not only do they have to defeat the NFL's golden boy Aaron Rodgers, they have to defeat the officiating crew, which is typically composed of a bunch of closet cheeseheads.

Lots of folks dismiss this line of argument as conspiracy theorizing. But rigging happens all the time. Wikileaks showed us that the democratic primary was rigged against Bernie Sanders. The NCAA playoff selection committee was rigged against Penn State. What makes people think the NFL doesn't also engage in rigging, especially with so much money on the line? It's naive to suggest otherwise.

PREDICTION

Fortunately, there may be hope for the Lions. Don't get me wrong. The Lions have their weaknesses. Their running game is weak. They are over-reliant on the passing game, and have struggled to score points in the red zone because they can't punch the ball across the goal line like I did back in '66.

But the Lions have several factors working in their favor. First, Wisconsin men are not men of their word. Aaron Rodgers promised that Green Bay would "run the table" in their final games of the season en-route to a playoff berth. Folks, I'm old enough to remember when Paul Ryan, a republican representative from Wisconsin and Speaker of the House, promised our nation Obamacare repeal, a restored economy, and high paying jobs. He's been the house speaker for a full year and we're still no closer to a return to small government principles. Men from Wisconsin often promise things they can't deliver, Rodgers is no different folks. The Packers may very well take this "L" like Paul Ryan has been taking Ls all year.

Second, the Lions have home-field advantage. Ford Field will be packed with tens of thousands of hungry Lions fans rooting for something that hasn't happened in Detroit for more than twenty years: a division championship. The Lions will be led by Matthew Stafford, an MVP candidate entering his prime. Folks, if I were a Lions fan (I'm not, I'm a Bengals fan wishing a blue collar team well from afar) I'd be encouraged by what I saw in the first half of their showdown in Dallas last week. Stafford looked like the best field-general I've seen since Douglas MacArthur. He orchestrated an excellent up-tempo, no-huddle offense that reminded me of the glory days of Jim Kelly's Buffalo Bills. Such an offensive assault may leave the defensively-challenged Packers in disarray.

That wasn't the only positive sign for the Lions last week. A legit running game option for Detroit emerged: Zach Zenner, an un-drafted free agent and former South Dakota State Jackrabbit. Folks, when I see Mr. Zenner pound the ball across the line of scrimmage, I see myself 50 years ago in that abandoned field back in Danville. This kid knows how to run. He's got more heart than all of Milwaukee. He may just help the Lions win their first division championship since 1993.

That's Zach Zenner in the thick of that dog-pile, being gritty as heck.

It won't be easy, folks. The deck is stacked against them. But the Lions might -- just might -- beat Green Bay tonight. With an NFC North title under their belt, the Lions will not only be beloved by their loyal fans: they will be respected by a league that was dead-set on their elimination.

Trump's First 100 Days Agenda: Deport All Robots

Danville, Kentucky -- Folks, if there's one thing that liberals don't get, it's economics. That's because most of them have never owned a business or even held a job. In contrast, my family and I have years of experience working in many crucial industries. The Hart family has proudly labored in General Motors assembly plants, coal mines, oil drilling rigs, snow-plowing, and rubber manufacturing mills, to name a few. But one-by-one, all those industries have disappeared. Now I'm forced to blog about sports and politics to make ends meet.

For generations, good-paying jobs were abundant in this country. You could go as far in life as your ambition and determination took you. But lately quality, dignified jobs have hemorrhaged from America to foreign countries like Mexico, China, and Vietnam. These days, steady employment is harder to come by than an MLB player that knows how to bunt correctly.

Those of us on the front-lines of America's most productive industries -- energy production, heavy manufacturing, fast food -- know that the departure of blue-collar jobs is primarily due to several decades worth of awful, unfair trade deals like NAFTA and TPP. Lots of liberals on twitter like to accuse me of being a partisan hack just because I openly supported Donald Trump; but let me be the first to say that these awful trade deals are a bipartisan affair. They've been pushed and supported by both Democrats and Republicans alike. Reagan gave us the Canada–United States Free Trade Agreement. Bill Clinton gave us NAFTA. George W. Bush supported China’s entry into the World Trade Organization. And Obama gave us TPP. It takes two parties to tango, folks. We wouldn't be where we are without a bipartisan consensus in favor of hollowing out American industrial manufacturing.

But many economists won't own up to this. They like to create all kinds of far-fetched excuses for the outsourcing of American jobs. They blame these losses on the uncontrollable forces of globalization, the tax code, cheap labor in other countries, climate change, and even robots.

@NewellNYC @paulkrugman ~20% of manuf jobs since 2001 lost to China/EMs. Rest of 80% due to increases in productivity->mainly automation.

— Christopher Vecchio (@CVecchioFX) November 26, 2016

The long-term jobs killer is not China. It's automation. https://t.co/QbhCu2p5Fu pic.twitter.com/Dgvbd9IuAe

— The New York Times (@nytimes) December 21, 2016

Leave it to a bunch of ivory-tower computer geeks to totally misdiagnose the problems that America's manufacturing sector is facing.

A debate about the true causes of the decline of American manufacturing is healthy. The problem is, these bogus arguments that automation is the primary cause of industrial job losses get used to justify the status quo. Whenever a tough guy like Trump comes around -- who breaks from the bipartisan establishment consensus in favor of job-killing trade deals and speaks out in favor of re-making the rigged global trading system -- he gets hailed with a chorus of jeers from egghead academics who claim that the true cause of job losses is advances in automation technology that render humans expendable.

Folks, it's not an either/or, forced choice. The U.S. government should take actions to address the multiple economic factors that have contributed to the decline of good-paying jobs. Trump has proposed a highly detailed program of reforms that would accomplish precisely that. Trump should move forward with that program. He should build the wall. He should slap tariffs on companies that ship jobs overseas. He should re-negotiate awful deals like NAFTA. He should hold China's feet to the fire so they stop manipulating their currency and dumping their cheap products everywhere.

He should also deport robots.

Trump has already promised to deport all 11 million illegal immigrants currently residing in the United States in violation of our immigration laws. While he's at it, he should round up job-stealing automatons as well. Paul Krugman and the gang are wrong to say that automation is the primary driver of American job losses; the distinguished title of "biggest job-killer" still belongs with NAFTA, my friends. Nonetheless, they have a point. Robots have stolen plenty of jobs from hard-working Americans. They've stolen factory jobs. They've stolen cashier jobs at fast food restaurants. Combat drones have even stolen jobs from our soldiers, folks. That's why I'm proposing a complete and total ban on job-stealing robots. I urge President-elect Donald Trump to vigorously pursue this policy during his first 100 days in office.

The benefits of an aggressive robot deportation policy would be plentiful. First and foremost, deporting robots would bring back lost jobs, causing millions of down-on-their-luck Americans to re-enter the workforce so they can provide for their families and put Spinach & Artichoke Dip on the table.

Once touch-screen ordering machines are tossed out of the country, teenagers will return to work as cashiers in our nation's multi-billion dollar fast-food industry, learning the importance of hard work and proper facial hygiene in the process. Once those creepy claw-machine things are left for dead on the Mexican border, the assembly lines of our nation's automobile, steel, rubber, and textile factories will once more be operated by flesh-and-blood humans. When you call your credit card company to complain that someone in Hungary has stolen your identity and is fraudulently purchasing sewing machines in your name, you'll speak to a human being and not a pre-recorded robot voice. Hundreds of industriousness people around our good country will find employment providing family-friendly live entertainment and music at Chuck E. Cheese's restaurants once those automated performers they've used in the past are efficiently and humanely expelled from the United States.

The benefits of my robot deportation proposal don't stop there. It's not enough to bring back the jobs of yesterday; Trump must also help create the jobs of tomorrow. A robust robot deportation program can help there too. My robot deportation policy would create millions of new high-paying jobs in the police force. Kicking out every last robot will require a lot of manpower, especially since we can't use robots to do it (we don't want this to turn out like Robocop, folks). Pursuing a policy to deport all robots will instantly create demand for skilled workers capable of apprehending, de-programming, and destroying these robots while also suppressing any uprisings if necessary. It's a win-win for the whole economy!

I'm tired of being told by liberals that I lost my job as a factory worker because my skill-set is outdated and irrelevant in a high-technology society. That's just false. It's not my fault they didn't teach software programming at Danville High in 1972. We didn't even have software back then, folks. I'm smart enough and hard-working enough that I could get a high-tech job if I wanted. I'd just rather work at a job where I have to get dirt under my fingernails than some job where I have to push pencils and sit in a cubicle all day. There's no dignity in working for a software firm or a tech start-up and staring at a computer all day, folks. That's why millions of hard-working blue-collar Americans voted for Trump in droves this past November. We want the pride and dignity that comes with CREATING and BUILDING things. It's time for Trump to make good on his promises and bring back the glory days of American industry. Deport all robots. Make America Human Again, Donald.

808s and Will Hartbreak: The SHOCKING Truth Behind Kanye's Body Double

Danville, Kentucky -- Folks, I'm no fan of hip hop music. It's too commercial, too crass, and too full of synthesizers and artificial sound-effects these days. I like music that can be performed live by real people playing actual instruments, not music that can be played by pushing a button on a computer or by messing around on Garage Band. Folks, nobody embodies the decline of American popular music better than Kanye West. After Kanye's meteoric rise to fame some 13 years ago, he's since devolved into a crude caricature of himself, a circus act of tabloid rumors, egomania, and vulgar narcissism. Mr. West used to be a perfect American success story: a self-made man who rose from obscurity to become fabulously successful. Now, Kanye is a symbol of the decadence and dotage of America's upper class. But it wasn't always this way, folks.

Hillary Clinton's body double with Kanye's body double

I'm no fan of hip hop, but even I can admit there was some merit to Mr. West's first two albums, the College Dropout and Late Registration. Those albums had several songs that my nephew and his buddies would describe as "bangers." Only a fool would deny that Kanye has written many classics. Kanye was once an excellent songwriter and rapper because he drew upon the pre-existing canon of American soul and blues music and modernized it: bringing the American songbook into the 21st century with swagger and style.

Take "Gold Digger" for instance. In this song, Kanye sampled Ray Charles' jubilant rendition of "I Got A Woman," a song released in 1954 that I remember hearing on the radio back in the sixties while riding in my daddy's truck. Whenever I paid a visit to my local diner to grab a malted milkshake, I'd spend a nickel to put that song on the jukebox. Mr. West took Ray Charles' joyous celebration of the bliss of requited love, and turned into a scathing criticism of gender relations circa the new millennium. The pain of a woman trying to take all your money is something I, a thrice divorced man, know all to well. Kanye gave voice to my pain and the pain of many other folks, thanks to his uncanny ability to create new music while building upon all that came before him.

How did Kanye West, the man who expressed such raw, authentic anguish and frustration on songs like Gold Digger, end up selling out and collaborating with softie euro-junk bands like Coldplay? How did the man who wrote something as visceral and real as "All Falls Down" write something as unabashedly abstract, pretentious, and awful as 808s & Heartbreak, which sounds as though Kanye recorded it while singing through a tin can? Kanye used to be a man willing to speak truth to power, a man willing to drop bombs like "George Bush doesn't care about black people" to a national television audience. Now Kanye is just a fake. Literally.

The enigma that is Kanye West has puzzled me for years. But now we have an answer. Kanye sold out and became an awful songwriter because he quite literally lost touch with himself. Everything Kanye has done since Late Registration has not been Kanye. It's been a body double.

It makes too much sense, folks:

We know Kanye's wife Kim Kardashian has been using a body double since her kidnapping scare in Paris earlier this year. We've known for years that Kimye have even gone so far as to hire a body double for their child North in the interest of protecting her. But now, thanks to Mr. West's high-profile meeting with President-elect Donald Trump, we now have decisive visual proof that Kanye himself has been using a body double.

The real Kanye had a smaller head, different skin tone, different jawline, different eye shape, and different cheek structure than the imposter Kanye photographed with Mr. Trump several days ago. The dyed blonde hair of Kanye's double is a false flag, meant to draw attention away from the obviously different facial features.

THIS IS NOT KANYE WEST. THIS IS AN IMPOSTER! I refuse to believe. Look in those eyes, they're dead inside. BRING BACK KANYE!! pic.twitter.com/i3BlE0oW7B

— Zaddy. (@greythekid_) December 13, 2016

Let's take a second to do a deeper forensic analysis of Yeezy's facial features.

The proof is stunning and irrefutable. There's no doubt Kanye is using a body double. The mystery is why.

Kanye has flirted with a possible run at the presidency for quite a while now. We know the Democratic National Committee has mandated the use of body doubles for democratic presidential candidates in the past. Several months ago I laid out the iron-clad case behind Hillary Clinton's use of body doubles HERE. Hillary Clinton's body double served several purposes: having an imposter handy allowed the real Hillary to rest and recuperate from her numerous health issues while the clone flew around the country to appear in rallies. Having a body double also allowed real Hillary to court wealthy globalist foreign donors in secret while the faux-Hillary pretended to care about the American people by campaigning. The real Kanye may have quit music and decided to use a body double for similar reasons.

Here is the truth: sometime after the release of Late Registration (2005) and before the release of Graduation (2007), Kanye enlisted a doppleganger. This explains why Graduation, with its gaudy synthesizers and allusions to electronic house music, sounds so radically different from Kanye's first two albums. The real Kanye would have never made that terrible album or collaborated with Coldplay. The real Kanye also would've seen his planned tetralogy of education-themed studio albums through to its conclusion. Clone Kanye abandoned this plan and instead released albums that have nothing to do with college like 808s & Heartbreak and The Life of Pablo. What else can explain Kanye's musical U-turn over the past few years other than the fact that the real Kanye has gone the way of Jimmy Hoffa or Amelia Earhart, mysteriously vanished forever?

Donald Trump needs to watch out. I'm amazed that the secret service allowed him to meet with Kanye's double; there's no way the CIA and FBI aren't aware that Mr. West has been replaced by a body double. The democrats were likely using Kanye's body double to spy on Trump in hopes of providing sensitive information to democratic strategists. Kanye's body double may be planning to mount a presidential campaign in 2020 or 2024 to challenge Mr. Trump and the Republican Party. The House Benghazi Committee recently released its final conclusions and announced that it would be shut down soon. Now that Congressional Republicans will have a bunch of free time and money since Benghazi doesn't need investigating anymore, they should devote their attention to Kanye by launching a full Congressional inquiry into his use of body doubles, and possible ties to the Democratic Party. The truth must be revealed. Sometimes, the prettiest people do the ugliest things. The American people deserve to know why.

Buffalo Blues: TWTW's Browns vs. Bills Preview

Danville, Kentucky -- On the eastern shores of Lake Erie, north of Pittsburgh and west of The City That Never Sleeps, lies a fateful city that never gives up. Buffalo, New York, tidily snugged into the state's westernmost corner, didn't give up in 1813 when the treacherous British army pillaged and razed the city in what came to be known as the Battle of Black Rock. As part of their larger campaign against the young American republic during the War of 1812, the British cruelly plundered and dispossessed the good people of Buffalo. But Buffalo didn't back down. Those Erie-dwellers, living in the shadow of the majestic Niagara Falls, picked up the pieces and rebuilt their city, transforming it into a shining center of commerce and trade in 19th century America.

Did the people of Buffalo sit around and feel sorry for themselves when President William McKinley was murdered in their city in 1901?

No: they put their heads down, got back to work, and rallied behind a great leader and huntsman, Teddy Roosevelt. Buffalo did all this and more. They became a center of manufacturing in the 20th century prior to the great de-industrialization of NAFTA. They gave our nation the Buffalo Wing, the single greatest culinary creation in the history of human civilization.

They also gave us the Buffalo Bills of 1990-1993, the runners-up in Super Bowls XXV, XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII. Wow, I hope I never have to use that many roman numerals again, unless I'm talking about Star Wars. You have to be pretty, pretty good to appear in four straight Super Bowls. And indeed, the Bills beat legends like John Elway, Dan Marino and Joe Montana en route to their Super Bowl appearances. You can't fake that. Yet to many Americans, the Bills are all but forgotten or a laughing stock. That's an insult to this storied franchise and its loyal fans.

Folks, I'm a Danville man not a Buffalo man, but I remember where I was during Buffalo's Silver Era of football. It was January of 1991, just a few months shy of 90 years since McKinley's grisly demise. Earlier that winter I decided to make a pilgrimage to the Allegheny mountains of Pennsylvania, taking only my truck and my trusty basset hound, Barry Goldwater. I hoped to discover the natural beauty of this region and hopefully discover some things about myself as well, as I was still reeling from an acrimonious divorce a few months prior.

the Allegheny Mountains, folks.

Barry and I ended up making our pilgrimage something of a semi-permanent relocation. I got a job plowing snow in nearby Olean, New York, a sleepy town some 74 miles from Buffalo.

I fell in love with the sights and scenery of the Allegheny region, and of course, the buffalo wings. Plowing snow was rewarding work. Sitting atop a plow gave me a feeling of might and omnipotence. Behind the wheel of a snow plow, I could feel power flowing through my fingertips as I effortlessly cleared the streets of white, fluffy tufts of sparkling white snow and occasionally knocked over a garbage can or two for fun. The best thing about being a snow-plower in Olean was that there was never a shortage of work in America's snowiest city south of Anchorage.

I used my salary to rent a cozy apartment on the floor above a bustling pub. I remember Super Bowl XXV like it was yesterday. I had just come back from an emergency plow session. I went downstairs to the pub to watch the game; it was dimly lit and there was an frigid breeze coming in from the pub's front door as folks walked in and out. I took off my coat, scarf, and gloves which were damp from the snow. I sat down at my usual spot in the pub next to an old trucker and ordered some beer and wings. The atmosphere was tense but excited. Many lifelong Bills fans from the great city of Olean were in the bar, giddy with anticipation for what could be Buffalo's first championship. If I close my eyes, I can still remember the feel of the warm, saucy wings in my numb, frost-bitten fingers.

The Buffalo Bills and the New York Giants played a tightly-contested game. With seconds remaining and the Bills trailing by a single point, the pub went silent. As Buffalo kicker Scott Norwood lined up to attempt a 47-yard field goal, Buffalo seemed poised for its biggest victory since the construction of the Erie Canal. But Norwood missed. Wide right. The ball was blasted as though struck by Thor's Hammer, but sailed far right before bouncing harmlessly in the end zone. I'll never forget the look I saw in the eyes of those hard-working men from Olean: it was a cold, dead look, the type you might see from an old, blind dog. As a Bengals fan I'll never understand their suffering.

Three more Super Bowl appearances and three more Super Bowl losses later, the city of Buffalo never got the championship it deserved. The 1990-1993 Bills had no shortage of heroes: the resilient Jim Kelly, Bruce Smith, Thurman Thomas, their excellent punter Rick "Bootin'" Tuten, and Don Beebe, the man who taught an entire generation of children about the virtues of never giving up. But at the end of the day they fell short of the ultimate prize and were denied the catharsis that accompanies a Super Bowl ring. The days of glory from 1990-1993 eventually became the days of irrelevance during the Doug Flutie era.

This past summer, the Cleveland Cavaliers finally brought a championship to the folks on the burning river. That leaves Buffalo, home of the championship-less Bills and Sabres, as the saddest sports town around.

This Sunday, the sad sports city of yesterday will face the sad sports city of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I'm referring to the match-up between the 0-13 Browns and the 6-7 Bills. Some folks might get excited about the Patriots and Broncos game this Sunday, but I consider Cleveland vs. Buffalo the match-up of the week. Why? Allow me to explain.

Cleveland is fighting to avoid a miserable 0-16 season, the Bills are fighting for a slim chance at a playoff spot and dignity. With a losing record and coach Rex Ryan's future in Buffalo looking uncertain, the Bills are wounded and vulnerable. The liberal Washington Post has speculated that this game might be Cleveland's best shot at avoiding infamy. Folks, I hope the Bills do the right thing and keep Rex Ryan. A man brave enough to speak out in favor of our president-elect Donald Trump is hard to come by. The Bills need bravery on the sideline. They need Rex. Rex and Donald Trump embody the gritty lunch-pail mentality of Buffalo. Under Rex's leadership Buffalo will be made great again, I know it.

Although this would appear to be a meaningless game, a lot is on the line. The Bills' faint playoff hopes are on the line. Rex Ryan's job is on the line. Cleveland's potential 0-16 season is on the line. On top of that, this game will feature two very exciting young wide receivers: Terrelle Pryor and Sammy Watkins. That's worth the price of admission for me. By the way, the price of admission is dirt cheap. Apparently demand for the tickets is so low that you can get them for $20. $20 is nothing. I spend like $40 each time I go to Buffalo Wild Wings. If you're in the area, get to this game folks.

I wish I had the strength and toughness of the sturdy folk from Western New York. I eventually left my apartment in Olean and went back to Danville. I couldn't take the year-round bone-chilling winter. I still miss the chicken wings I used to get in the Buffalo area. Buffalo wings crafted by the Buffalonians themselves are simply unmatched in quality, though if I'm drunk I might tell you that the offerings of Buffalo Wild Wings and Chilis come close. Some men are born to persist and withstand every obstacle laid in their path, like Jim Kelly. It pains me to admit I am not one of those men.

In the past couple of years we've seen championship droughts in Kansas City, Cleveland, and Chicago come to an end. This should give hope to my friends in Olean, the Allegheny region, and the good people of Buffalo. Certain laws of nature that we take to be immutable and true -- the Cubs are cursed, Cleveland are losers -- can be undone overnight. Buffalo sees snow 9 months a year, but heck, if this crackpot "man-made climate change" theory that Leonardo DeCaprio keeps peddling is true, we could see a snow-less winter in Buffalo some day soon. Anything can happen in this great country, folks. Keep the faith, Buffalo fans. Your day will come.