by Frank Roberts

It’s summer and already we’re drowning in political rhetoric. Most of the presidential candidates have passed the “coy” period — you know, “I may or may not run.”

The wealthy party bosses are imposing their wisdom on us. The columnists are starting to tell us why we should back their candidate. I’m borrowing from Clark Gable, who once said, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

On Election Day, I will probably stay home and watch Netflix. Oh, I know. “It’s our duty to vote” and/or “If you don’t like how the country is run, vote for a change.”

For a change, I am going to shirk my duty.

What’s the choice? A third Bush — baby Bush. Or the former White House resident who should live in a white house, but not in “that” one. Or the lesser lights, none of whom seem as bright as a nightlight.

So, march on, political pundits, and tell us why the candidate of choice — none of whom is particularly choice — should get our vote. I will probably do a write-in for a no-nonsense candidate such as the infamous Sylvester Pussycat, the feline who would make a purrr-fect president.

After I wrote the foregoing, the big-money announcement came. Trigillionaire Donald Trump has thrown his expensive headgear in the ring, and that will, no doubt, make the presidential race interesting. So, spend away, Mr. Moneybags.

Hey, I might vote after all, if someone will drive me to the poll in a chauffeured limo.

…

Here’s an idea purporting to be from Israel about airline security. Snopes.com says it’s not true, but maybe it’s worth considering.

The idea is for an airport security device that eliminates the privacy concerns that come with full-body scanners.

You’d step into an armored booth. It would not X-ray you, but it would detonate any explosive device you might have on your person. It would be a win-win situation, protecting your modesty and cutting out expensive trials.

Imagine you’re in the airport terminal and hear a muffled explosion. Then, you hear this announcement: “Attention all standby passengers. We are pleased to announce a seat available on Flight 670 to London.”

All they’d need is a broom to sweep away the brainless mess.

…

During the first season of Jimmy “Catfish” Hunter’s season with the Yankees, his old buddy, Reggie Jackson, was asked before a Yankees-Phillies game if he would hit a homerun off his former teammate.

“Sure,” he said. “Isn’t my name Reggie Jackson?”

Hunter shut out the A’s, 3-0.

After the game, Reggie told a reporter: “It was the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced in baseball. The first time up, I couldn’t believe I was looking at Hunter out there. It was like a bad dream.”

The men were good friends, and Jackson visited his former teammate in Jimmy’s Hertford hometown.

As readers know by now, Jimmy was a good friend of mine and, during his high school days, I broadcast his games — both baseball and football.

Later, of course, Reggie re-joined Jimmy when he, too, went to bat for the Yankees.

During a 60-year career spanning newspapers, radio and television, Frank Roberts has been there and done that. Today, he’s doing it in retirement from North Carolina, but he continues to keep an eye set on Western Tidewater and an ear cocked on country music. Email him at froberts73@embarqmail.com.