Awww, and we were doing so good.
Like, really good. Maybe even Snausage good. 
And then we took our eyes off the ball. Or rather, we became hypnotized and paralyzed by the spinning ball atop Curly Neal’s finger as he juked by for an easy layup.
After all, what are we in the news media if not a reiteration of the Washington Generals, the hapless team that squares off against The Harlem Globetrotters? And while Donald Trump has no certifiable skills yet discovered by science, we still went for his head fake last week — the claim that he’s been taking Hydroxychloroquine for a couple weeks now.
Before that tumble, we had been near-noble against a high tide of proud oblivion. The 24/7s (at least those not named Fox von Foxington) had managed to feature real scientists in a pandemic. We looked to Johns Hopkins for death tolls, hot spots and steps to protect ourselves.
Sure, Trumptards proudly donned bacterial suicide vests, threw away their own masks and demanded that the public be gathered for target practice. Some drank aquarium cleaner on the advice of Dr. Bone Spurs. But that’s Darwin and America: Ignorance is not only deadly bliss, it’s guaranteed in our Bill of Rights.
Then May 18 happened. What’s most puzzling about the media reaction to Trump’s allegation is that it broke the only two Commandments of News:
- It must be true. Minutes after the hydroxy stunt, the 24/7s nearly trampled each other to get doctors on-air, urging people to not take the Tide Pod Challenge to fight coronavirus.
It’s one thing to warn the public about the president’s quack recommendations. But Donnie simply claimed it as a personal practice. If he’d said he uses peanut butter to treat hemorrhoids, would we have doctors urging people to not salve their anuses with Extra Crunchy Skippy? 
When people die from overdosing on a malaria drug (does anyone doubt they will?), the deaths will be at the feet of those who reported Trump’s unproven claim as true.
Imagine, for a second, that president Kool-Aid said he’d paid $45 in taxes in 2015 — a figure that’s probably $45 more than he did. Would we scurry to get financial experts on TV to talk about the broken tax system? Or serve up lectures on the dangers of income gaps?
Of course not. We’d demand to see the W-2s, as we know we can trust the dimwit as far as we can spit. We should admit we went for the easy story, one that simply complained about what a dumbass Trump is. THAT may be true. But can we say the same for any of the words that spew from his oddly-pursed lips?
To abridge Tom Waits, we went for the free cheddar in the mousetrap, and got snapped.
2. It must be news. This one is trickier, and we often confuse “Fake” with “Non.” Even the word “news” is subjective. One man’s trash, and all that.
But this we can say, unequivocally: The man has tried to peddle at least 13 major products onto Americans, nearly all with some degree of failure. From steaks to board games to universities to vodka, the man doesn’t endorse anything in which he doesn’t have an investment. How much has Trump staked in hydroxy?
Now that’s a news story.
And consider the timing of the “admission.” His Secretary of State, Mike Pompeo, is the president’s un-indicted dealer in arms sales to the Saudis, the flying wedge against allegations of Russian meddling, and the index finger of Trump’s conspiracy claim that China weaponized the virus in a lab. 
But Mike Pompeo doesn’t sell. Panic porn does.
It’s not too late to get out of the dog house. A presidential election may be arriving in November. We should have enough time to prove we’ve learned to go poo-poo outside.
