The Zong

The Zong puports to be about the absurdity in both politics and sports, and the nexus thereof, when it seems like the glittering, guilt-ridden sweat beads rolling off the scalp of Alberto Gonzales morph seamlessly into the glittering, steroid-laced sweat beads rolling of Barry “Who, me?” Bonds, as he hits another dinger.

A few weeks ago, in front of a Senate hearing, an event took place seemingly so custom-made for The Zong, I’m surprised one of my compatriots didn’t scoop me on it. Beneath the glare of those made-for-TV lights and overexposed, in both senses, by the paparazzi with the automatic shutter hold, Pvt. Jessica Lynch and the family of Pat Tillman, professional football player and public servant, stood their ground and had their say.

To their credit, they did much to reverse the sanctimonious tapestry that had been woven around their familial names, all to the end of bolstering the The Decider and his covey of cronies. For Lynch, the less jarring of the two testimonies, she had the guts to admit she wasn’t the action figure pre-packaged for the media consumption that she was made out to be, with a kung-fu action arm and repeat-firing Patriot-missle launcher. She did much for her own rep, as well as what this country actually stands for - truth, justice, the power of free speech - regardless of whatever jingoistic PR mission the tail-waggers sent her on a few years ago.

“The bottom line is the American people are capable of determining their own ideals of heroes and they don’t need to be told elaborate lies,” Lynch said. Someone give this girl her civics merit badge.

But the real heart-breaker was the testimony about Tillman, from all accounts a nice and civic-minded guy, who broke with decades of sports tradition and actually took the smaller paycheck for the better cause. That alone should get him in Canton . As his parents and brother Spc. Kevin Tillman spoke about how betrayed they felt by the government, by the mission, by military, and lastly, by The Administration who led the charge, you couldn’t help but a get a twinge there’s something very, very wrong going on here.

I’m not a big fan of the word “hero”, - it’s too simplistic, and deification does no one any good -and I don’t think I’m going to use it here. Tillman was a man of great ideals and unfortunate circumstance. I will say, however, that if more folks in this country, and professional althetes in particular, were like him, we’d probably be better off. He was braver than I’ll ever be, someone who believed in higher ideals, and when feeling a call to higher duty, heeded that call.

And where was his Commander in Chief during all this?

Where was The Decider in the weeks since Tillman’s family called bullshit on the propganda? Staying up late nights, on conference calls with Syria and the Arab League to try and bring our boys out of harm’s way? Comforting injured soliders by making sure their care is the best in the world? Making a whistlestop tour around the country and speaking with war widows? No, sir, he was accepting a Purple Heart from a solider who found out how torn up poor Laura was about all those kids slaughtered in Iraq. How nice. Laura can’t sleep, and to make her feel better, The Decider does the manly thing and takes some guy’s medal, who actually won it fighting for this country. What a guy!

I thought I was out of outrage a while ago. But this event rekindled the fire stronger than ever. While men like Tillman die defending the country, and their memories are disgraced by lies manufactured to cover more lies, chickenhawk phoney-baloney fake cowboys with degrees from Yale like The Decider mince about in Crawford, Texas, putting on flight suits and medals, and playing army-man dress up. Isn’t that nice?

I’ll say it. You want me to say it? Fine, I will.

Our President is a big fat, coward.

Come get me, you pussy. Or should I say, “Bring it on.”

- J.A.