The Great Divide

 The President of these United States celebrated his 80th birthday yesterday, and to commemorate the occasion, Ivory Coast beat Ecuador 1-nil on the soccer pitch.

OK. So that's not right.

How about this: The President of these United States celebrated his 80th birthday yesterday, and to commemorate the occasion, the Carolina Hurricanes beat the Vegas Golden Knights 3-0 to win the Stanley Cup.

No?

Fine. Here's one more:

 The President of these United States celebrated Pride Month yesterday, and to commemorate the occasion, a bunch of buff, sweaty, half-naked men brawled on the White House lawn. 

Excuse me?

Whatta you mean I'm being snarky about this?

You mean it was actually a celebration of Freedom, and the President of Freedom, and good old All-American Freedom testosterone? Strength and will and aggravated assault (but with referees!)? Everything that made America the greatest country in the history of countries, and last night's mixed martial arts card the greatest sporting event in the history of sporting events?

(Which, no lie, is how it was marketed)

Okey-dokey. Whatever floats your boat.

This is an America, after all, where there are any number of boats these days, and they're all headed off different edges of the world. Whatever commonality we have as a nation -- and, truthfully, it's never been as common as we like to think -- vanishes a bit more with every deranged social media post by Fearless Leader, his acolytes, and the fringier of his appalled opponents.

Either he's Jesus Christ, or he's the Antichrist. Either he's George Washington, or he's Attila the Hun. Either Michelle Obama is a thoughtful, educated former First Lady eminently worthy of every American's respect ... or she's a man.

Which is what one of the buff, sweaty, half-naked brawlers shouted last night after winning his fight. Right after he praised God, of course.

This not being a crowd well-versed in cognitive dissonance, they cheered.

And elsewhere?

Elsewhere, Japanese fans were observed picking up their trash after Japan and the Netherlands tied 1-1 in their opening World Cup soccer match.

Elsewhere (reportedly, because who knows these days), some Knicks fans stuck around to help sanitation workers clean up the New York streets after a night of revelry and mayhem following the Knicks first NBA title in 53 years.

Elsewhere, Carolina's ancient warrior, Jordan Staal, hoisted the Stanley Cup on enemy ice, and no one threw trash him, no one (at least within earshot) questioned his parentage, no one called his wife a man.

On Flag Day, in the midst of America's 250th year, the Great American Divide perhaps was never more starkly illustrated. To our eternal shame.

Respect vs. disrespect. Manners vs., well, something else. America vs. 'Merica.

On one side of the divide stands the crowd who believes in their heart of hearts that Fearless Leader is a Dark Lord intent on destroying every decent thing about this country, instead of what he is -- a half-senile bumbler surrounded by bumbling enablers who, yes, are intent on destroying every decent thing about this country, but who thankfully appear too stupid to complete the mission.

And on the other side?

They're the enablers, the hell-yeah bunch, the poor dupes who believe big talk and bombs equate to strength, and that God anointed the half-senile bumbler to be the GREATEST PRESIDENT EVER and save us all from diversity, inclusion and the Somali/Muslim/transgender hordes.

Oh, and from Michelle Obama, of course.

Anyway, that ensemble was on full display last night, in what was billed as UFC Freedom 250 but looked more like redneck cosplay. On the grounds of the People's House, they erected an MMA cage emblazoned with Bud Light logos. Dirt bikes sailed over jumps.  Not far away lay the trash heap that used to be the East Wing.

All that was missing were a rusted-out Chevy up on blocks and a giant oil stain in the driveway. The Ellipse as Cletus Bob's front yard, in other words.

And, yes, I know, that sounds insufferably elitist. It isn't meant to. And it's not like I'm some kale-eating dilettante who doesn't enjoy a little lowbrow culture himself on occasion. I'm a retired sportswriter, for God's sake. And so gimme a cheeseburger and a beer and dial up some stock car racing or professional axe throwing on the tube. I'm there.

This does not mean, however, that I have no standards. I do. And one of them, as a board-certified history nerd, is an admittedly pearl-clutching reverence for America's landmarks.

Civil War battlefields. Our national parks. Arlington. And, yes, the White House.

Turning its grounds into some garish Roman circus sponsored by Bud Light strikes me as obscene. I can't help it.

I suppose that makes me just another triggered lib to those on the other side of the Divide. So be it. Guilty as charged. But what else can I say, in this riven America?

You do you, in other words. And I'll do me. And maybe one of these days -- not soon, unfortunately, and maybe not before I shuffle off this mortal coil -- we'll all come to our senses.

Hopefully before Cletus Bob does some more urban renewal at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Hopefully before then.