7 FAKE NEWS stories coming out of Ukraine

Holding. Still. Holding…..

Perhaps you can edify as to why the left is so maskable when vaccine manufacturers have been getting increasingly negligent and easy targets of social justice activists.

It’s kind of eerie. It’s like BLM and Ukraine, so many rightwingers, militarists mostly, getting touchy-feely and available for group cumbaya choral singing, suddenly.

I get it, a little, but then you have soloists on the left, RFK Jr. and Michel Chossudovsky, head of globalresearch.ca saying the same thing, almost to the letter: that the whole vaccine scam is just a Trojan Horse and pretext for shoving a global coup d’état down our collective throats. Or “a global war on democracy and public health” as RFK Jr. subtitles his runaway #1 bestseller “The Real Anthony Fauci”.

The word in MSM from Kennedy’s 8 siblings, Bobby’s long lived orphans, is that brother Bobby Jr. is an outlier and opposed by them for his stand against the vaccines. Man, only 6 of them (and his mother Ethel) stood against him recently when he went public to share his support of Sirhan’s parole, and his strong conviction that Sirhan did not kill his father (a parole that Gavin Newsom recently vetoed, with a profoundly disingenuous oped in LA Times, that beacon of deep state truthiness).

But they may not have been studying these issues as a litigator against polluters and Pharma the way he has.

We watched RFK Jr. in his interview of John Stockton, NBA Hall of Famer, and very visible vaccine and mask resister.

I was personally intrigued to see the whole thing, as I had run into Stockton in ’95 Miami after Mass at Gesu Cathedral where he rawly dissed me, twice, in succession, as he and his Catholic contingent of teammates were hitting the exits -I only recognized Adam Keefe and John Crotty, both millionaire scrubs, as they mildly explained their warmups to the Jesuit Rector on the steps, that they were a basketball team, in town to play Pat Riley’s Miami Heat, down the street a few blocks. I caught John alone, and he blew up at me. I was a little dazed, I had just wanted to offer him kudos for surpassing my Laker man, Magic Johnson’s all-time assist record at 9,000+, back then. And I simply am way cold about the Utah Jazz, always have been, but felt it the gallant thing (plus I was uncertain if I was having a religious experience, as much as I worship the game, especially those years). Well, religious experiences aside, he was very ruffled, and said loudly, “I don’t believe in that kind of thing, coming out of here!” He treated me as though he had just been forced to face the perfect ne’er-do-well bag-lady. I was bemused, and dazed, and would have thought either he or I was maybe just having a bad day. but I was playing a lot of street ball at the time, ironically that very week with an ex-Laker, a friend who had gone south to Argentina and won a FIBA championship, but Stockton only had time to hear me say something like,”Duhhh! Well, God bless you.” Which seemed to confuse him, as he left down the Sunday street alone, the wrong way, toward the gnarly ghetto, Overtown, a sketchy place, until Keefe, a foot taller, scurried after him and grabbed him by the shoulder, saying “John, John, the hotel’s back the other way.

As grace would have it, over the next year I hung out with basketball buddies from Florida to Ohio, talking trash between games. It turned out I met several who had strong connections thru family to upper levels of the game, and all three told me that was Stockton’s program, it wasn’t a bug, but a feature, he did it to almost everybody. All the time. Or rather often.

So it was an ongoing fascination to see RFK Jr. at his CHD website, ahem, socially-distanced video give him a two minute intro before their interview, with a long list of his considerable awards and honors, which Stockton endured quite modestly. Needed –as, however legendary a player, most of those fans born after ’95 aren’t much aware of how much his sport prowess brought his name great cachet and luster and wide influence, helpful to underscore that it has cost him something real to go to his alma mater Gonzaga games near his Spokane, WA home without a mask. And our thanks and kudos to him from us all for that (if any of this real, my jury is still out!)

Dennis Rodman, bad boy Hall of Famer, himself, whom I’ve seen at my gym here and lives locally in Newport, SoCal, or for years,calls Stockton out in one of his rollicking books as simply a product of the “NBA star system” [lest we forget, it was the NBA Billionaire brass that kicked off the lockdowns March 11, 2020, with an abrupt cancellation of their season, the thugs] and he describes Stockton, specifically, “was the dirtiest player in the NBA”. Howsoever that may be, I include that “character witness” only because it contrasts so starkly with the awesomely super-clean image that is the standard boilerplate promo that you see in the RFK Jr. interview, and almost everywhere in MSM, or most anywhere. Whatever Rodman’s foibles, historical and legend, he’s always struck me as very sincere and straightforward and with “points to make” — well, more for social justice than as a sheer scorer.

At the same time I had my brief socially-distanced collision Stockton, my Laker bro’ Don Baker, whom I had met on the blazing streets of Little Havana, where we shaked and baked nights at José Marti Park, at the photogenic, film-friendly courts under the overpasses, told me, “Remind me to tell you about the times I guarded Oscar Schmidt when our team traveled to Brazil.” Didn’t ring a bell. “What you know that much and you don’t know who HE is?” I drew a blank. Actually, I’d seen him singlehandedly beat the US team at the PanAmerican games 7 years before, only time they’d lost in modern days.

Oscar Schmidt! The only player in the history of the NBA who was inducted into the Naismith Hall of Fame, 2014. Without ever having played a game here. I won’t burden my point here, for length, but for those historians who know the deep state ramifications and the subversive corporate aspects of the sport, here in the USA, and globally, it can well be argued that “Oscar”, known in Brazil as “Holy Hand”, did more to spread the sport and impact it, than Michael, Magic, and Larry Bird combined (least of that influence, globally, he is the highest scorer in history, just shy of 50,000 points).

I would have missed a lot of that story, if not for the element of being in Cleveland the following year, ’96, and the Dream Team was in town, with aforesaid Magic, Michael, and Larry Legend gracing the starting roster. A bro’ from across the street at the arena, the house LeBron “built”, waiting for a bus, when a bus not at all from Cleveland pulled up, and out stepped a gaggle of tall athletes in jumpsuit warmups, led by one, the only fair-haired, who I thought must be a coach or trainer, so I asked my bro’: “Do you know who they are?” He said, “I think that’s the Brazil team”. I learned my lesson from Stockton, now well-trained, I didn’t glance but a moment at them.

They passed a good twenty yards ahead, and took the escalator down inside massive Public Square, ground Zero in Cleveland. As they came into clear view, at an angle, the “coach” I’d imagined turned around and looked straight up at us, smiling broadly. I asked my friend, “Who’s that?!” He shook his head in some surprise, “I don’t know.”

But I found out the next day, turning on my tiny b&w tv in my East Cleveland Garret: as the cameras zoomed in on his mug to cover their game against the Dream Team: Oscar Schmidt.

What a difference an attitude makes. I contrasted his brotherly smile with Stockton’s stiff diss the year before. The “Hand” and his global stature
looms large over Stockton’s, however large is the latter.

Maybe it’s just me, but I meditate deeply on these things, the differences in spirit between standout phenoms, and the details, when they seem this interesting.