This Week in Schadenfreude
There's a study that's getting a lot of attention right now, particularly on social media, which purports to show that 85% of men who take Ivermectin in high doses (i.e., the doses needed to "cure" COVID-19) suffer some sort of infertility or erectile dysfunction. Quite a few readers sent it in as a possible schadenfreude item. And it's certainly tempting to write about a real, live example of Darwinism in action. However, the story was just a bit too good, especially since ivermectin is a legitimate treatment for other conditions (like, say, schistosomiasis, if you happen to be someone who likes to walk like an Egyptian). A close look at the study itself reveals some red flags, like that it was published in a "scientific" journal that even a historian can tell is dubious, and that it had a sample size of...37 people. Ah, well. That's why we fact-check, especially when something doesn't pass the smell test.
And so, we will go with this item about Donald Trump getting back to his boxing roots. No, he's not going to get punched, nor did he ever lace up gloves. Back when he was a remarkably incompetent casino owner, he hosted and/or promoted several prizefights. Those are the roots in question. What he will be doing tomorrow—as noted above, the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks—is serving as commentator for four boxing matches on Fite TV pay-per-view.
So, where is the schadenfreude? It's not in the commentating, per se. If Barack Obama decided to take a turn calling an NCAA Tournament basketball game, or George W. Bush dropped in on the Texas Rangers' broadcast booth, we wouldn't say "boo," even if it was on a kinda tacky day for frivolity. No, the schadenfreude comes in because everything about this boxing event is, to be blunt, pathetic.
To start, it's not a prizefight. Heck, it's arguably not even a professional boxing match, since the two headliners (and most of the folks on the undercards) are long retired. Those two headliners are Evander Holyfield, a former heavyweight champ who is now 58 years old and who hasn't won a fight since May of 2011, and Vítor Belfort, a former MMA champ who is now 44 years old and who was forced into retirement after winning just two of his last seven matches (with the last of those wins coming in 2017). There are some sports—golf, bowling, sometimes tennis—where the folks who have aged out of the regular tour can still put on a decent, competitive show. But this is boxing, which is about strength, stamina, and reflexes. Neither of these two men is capable of mounting even a poor facsimile of a boxing match. In fact, they are putting themselves at no small risk of being killed or seriously injured. A 20-year-old can usually take it on the chin and be ok, but there's a reason that none of the major boxing commissions will sanction a fight involving a boxer who is AARP eligible.
And it's not just the fight itself that is a sad joke. Because California wouldn't touch something like this with a 10-foot pole (nor would Nevada or New York, among others), the promoters had to move the event from a top-tier venue (Staples Center in Los Angeles) to a third-tier venue (Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino in Hollywood, FL). That change of venue came after boxer Oscar de la Hoya, who is a decade younger than Holyfield, was forced to bail out due to COVID. In addition, Fite TV is a bottom-feeder operation, the OANN of sports networks, which saw its chance to get a bunch of publicity by throwing a bunch of money at Trump. Oh, and Trump isn't actually going to be the main commentator; he and his son Donald Jr. are going to be shunted off to an alternate feed that, as far as we know, won't be called the "MAGA feed," but might as well be.
In short, being involved with something like this is humiliating. This is Bobby Riggs allowing himself to be thrashed on national TV by Billie Jean King. This is Nicolas Cage cranking out direct-to-video movies because he ran up huge debts and the A-list roles dried up.
This is Orson Welles drunkenly shilling a second-rate wine brand. This is The Romantics, still touring county fairs 40 years after their one enduring hit, performing "What I Like About You" and a whole bunch of songs that aren't "What I Like About You."
Trump knows it's humiliating, which is why he's made a big point of telling anyone and everyone how much money he's being paid. But he's doing it nonetheless. Either he's starved for attention, or he's strapped for cash. Maybe it is both. Whatever it is, there's certainly some schadenfreude in seeing the Donalds Trump perform the sporting world's equivalent of starring in the latest Sharknado film. (Z)
