This Sarcasm Just In… (But It’s Heartfelt)
Mike “Iron Mike” Ditka Turns Down Donald Trump’s Request to Speak at RNC (Psst: Who Cares?)
By Bathhouse John for Vox Populi | June 30, 2016 at 12 PM (“High Noon”)
I was born and raised in the Windy City of Chicago . . . way back when. Needless to say, I was (operative word) a HUGE Bears fan, along with the White Sox (my little bro was the Cubbie fan), Bulls and Black Hawks. Perhaps this explains my ethos which bubbles up and slithers from out of my verbage. Yeah, most Chicago teams sucked for many, many years of my life. That’s why I have no patience for losers and politicians - especially lying ones, like Hillary Rodham Clinton and Barack Hussein Obama. But, alas, what does this have to do with Iron Mike?
Needless to say, Mike Ditka became a god who could walk on water in Chicago after Da Bears won Super Bowl XX in 1986. (Sadly, one of their greatest players is in poor health, William “The Refrigerator” Perry, and I ask you to keep him in your thoughts and prayers: Show the Fridge We Still Care. In fact, someone in the city should start a Go Fund Me Account for this glorious son of the Midway.)
What brings me here today is this: Iron Mike has turned down speaking at the Republican National Convention (A Crack in Mike's Iron)! Why? Has the Liberal Mediums reached the strongest personality in Chicago’s history behind Al Capone? Why not, Iron Mike? You are one of my idols. Don’t you remember the “punky cute kid” (couldn’t resist - sorry Jim) who approached you in the Indian Lakes Country Club that morning you were to speak for the realtors organization in Bloomingdale, IL, a week after you won the Super Bowl?
I purposely went an hour early, camera in hand, KNOWING FULL WELL that Ditka doesn’t screw around. He get’s there and gets the job done. Well, I wasn’t right, I was damn right! There I was, standing all alone in the bar, no one in sight, turned around, and guess who walked in alone? Mike Ditka! Like a kid at a Bozo’s Circus taping, I rushed up to him like a linebacker seeking an elusive quarterback (get the double metaphor?), and said, “Hello, Coach Ditka!” He was looking around for his contact person and not really paying attention to me. I shook his hand, or rather reached for it and led Ditka in that manly man ritual handshake. “Congratulations on the Super Bowl win.” Finally, Ditka reacted as he continued to scan the area like a quarterback in the pocket with no time on the clock (Uh, huh!): “Thanks.” Ditka then added furtively, “Where’s Tom So-And-So? (I’d use his real name but I cannot remember it!). “Oh, no problem, I’ll take you to him.” You see, Tom So-And-So was my brother-in-law’s (KW) boss and I knew who he was.
At that moment, as if the pocket had collapsed around this quarterback, a rush of people came upon Coach Ditka and I knew my time was limited with my hero. I quickly asked a fellow fan to take my picture with Mike Ditka - which he did, flashbulb and all, so the photo is a bit whitewashed. By now completely surrounded and in a complete sack situation, I told Iron Mike that I’d bring Tom to him. As a “Thank You” for helping him, Tom got Ditka to sign one of the programs for me later that night: “Best Wishes, Jim. Mike Ditka.”
What to do? What’s left of that memory? As I write this rhetorical but jolting memory, the Fleetwood Mac song, “Sara”, blasts from my teenie tiny computer speakers and now I’m left pondering my hero’s action as of late. Why, oh why, Iron Mike, won’t you speak for Mr. Trump? He’s tough like you. He makes mistakes like you. (Remember the drunk driving incident in Barrington Hills? Told the cop off, you did! Or the infamous, “Aw shut up!” comment to a pesky reporter. ( You see, Coach Ditka, you and Trump are a lot alike. Please reconsider. I could be wrong about this but sadly, probably not. Don’t let the Liberal Mediums get to you. Don’t let the clowns prevent you from doing the right thing. That’s what made you a winner.
(Psst: I Care.)
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