From my vantage point in the second row of benches, I thought it was a young girl. Fifty percent true. This was an old, old girl.
Wasn’t she skipping as she dazzlingly danced into the sunlight at West L.A.?
Slick and Slicker
As the Times noted, the County District Attorney has prosecuted politicians in the past for lying about living outside of their districts. Ms. Burke is married to a man who may be even smoother and slicker than she is. The law not an amorphous hometown policy says she must live inside of her South Los Angeles County District.
According to the Times, the Sup tells the world she lives in Mar Vista. In fact, she resides in Brentwood, the Times suggested. Isn’t that the old Johnny Edwards you-are-poor, I-am-not soft shoe? Candor never has been the Sup’s best asset.
Thank Goodness for Baseball
Ms. Burke, known throughout her lengthy career for dispatching underlings to important community events, doubtless would have passed on West L.A. this week if it had been other than a sporting program.
Far be it from me to suggest that contemporary athletes don’t know whether George Bush or Anheuser Busch is President of the United States. Some of them even seem cloudy enough not to remember whether their addiction is drugs or alcohol.
Therefore, with a sporting crowd, the Sup was, as they say in baseball, safe at home.
Where Won’t They Boo Me?
After getting scorched from her toenails to her lipstick last Friday on page A-1, Ms. Burke is even more selective than usual about public appearances.
The greeting at the baseball field could have been classier. Perhaps “Home, Home on the Range,” “My Old Kentucky Home” or “My Old Mandeville Canyon Home” would have been appropriate background music at 10 o’clock when she executed her favorite ballet dancer entrance.
Notice Me
The Sup arrived just late enough for the adoring crowd to purse its lips, in unison, and coo “Oooooh,” as she smiled and nodded in acknowledgement to the peasants. Her expression seemed to say, “Gee whillickers. Is that cheering for little ol’ me?”
As the still very attractive Sup, bedecked in her favorite pea green pants suit does she even own a dress? glided toward the canopied dais behind home plate, she appeared to be sufficiently coherent to remember exactly where she lived. Maybe Alheimer’s is engaging in a sneak attack.
From Ms. Burke’s well-practiced glow, no one could have guessed that a few days earlier she went 15 rounds with the Truth. That she ended up, ignominiously, on the mat, knocked out by the Truth, was blithely ignored by her many admirers.
Baseball? Never Heard of It
What we do know is that love of baseball did not bring Ms. Burke to the gorgeous hillside West L.A. campus two mornings ago. She may know which Bush is President.
But the Sup neither has knowledge of nor interest in baseball.
From her stumbling locution where are those high-class speechwriters when needed? it was embarrassingly clear she was incapable of reeling off a single cogent sentence that combined the return of baseball to West L.A. College with the name of the gosh-darned sport they will be playing.
By this stage of her oh-so-long-by-3-decades public life, Ms. Burke is bullet-proof. Can’t do wrong. Being black in these days, there always is a racist boob to bail her out of anything she may have stepped in.
Often, the racist boob’s name is Earl Ofari Hutchinson.
The very tall, chronically unhappy gentleman seems to hunker down on the sidelines, narrow his gaze and unrelentingly search for his next bogus cause.
He and his pen are ever eager to rescue a black person accused of doing wrong because Mr. Hutchinson believes 100 percent of the time the charge is racially driven.Unless the black man is a Republican.
In baseball parlance, it was Boob at Bat yesterday morning in the op-ed section of the Times.
His Troubling Credentials
Described as an author and political analyst, Mr. Hutchinson is the kind of attention-seeking yahoo who gives blacks and liberals a bad name. He used to host a weekly commentary on KPFK radio. This alone should prevent anyone over 21 from taking his pronouncements seriously.He was the Vicar of Victimization on his call-in show.
I am convinced that if he were white, he would have ridden with the KKK. He reeks of boiling hatred for non-blacks.
Most recently the blank-slate apologist was in the news defending the cluster of black teenagers who attacked 3 white girls last Halloween in Long Beach.
It is believed Mr. Hutchinson respects laws. We just haven’t identified which one.
As with many liberals, Mr. Hutchinson is incapable of rendering reasoned explanations for his defensive positions. His heart always defeats his mind because he surrenders to how he feels instead of what he believes.
He Has a Goode Mind in Hiding
Mr. Hutchinson’s defense of Ms. Burke’s apparent real estate shell game is that hey, guys, she is a nice lady and an effective politician.
What about the body of American law? That is reserved for white people.
Several revelatory sentences from Mr. Hutchinson’s limping, crawling commentary on Ms. Burke unmask his regerettable attitude.
What is so disappointing is that Mr. Hutchinson is a smart man. But he is intellectually lazy.
A String of His Pearls
Herewith some sterling sound bites from the black community’s tallest truth-twister:
“Burke is a soft target for snooping Times reporters and the columnists who raged against her for supposedly violating some sacred trust.”
“What would reporters turn up if they spent the same amount of time checking on the residences of other local politicians?”
“The only thing that counts for me is whether Burke takes care of business in her district.”
Mr. Hutchinson, have you no shame?
