Politics Sunday comes on a Saturday.

“Thelonious Monk”
cell phone drawing by m ball

  Politics Sunday comes on a Saturday. 

 The phone rings — early. This time* interrupting the Newcastle-Chelsea match. “Nils
Sundstrøm,” the screen says. “Meaning,” I think, “I should let this go.”
     “Who is it?” Uncle Albert asks from the couch.
     “Your friend, Nils,” I say. “Tell him I said ‘hi,’” Uncle Albert says. So, I answer.

“Uncle Albert says ‘hi,’” I say.
     “Hi back,” Nils says. And I say to Uncle Albert, “Nils says ‘hi’ back.
     “Tell me what happens,” I add and go into the kitchen. “Just a minute,” I say to Nils,” and I sit down.
     “Okay,” I say.
     “You didn’t tell me your friend Hamlin Moody was Jackass Jones.”
     “No.”
     “And he really played golf with Trump.”
     “Maybe,” I say. “Sort of.” I’m both wondering where this is going and not liking it already.
     “Axel told me. So, I called him.”
     “Jackass?” I say, louder than I’d intended.
     “Or Moody,” Nils says. “But he refused my interview.”

 “Interview?” I ask.
     “I was going to put something in Go Around Back. Remember: we talked about that.”
     “I remember. We sort of talked about it.”
     “He wouldn’t do an interview, but he did talk to me ‘off the record.’”
     I wait.
     “Do you want to hear about it?”
     “Not now,” I think, but I say, “Sure,” then think, “Why did I say that?”

“I said to him,” Nils said, “‘I hear you refused to concede a putt.’ And he said something about ‘’fraid so’ but it didn’t matter. ‘To the president,’ I said. ‘Of the United States,’ I said. And he said again that it didn’t matter because he’d picked up anyway. He’d just said, ‘This good?’ — the president — and he’d picked up before Jackass/Hamlin could say ‘no’ though he said ‘no’ anyway.

     “‘He just picked up?’ I said. ‘He didn’t say anything?’ He’d misspoke, Hamlin said. He’d raked the ball toward him and knocked it to one of his ‘whatevers,’ and he had picked it up. ‘No, he didn’t say anything, the president, just blew a raspberry.’ ‘And he told you you were done,’ I said. No, another guy did that. One guy picks up the ball; another gives you the bad news. And still another takes your clubs off the cart and tells you he’s called ahead: they’re sending someone to pick you up and take you back to the clubhouse.

     “‘And then what?’ I said. But there was no ‘then what.’ ‘I got picked up. The girl took me to my car and helped me put my clubs in the trunk.’ He paused. ‘She said she didn’t want a tip,’ he said.”

 “That’s the story?” I said to Nils.
     “Pretty much,” he said. “I asked him if he’d heard anything more or seen anything on Twitter. He said he didn’t follow the president on Twitter. ‘Why don’t you Google it?’ he said. ‘Let me know if you find out anything.’
     “So, I did. And one thing led to another. There was a tweet that was shortly after deleted.

10.20.20

_______________
* For last time, click here.