If you are looking for learned or philosophical discourse on United States v. Trump , this blog is not for you! Stuff about “first time;” the ancient espionage statute under which DJ is charged with “retaining” (NOT urinary retention common to his generation and not a crime;) venue; the history of “speaking indictments,” as opposed to those that remain silent; whether the number of counts make any difference, etc. It’s all available elsewhere.


This is about the media flood drenching us all from the moment DJ revealed just the existence of the Florida indictment on Thursday night June 8. The bookers at the cablenets, and subsequently the networks, frantically contacted every available big-mouth, all “formers,” to get out of their track suits and set up their home computers to rapidly opine on something they knew nothing about. Not all get dressed up.

My favorite among the people who don’t “dress” is the grizzled, unkempt former special counsel to Trump, Ty Cobb.

Intrepid anchors could do no more than to look at their smart phones and to listen to producers in their earpieces to find something, anything, to ask or discuss. Not one of them said, in substance, “we don’t know anything so we’re going to our fascinating cat-up-a-tree package with Rhonda Smith in Murfreesboro.”

In those first hours, the readiest stuff coming to those anchor smart phones was condemnation of the unknown indictment by the MAGA crowd. Whatever it is that afflicts DJ, they condemn even if its details are in absentia. Chief among the first to condemn was House Speaker Kevin McCarthy, with plenty of time on his hands because twelve obstreperous right-wing Republicans caused the Speaker to close down the House for the rest of the week and to send members home. He said that the then-unseen indictment will “disrupt the nation,” presumably the same way eczema disrupts its sufferers.

Knowing nothing except the fact of an indictment, most of the MAGA folks reverted to their favorite riposte: the whatabout. Whatabout Hillary? Whatabout Biden, Pence? What about the milkman?

By Friday someone clued in the Justice Department that DJ and his buds were getting ahead of the story and that release of the indictment accompanied by a statement from Special Counsel Jack Smith was essential. And that’s what they did, requiring the cablenets to rewarm the formers with special emphasis on those who can read and understand a forty-nine-page document on the spot without moving their lips while doing so.

Smith’s statement demonstrated that he is unaccustomed to public speaking. Perhaps his true expertise was breaking balls in The Hague while clothed in a colorful robe.

By Friday night the MAGAs had a new pitch. Whatabout the Presidential Records Act (PRA). It has the words “presidential” and “records,” doesn’t it? Unknown to DJ’s adherents, the PRA orders that on January 20, 2021 all those records became the property of the United States no matter where their location. Boxed in a Mar- a -Lago john or not, they belong to the United States.

The silly stuff continues. On Sunday, after hollering at George Stephanopoulos, and riffing on the title of the ancient Espionage Act under which DJ is charged in the 31 retention counts, Senator Lindsey Graham proclaimed “Donald Trump is not a spy!” Lindsey had one of my favorite whatabouts: Bill Clinton’s sock drawer!

I’m not dismissing the importance of this indictment. We’re indentured to the Trump saga. It’s just that you’ve heard a lot about it and will hear more. The case will be subject to extensive delay, believe it! And then there is the next indictment…..