Dalton Williams for President?

As a morning television news broadcast droned on regarding one of the latest Presidential election polls, my lovely wife, Grace, sighed, “I’m tired of all the election coverage. It is unending.”

“Ditto,” muttered my Aunt Toogie. “The only thing worse is the candidates. One is unpredictable and the other is unethical.”

“Sad,” Grace lamented, slowly swirling her coffee cup, adding, “Both are viewed so unfavorably. I guess it is a case of the lesser of two evils.”

“More like the evil of two lessers,” Toogie muttered. “Want a refill?

“Dalton, who do you think will win?” Grace inquired.

Setting down the sports section of the morning newspaper, I proudly declared, “Me.”

“You?”

“Yeah, I’m leading and we have just the playoffs to go.”

Smiling sweetly, Grace replied, “I was asking about the Presidential election. Am I to assume you were referring to your silly baseball thing?”

“It’s a fantasy baseball league that I and our boys are in,” I answered with a dollop of indignation. “It takes skill and dedication and I’ll let you know that, yes, I am in first place. Been there most of the year, too. My pick up of Brian Dozier was genius. He has been huge since…”

“Spare us the details, Casey Stengel,” Toogie interrupted, “We’re sick of hearing about your fictitious baseball team.”

When I didn’t respond promptly, Grace interjected, “I know you like your little game, dear, but you have been doing this for months and we do get a little weary of the daily doses of data.” After a pause, she added, “In that regard, it is a little like the Presidential campaign, which gives me an idea.”

“Do tell,” Toogie cooed, priming the pump.

Grace continued, “If Dalton can lead his fantasy baseball league, maybe he could successfully lead the country.”

“You’re kidding!” Toogie wheezed, adding, “But he wouldn’t be as bad as the current candidates. No offense intended, Dalton.”

“Some taken,” I huffed.

“No, hear me out,” Grace spoke up. “Dalton, in your fantasy baseball league, did you have some key priorities and strategies you followed?”

“Yeah…I guess.”

“What were they?”

“Well,” I pondered, “one was to load up on power hitters since they will produce runs, home runs, RBIs and slugging percentage.”

“And?” Grace prompted.

“I selected National League starting pitchers. They have a better ERA and WHIP because they face an opposing pitcher as a batter. American League pitchers don’t have that advantage.”

“There you go,” Grace exclaimed. “Now, if you were President, what would be your top priorities?”

“Me…Presidential priorities?” I stammered.

“Yeah,” Toogie spoke up. “What would you change if you were President?”

“I guess,” I began to respond. “One priority would be to reduce the size, cost, scope and influence of the Federal government in many areas. And term limits for members of Congress.”

“Good,” Grace encouraged, “and?”

“I would stimulate the economy by reducing taxes which would be paid for by reduced government spending. And strengthen our military and our immigration enforcement to combat terrorism.”

“There you go,” Grace exclaimed. “I’d vote for that. What do you think Toogie?”

“I’m still having a little trouble seeing him in the White House,” Toogie pontificated, rubbing her chin. “He needs to look more Presidential.”

“He does need to stand up straighter,” Grace observed. “Have posture like Reagan.”

The two of them continued this critique of moi with no apparent regard that I was sitting across the breakfast table. “Enunciate clearly,” Grace stated as if she were making a grocery list, adding, “No mumbling and don’t wear the tie with horses on it.”

“Lose the yellow sport coat,” Toogie barked.

“Yikes, yes!” Grace exclaimed. “Maybe Brevard can take him downtown for a wardrobe makeover.”

“Copy that,” Toogie noted. “And he will need debate preparation.”

Grace turned to me and asked, “What do you know about Aleppo?”

“Aleppo?”

“Yes, Aleppo.”

“It’s a brand of dog food, right?” I suggested.

“You’re kidding!” Grace exclaimed.

Toogie whispered, “We have our work cut out for us.”

“Ask me another one,” I pleaded.

“Okay,” Grace queried slowly, “Who would you pick as your Vice President? Remember that person will be a heartbeat away from the Oval Office.”

“I haven’t thought a lot about it,” I mused, “but maybe Brian Dozier?”

Grace put her hands over her face. Finally breaking the silence, Toogie announced, “Maybe we should drop this Presidential fantasy and let him return to his computer sports. By the way,” she added, “What do you get if you win?”

“The Presidency or my fantasy league?” I replied

Toogie sighed, “For now, the baseball thingy. What do you get if you win?”

“I, ah…don’t win any money if that is what you are asking.”

“No money? A trophy maybe?”

“No, just bragging rights…you know, among me and the boys.”

“So no money. No trophy. Just you and few others even know about this,” Toogie declared emphatically as if she were a prosecutor addressing a witness. “Know what I’d say about you and your baseball league?”

“What?” I shot back too quickly, taking the bait.

“At this point, what difference does it make?”

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