http://childpsychiatryassociates.com/?gf_page=upload Trump doesn’t want to talk about Epstein, so he’s talking about football.

This week, the president demanded the Washington Commanders reclaim their old slur of a name: the Redskins. He even threatened to block a multi-billion-dollar stadium deal in D.C. unless the team complied—an absurd flex from a man with zero control over the land, the league, or reality.

It wasn’t just the NFL. Trump also dragged the Cleveland Guardians into the fray, saying they too should revert to the Indians. A two-for-one culture war special, served up just as Epstein’s name started crawling back into headlines.

This is a familiar playbook: flood the zone with outrage, shout about patriotism, heritage, and the “real America”—anything to redirect the national gaze. This time, he’s banking on the public arguing over a team name while he ducks scrutiny over what exactly he knew—and when—about Jeffrey Epstein’s empire of abuse.

The distraction is transparent. The Epstein files are back, and MAGA influencers are starting to ask dangerous questions. The pressure’s mounting, even from his own base. So Trump pivots—loudly, clumsily—to mascots.

And not for the first time. Remember his 2020 “Save the Suburbs” fear campaign? Same formula. Stir white grievance, flash red meat, and hope no one notices the rot behind the curtain. This week’s stunt was so blunt it bordered on parody.

Worse, Trump tried to wield federal leverage he doesn’t have. The RFK Stadium land deal is a local issue, and D.C. leaders made clear they won’t be bullied.

But accuracy has never been the point. Optics are. Headlines are. And he’s getting both.

He even claimed Native Americans “want the name back,” ignoring the dozens of tribal leaders who’ve called “Redskins” a racial slur rooted in blood money. Trump doesn’t care. Truth has never been a prerequisite for outrage—only volume.

Still, this gambit has a short shelf life. The NFL isn’t budging. The Guardians aren’t blinking. And every time Trump plays the culture war card, the Epstein question only grows louder: Why is the president so desperate to change the subject?

Maybe because the real scandal—the one without jerseys—is too close for comfort.

He’s not fighting for a name; he’s fighting to bury another.

Turns out, going full MAGA might be good for a few clicks—but not for business.

Dr. Phil McGraw, once the mustachioed therapist turned daytime juggernaut, is learning a hard lesson about politics and pocketbooks: when you throw your chips behind MAGA, you better know the house always loses eventually.

His media company, Merit Street Media, filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy just a year after its launch, following a very public pivot into right-wing infotainment.

Billed as a “common-sense” alternative to mainstream media, the venture pushed a familiar cocktail: grievance, fear, anti-woke posturing, and a steady flirtation with authoritarian-adjacent messaging. It rode the Trumpian wave with vigor—and sank just as fast.

And so it goes.

It’s not the first time a celebrity has attempted to surf the MAGA wave into relevance. Roseanne tried. Kanye tried. Tim Allen keeps one foot in the water.

The right-wing grift economy is real—just ask the folks who rake in millions from outrage podcasts, donation-funded “documentaries,” or “patriot survival kits.” But there’s a difference between feeding the machine and being consumed by it.

Dr. Phil didn’t just wink at the base. He jumped in with both boots and a Texas drawl. Gone were the days of pseudo-therapy and stage-managed family drama. In came “citizen journalism,” culture war crusading, and lawsuits.

One year later, his network is insolvent, his credibility further eroded, and his Trump-aligned audience already moving on to the next firebrand with a microphone.

Why does this keep happening? Why does “going full MAGA” burn so hot and crash so hard?

Because MAGA is not a political movement—it’s a bonfire of anger. It is fueled by fury, sustained by delusion, and hostile to the concept of loyalty. Even its most visible mouthpieces aren’t safe: Tucker Carlson was exiled. Candace Owens is skating on ever-thinner ice. Donald Trump, the movement’s deity, routinely torches his most devoted allies when they dare to eclipse him in relevance.

What makes the movement dangerous isn’t just its politics—it’s the totality it demands. You don’t get to be “a little MAGA.” You’re either in the cult or out of the frame.

And that’s the problem for those like Dr. Phil, who mistake mass appeal for mass approval. MAGA doesn’t want thoughtful discussion. It wants bloodsport. Once you’ve fed the beast, it expects dinner every night.

The media graveyard is littered with those who tried to ride the lightning. Glenn Beck’s TheBlaze crashed. Newsmax has shrunk. OANN was dropped by most cable providers. Even Fox News found itself under MAGA siege after the 2020 election. No amount of flag waving or fear-mongering could shield them from the wrath of a base conditioned to believe betrayal is inevitable.

And betrayal cuts both ways. When your audience sees nuance as weakness, bankruptcy is just another form of apostasy.

Phil will likely rebrand. He’s already talking about a comeback—another media company, another swing at citizen-powered content. But the numbers don’t lie: MAGA may be loud, but it’s not loyal. It’ll cheer while you torch the institutions, then vanish when you start to sink.

Grievance may sell for a while—but it rarely pays the bills.