They’re selling these on the streets of Ramallah. What part of that message do we not understand?
WHAT THE BRITS REALLY CARE ABOUT: Forget Bush. England won the World Cup … in rugby. I was brought up in a rugby-dominated high-school, forced to get beaten up in the grinding rain and endless mud each week until my joints turned blue and blood was constantly trickling out my nose. “It builds character, Sullivan,” they would insist. And, now, as my body still reflects the early bruising, I have an 18 inch neck, and cracked rear teeth. I was hooker most of time, dead in the middle of scrum (no giggles in the back, please). You need a strong necy to prevent your head from snapping off. Every now and again, you’d hear that had happened to some poor schmo somewhere. But you pressed on and prayed for the feel of a warmish shower. It was hell. But I still like it when England wins. Congrats, Dad. My dad was captain of the local town team in Rugby. He figured early on that I was hardly going to live up to his dreams of a son scoring the winning try for England, but he seems to have gotten over it. He told me yesterday that an estimated 42 million pints of beer were consumed in England during the two hours or so of the final (including extra time). And the game started at 9 am in Britain. That’s what you call a weekend.
BUSH’S PROTECTIONISM: Dan Drezner is right to worry.
The Dish 