My open letter to Bill O'Reilly on his invitation to the terrorists:
Hey Bill!
I thought about you today as I was coaching my son's soccer game on the Marina Green here in San Francisco. You should have been here, Bill. A bright, breezy November Saturday morning, the sails cutting across the blue bay, the Golden Gate Bridge glowing in the soft November light.
Hey Bill!
I thought about you today as I was coaching my son's soccer game on the Marina Green here in San Francisco. You should have been here, Bill. A bright, breezy November Saturday morning, the sails cutting across the blue bay, the Golden Gate Bridge glowing in the soft November light.
The kids were having a great time. All ten fields on the Green were full. Dozens of seven and eight-year-olds were skipping, running, kicking, hollering, laughing. Behind them I watched that great red bridge and the occasional freighter churn its way to some port down the bay, bringing cars or fruit or computers made in China or what-all.
Who knows? We're a busy port of call for all the world. Always have been. Everybody loves San Francisco. We welcome all of them.
What a place, I thought. What a great, great place to be.
And then I thought: Bill O'Reilly wants to blow us up.
I watched the little boys kick the soccer ball and took in the sails on the blue water and felt the warm November air.
And then I thought again: Bill O'Reilly invited Al Queda to come and blow us into bits.
There was some commotion on the field. The goalie was hurt, so I switched in my own son, seven years old, big blue eyes and soft brown hair, a bright smile and a sweet disposition. He looked good, manning the crease, waiting for the next rush from the other side.
And then I thought: Bill O'Reilly says to hateful zealots: come kill my boy.
Bill, he's a good kid. He's really sweet. He plays hard on the soccer field; loves the struggle. But he always says "good game" to the other team after it's over and he never plays dirty.
Like I said: he's a good boy.
So my question is this: why do you want Al Qaeda to kill him, Bill? I'm trying to understand, but I just can't.
I get that you were being all "I'm a tough talking right wing enforcer dude and I'm giving my listeners another reason to hate people who don't think just exactly like they do." Honestly, I do understand who pays your salary and that Rupert Murdoch wants you to stir up resentment and anger among your listeners.
You earn that big paycheck he gives you, that's for sure.
But you invited the enemy to come blow my sweet boy into bits.
And then I thought: this is the symbol of how wrong this country has gone. It's not Bush. He's just a stupid rich boy who got in over his head. That's an old story: Fools have often been elected.
No, Bush is just a president. But you, Bill, you're much more: that such a twisted, perverted, hateful son-of-a-bitch as you could be celebrated and enriched in this time and in this country is the perfect symbol of what conservative zealotry has done to the U.S.A.
Congratulations, Bill: you will live in eternity.
Just like Goebbles.
P.S. And my sweet little boy? You invited religious zealots to kill him, Bill. Am I supposed to put up with that?
I don't think so. You wouldn't respect me if I did. So let me just add that, should you ever come within my reach, you will regret that invitation.
I doubt, however, you ever will, so instead I will teach my boy, daily, what conservatives are and how they think, and you will be the example I use to instruct him in the hatefulness, stupidity, and anti-Americanism that conservatism stands for.
So you, Bill, you will be why he will never, ever vote Republican.
Thanks.