Bye-bye, Hank

Am I OK with Hank Williams Jr. losing his Monday Night Football gig for using an analogy between President Obama and Hitler?

Sure.

In fact, I propose a general rule:

Anytime anyone compares anything or anyone to Hitler and/or the Nazis, he or she loses their job immediately.

Not for lack of taste — though that could be sufficient grounds, too — but for lack of brains and for laziness.

The Hitler/Nazi analogy — whether coming from Hank Williams Jr., or Congressman Steve Cohen or anybody else — is meant as an argument clincher. All it indicates is that the person is incapable of making an intelligent case for his/her position.

It’s meant to be a show-stopper; instead, it’s a think-stopper.

Of course, it’s nothing new: Academic ethicist Leo Strauss coined the term Reduction ad Hitlerum, a play on reductio ad absurdum, when?

1953.

Bye-bye, Brett (I wish)

Brett. Brett. Brett.

He can’t help himself. I know. Still, it’s unseemly for Brett Favre to be damning his Green Bay successor with faint praise.

In case you missed it, Favre said he wasn't surprised Aaron Rodgers won this year’s Super Bowl, adding “the biggest surprise to me would be that he didn't do it sooner” and that Rodgers “just kind of fell into a good situation.”

Of course, Brett, one of the reasons Rodgers didn’t “do it sooner” was that you wouldn’t leave the stage.

On the other hand, now that I consider it, Rodgers won a Super Bowl in his third year as a starter. You, Brett, won a Super Bowl in your fifth year as a starter.

Rodgers being Rodgers, he deftly deflected Favre’s implied criticism.

“I'm just going to say that I was really proud of our team," Rodgers said. "It takes 53 guys to win a championship and we had the right recipe last year and we're trying to do the same thing this season.”

Ultimately, Rodgers may have more success than Favre. Or me may not. But the question of who has more class is already decided.

Friday column: Tragedy doesn’t always have the last word

In the last few days I’ve been thinking about healing.

The thoughts began with seeing photos of 6-year-old Cooper Stone visiting Rangers Ballpark in Arlington, Texas, where his father fell to his death July 7.

You remember: Cooper had watched as his father, Shannon, reached for a ball thrown into the stands by Cooper’s favorite player, Josh Hamilton, only to lose his balance and fall to concrete 20 feet below.

Shannon kept consciousness long enough to ask people to look out for his son; then he died.

Less than three months later, Cooper returned to the park to throw out the ceremonial first pitch before Texas’ playoff opener with Tampa Bay. He threw it, of course, to Hamilton.

Hamilton grappled with what to say to Cooper and his mother, Jenny, but the right words came — providentially.

“I’m not good with speeches,” Hamilton said. “Not good with knowing what I’m going to say before. Because I rehearse it too much and it don’t sound genuine.

“So I just kind of let it happen. It worked out good. … You could tell she was really emotional about coming back to the park,” Hamilton said about Jenny.

“The little one, he’s young enough where he understands but at the same time it’s not as emotional for him as it is mom.”

One has the feeling that Jenny went through the experience of visiting the place her husband died for Cooper’s sake.

“They have turned a difficult return to The Ballpark into a once-in-a-lifetime experience for Cooper,” she said in a statement. “Nothing could be more exciting for a boy than throwing out the first pitch to his favourite player.”

Healing is a process, a journey — often a long one — but from the look on Cooper’s face in The Associated Press photos of the day, it appears that at least that journey has begun.

To see the photos, go over to Newser.com, find the sports category (under “more”) and scroll down to the story. It’s worth your time.

And it’s worth your time to find a recent Religion News Service story about Terri Roberts.

If the name doesn’t ring a bell, try that of Charlie Roberts, her son.

If that doesn’t do it, try 10 Amish schoolgirls shot in Nickel Mines, Pa., in 2006.

Charlie was the shooter.

Three girls died at the scene, two more died the next day. Five were seriously injured. After shooting the girls, Charlie killed himself.

In a suicide note, the 32-year-old said he was angry at God for the miscarriage of his first child.

I bet you remember this: The response of the Amish community was exemplary, amazing, gracious — pick your adjective.

A grandfather of a murdered girl told his pastor, “We must not think evil of this man.”

Within hours of the tragedy, an Amish neighbor went to the home of Charlie’s parents to comfort Terri and her husband, Chuck. Dozens of Amish neighbors attended Charlie’s funeral.

The Religion News Service story tells of the Robertses’ response to that kindness.

Three months after the shooting, Charlie’s parents began visiting the victims and their families, and Terri started inviting the surviving girls and their mothers to picnics and tea parties at her home.

Think of that.

And they came. Think of that.

Then Terri found the nerve, the heart, the — pick your adjective — to begin visiting Rosanna King, the most damaged of the survivors of her son’s rampage.

Terri, the story says, bathes and talks to the paralyzed girl weekly, brushes her hair and sings hymns.

The story continues: “After the first few visits, Terri cried all the way home. ‘Lord, I can’t do this,’ she said. But she went back the next week, and the next.”

Pain — off-the-chart pain — all the way around.

I’m not naïve enough to think that emotional healing, let alone the beginning of emotional healing, takes away all pain. But with so many things, people, situations today appearing beyond healing, I find it healing to simply see it in progress.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Friday column: New York’s Reyes loses by the way he won

Ted Williams was a difficult character. Prideful and touchy.

Prickly, you could say.

This attitude — some of which probably stemmed from a childhood that was less than nurturing — resulted in a fractious relationship with reporters and columnists, whom he sneeringly referred to as “knights of the keyboard.”

That, in turn, cost him some major awards voted on by said “knights,” who questioned Williams’ commitment to the defensive side of the game and his commitment to team.

But no one — not even his press box prosecutors — questioned Williams’ courage, not after his service as a naval aviator in World War II and Korea.

Williams showed his guts on the baseball field, too, most notably on Sept. 28, 1941.

Williams entered the day with a batting average of .3996. As that would be rounded out to .400 and make Williams the first hitter to achieve that lofty mark since 1924, manager Joe Cronin suggested his left fielder sit out the season’s final day, a doubleheader against the Philadelphia Athletics.

“Teddy Ballgame” back into a .400 average? Not bloody likely.

“If I can’t hit .400 all the way,” Williams said, “I don’t deserve it.”

Williams played — both games — going 6-for-8 to finish at .406.
Fast forward precisely 70 years.

Going into the last day of the regular season, Mets shortstop Jose Reyes isn’t flirting with .400, but he does have a very slight lead over Ryan Braun in the National League batting race.

So he conceives a stratagem: Get a hit in his first at-bat, then leave the game for a pinch runner. That way, Braun will have to go 3-for-3 or 3-for-4 to beat him for the Silver Bat.

Reyes gets manager Terry Collins’ approval and executes his plan perfectly, dumping a bunt single down the third-base line in the first inning, then heading for the dugout — and infamy.

The first indication of the response Reyes would get came in the form of boos from his own fans, many of whom came to the game — meaningless in terms of the standings — to see the star shortstop play.

Reyes’ reaction to the hubbub was predictable for a professional athlete who’s just used very poor judgment: The fans have to understand the situation, he said, and, in any case, he “doesn’t care what anyone says.”

Which is good to know. That being the case, let me say the following: Reyes’ move was nothing short of gutless, and one that he will come to regret.

Furthermore, the move by necessity involved his manager’s cooperation, and now Collins, too, is tainted.

Yes, Collins could have told his 28-year-old star to man up, could even have told the story of Williams and .406, but it is a rare skipper who would question the cojones of a soon-to-be free agent whom he hopes will re-sign with his team.

It is said that comparisons are invidious; perhaps, but they certainly are inevitable. Reyes and Williams’ names are now inextricably linked.

Reyes will get his Silver Bat, but it will come with an asterisk. In baseball’s record book, the keystroke will be invisible — but perfectly readable all the same.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com. The Anti-Fan will be moving to Sundays in November.