Singer-songwriter Huey Lewis on seeing his songs come to life on stageSinger-songwriter Huey Lewis joins "CBS Mornings" to talk about his new Broadway musical, "The Heart of Rock and Roll," and working through hearing loss.
The Important Reason Why Woman Recorded Dog Waiting for Dad to Come Home"He will always be waiting on him to come home," the pet owner's fiancée told Newsweek.
New Margaritaville opens in Cape Cod this summer, shaking localsSet to open in Hyannis this summer, what was once known as the Cape Codder will become Margaritaville's first foray into New England.
The Comstock Act, the long-dead law Trump could use to ban abortion, explained WASHINGTON, DC - JANUARY 24: U.S. President Donald Trump speaks at the 47th March For Life rally on the National Mall, January 24, 2019 in Washington, DC. The Right to Life Campaign held its annual March For Life rally and march to the U.S. Supreme Court protesting the high court's 1973 Roe V. Wade decision making abortion legal. (Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images) Donald Trump is speaking out of both sides of his mouth on abortion. On the one hand, Trump frequently claims credit for the Supreme Court’s decision eliminating the constitutional right to an abortion — and well he should, since the three Republicans he appointed to the Supreme Court all joined the Court’s 2022 decision permitting abortion bans. As Trump told Fox News last summer, “I did something that no one thought was possible. I got rid of Roe v. Wade.” At the same time, Trump at least claims that he has no interest in signing new federal legislation banning abortion. When a reporter asked Trump if he would sign such a ban last month, Trump’s answer was an explicit “no.” Behind the scenes, however, many of Trump’s closest allies tout a plan to ban abortion in all 50 states that doesn’t require any new federal legislation whatsoever. The linchpin of this plan is the Comstock Act, a long-defunct, 1873 law that, among other things, purports to ban “any drug, medicine, article, or thing designed, adapted, or intended for producing abortion” from being mailed or otherwise transported by an “express company” such as UPS or FedEx. Anyone who violates this law faces up to five years in prison — and the maximum sentence doubles for repeat offenders. Thus, anyone who delivers an abortion medication, or any device used in a surgical abortion, could potentially face such extraordinary sanctions that the transit of such goods would shut down. Many of the leading proponents of using Comstock to ban all abortions, moreover, are likely to be very influential within a second Trump administration, if such a thing occurs. The Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025, for example, touts enforcing Comstock to ban abortion medication in its 920-page mega-white paper outlining policies for Trump. Similarly, Jonathan Mitchell, one of Trump’s personal lawyers and the architect of a Texas law that allows virtually anyone to collect bounties from abortion providers, bragged to the New York Times that “we don’t need a federal ban when we have Comstock on the books.” There are very strong legal arguments that Comstock cannot actually be used to effectively ban abortion, at least in places where abortion is legal. The law has not been seriously enforced for nearly a century, and a long line of court decisions stretching back to at least 1915 have read the Comstock Act narrowly to prevent it from being used as a general ban on all abortions. Still, these precedents are only meaningful if the Supreme Court chooses to follow them, and betting on the same justices who overruled Roe to honor previous pro-abortion decisions is always a dangerous bet. It will get even more dangerous if Trump gets to appoint more justices. And, even if the Court ultimately decided to follow past decisions reading Comstock narrowly, months or years would likely pass between the Trump Justice Department’s decision to file criminal charges under the Comstock Act, and a Supreme Court decision halting that prosecution. In the interim, few, if any, distributors of medications and medical supplies are likely to risk shipping anything that could lead to themselves being prosecuted. So, while there is a fair amount of uncertainty about whether a second Trump administration could permanently shut down all legal abortions in the United States by enforcing the Comstock Act, it is likely that, at the very least, a Trump Justice Department could shut down abortion care for months or even years while the courts were sorting out what to do with Comstock prosecutions. So where does the Comstock Act come from? The Comstock Act is a relic, not just of a more prudish era in American history, but of an age when the sort of individual rights that modern Americans take for granted effectively did not exist. Much of the law is unconstitutionally vague. It purports to make it a crime to mail “every obscene, lewd, lascivious, indecent, filthy or vile article, matter, thing, device, or substance,” for “any indecent or immoral purpose.” Comstock and similar laws inspired a century of litigation just to determine what the word “obscene” means, and it’s anyone’s guess which items are “lewd,” “filthy,” or “vile.” Similarly, the law imposes a strict censorship code, targeting any “writing” that can be used “for any indecent or immoral purpose” — a provision that violates any plausible understanding of the First Amendment right to free speech. The Comstock Act’s namesake is Anthony Comstock, a 19th-century anti-vice crusader who wielded it and similar state laws against artists, authors, and reproductive health providers as indiscriminately as he wielded it against actual pornographers. Comstock once successfully brought criminal charges against an art gallery owner for selling reproductions of famous nude paintings. He also bragged, after a woman he arrested for selling contraceptive pills died by suicide, that she was the 15th person targeted by one of his investigations to take her own life. The censorious values that produced the Comstock Act, in other words, are quite alien to most modern-day Americans. The law stems from an era when women could not vote, when reproductive health care was far cruder and less reliable than it is today, and when Congress thought it was a good idea to ban books and fine art. Would today’s courts actually allow Comstock to be enforced against abortion providers? A 2022 memo by the Justice Department’s Office of Legal Counsel lays out the very strong case for reading the Comstock Act narrowly. This memo argues that the law does not prohibit mailing or otherwise transporting abortion medications “where the sender lacks the intent that the recipient of the drugs will use them unlawfully.” Thus, under the current Justice Department’s reading of the law, abortion-related materials may still be shipped to states where abortion is legal. They may also be shipped if the sender is unaware that the recipient intends to use the item for an illegal purpose. As the memo notes, federal appeals courts have held for more than a century that the Comstock Act should not be read as a general ban on shipping any abortion-related item. In Bours v. United States (1915), for example, the United States Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit held that the law must be given a “reasonable construction” to permit physicians to advertise in the mail that they will perform a lifesaving abortion. Later decisions read the law even more narrowly. One of the seminal court decisions interpreting the Comstock Act, the hilariously named Second Circuit decision in United States v. One Package of Japanese Pessaries (1936), held that the law only applies when someone ships an item intending it to be used for an illegal purpose. The Comstock Act, One Package concluded, “was not to prevent the importation, sale, or carriage by mail of things which might intelligently be employed by conscientious and competent physicians for the purpose of saving life or promoting the well being of their patients.” Accordingly, the court ruled that the statute must only be read to target “unlawful” activity. Though the Supreme Court never explicitly embraced the reasoning of Bours or One Package, that’s most likely because the Court’s constitutional decisions rendered the Comstock Act irrelevant for many decades. The Court’s decisions in Griswold v. Connecticut (1965) and Eisenstadt v. Baird (1972) established a constitutional right to contraception, thus preventing Comstock from being used to target birth control. And Roe, of course, until very recently prevented the government from banning abortion. Nevertheless, there are powerful legal arguments supporting the proposition that cases like One Package remain good law today and should prevent nearly any prosecution under the Comstock Act. As the Justice Department notes in its memo, the Postal Service “accepted the courts’ narrowing construction of the Act in administrative rulings, and it informed Congress of the agency’s acceptance of that construction” when Congress amended the law after Griswold to largely remove its provisions targeting contraception. Ordinarily, when Congress amends a law that has been consistently interpreted in a particular way by the courts, Congress is understood to ratify the courts’ reading of that law. As the Supreme Court held in Texas Department of Housing and Community Affairs v. Inclusive Communities Project (2015), “if a word or phrase has been … given a uniform interpretation by inferior courts … a later version of that act perpetuating the wording is presumed to carry forward that interpretation.” Many states, meanwhile, apply a doctrine known as “desuetude” to criminal laws that remain on the books, but that haven’t actually been used for a very long time. As the West Virginia Supreme Court said in a 1992 opinion, “a law prohibiting some act that has not given rise to a real prosecution in 20 years is unfair to the one person selectively prosecuted under it.” That said, this same West Virginia opinion also warned that the desuetude doctrine does not encompass particularly reprehensible acts — “if no one had been prosecuted under an obscure statute prohibiting ax murders since Lizzie Borden was acquitted, we would still allow prosecution under that statute today” — so even if the US Supreme Court were inclined to embrace this doctrine, the Republican-controlled Court might look upon abortion as morally similar to murder. Ultimately, in other words, the fate of a Comstock prosecution is not likely to rest upon whether Congress ratified One Package, or on whether there is legal support for the proposition that long-defunct criminal laws cease to function. The Supreme Court is made up of political appointees, some of whom are quite willing to ignore the law to achieve partisan goals, and the only way to definitely shut down Comstock prosecutions is to convince a majority of the justices to do so. Many Republican judges, meanwhile, have been quite willing to revive long-dead abortion bans now that Roe is no longer around. Just last month, for example, Arizona’s Supreme Court reinstated a Civil War era ban on abortions — although the state legislature quickly moved to repeal that ban. All of which is a long way of saying that the current status of the Comstock Act is highly uncertain, and will depend on who sits on the Supreme Court if and when the Justice Department decides to bring a prosecution under this law. And, even in the best-case scenario, if a future Justice Department is willing to do so, the mere threat of a Comstock prosecution is likely to shut down access to abortion pills (and potentially to surgical equipment used to perform abortions) throughout the country.
The Comstock Act, the long-dead law Trump could use to ban abortion, explained WASHINGTON, DC - JANUARY 24: U.S. President Donald Trump speaks at the 47th March For Life rally on the National Mall, January 24, 2019 in Washington, DC. The Right to Life Campaign held its annual March For Life rally and march to the U.S. Supreme Court protesting the high court's 1973 Roe V. Wade decision making abortion legal. (Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images) Donald Trump is speaking out of both sides of his mouth on abortion. On the one hand, Trump frequently claims credit for the Supreme Court’s decision eliminating the constitutional right to an abortion — and well he should, since the three Republicans he appointed to the Supreme Court all joined the Court’s 2022 decision permitting abortion bans. As Trump told Fox News last summer, “I did something that no one thought was possible. I got rid of Roe v. Wade.” At the same time, Trump at least claims that he has no interest in signing new federal legislation banning abortion. When a reporter asked Trump if he would sign such a ban last month, Trump’s answer was an explicit “no.” Behind the scenes, however, many of Trump’s closest allies tout a plan to ban abortion in all 50 states that doesn’t require any new federal legislation whatsoever. The linchpin of this plan is the Comstock Act, a long-defunct, 1873 law that, among other things, purports to ban “any drug, medicine, article, or thing designed, adapted, or intended for producing abortion” from being mailed or otherwise transported by an “express company” such as UPS or FedEx. Anyone who violates this law faces up to five years in prison — and the maximum sentence doubles for repeat offenders. Thus, anyone who delivers an abortion medication, or any device used in a surgical abortion, could potentially face such extraordinary sanctions that the transit of such goods would shut down. Many of the leading proponents of using Comstock to ban all abortions, moreover, are likely to be very influential within a second Trump administration, if such a thing occurs. The Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025, for example, touts enforcing Comstock to ban abortion medication in its 920-page mega-white paper outlining policies for Trump. Similarly, Jonathan Mitchell, one of Trump’s personal lawyers and the architect of a Texas law that allows virtually anyone to collect bounties from abortion providers, bragged to the New York Times that “we don’t need a federal ban when we have Comstock on the books.” There are very strong legal arguments that Comstock cannot actually be used to effectively ban abortion, at least in places where abortion is legal. The law has not been seriously enforced for nearly a century, and a long line of court decisions stretching back to at least 1915 have read the Comstock Act narrowly to prevent it from being used as a general ban on all abortions. Still, these precedents are only meaningful if the Supreme Court chooses to follow them, and betting on the same justices who overruled Roe to honor previous pro-abortion decisions is always a dangerous bet. It will get even more dangerous if Trump gets to appoint more justices. And, even if the Court ultimately decided to follow past decisions reading Comstock narrowly, months or years would likely pass between the Trump Justice Department’s decision to file criminal charges under the Comstock Act, and a Supreme Court decision halting that prosecution. In the interim, few, if any, distributors of medications and medical supplies are likely to risk shipping anything that could lead to themselves being prosecuted. So, while there is a fair amount of uncertainty about whether a second Trump administration could permanently shut down all legal abortions in the United States by enforcing the Comstock Act, it is likely that, at the very least, a Trump Justice Department could shut down abortion care for months or even years while the courts were sorting out what to do with Comstock prosecutions. So where does the Comstock Act come from? The Comstock Act is a relic, not just of a more prudish era in American history, but of an age when the sort of individual rights that modern Americans take for granted effectively did not exist. Much of the law is unconstitutionally vague. It purports to make it a crime to mail “every obscene, lewd, lascivious, indecent, filthy or vile article, matter, thing, device, or substance,” for “any indecent or immoral purpose.” Comstock and similar laws inspired a century of litigation just to determine what the word “obscene” means, and it’s anyone’s guess which items are “lewd,” “filthy,” or “vile.” Similarly, the law imposes a strict censorship code, targeting any “writing” that can be used “for any indecent or immoral purpose” — a provision that violates any plausible understanding of the First Amendment right to free speech. The Comstock Act’s namesake is Anthony Comstock, a 19th-century anti-vice crusader who wielded it and similar state laws against artists, authors, and reproductive health providers as indiscriminately as he wielded it against actual pornographers. Comstock once successfully brought criminal charges against an art gallery owner for selling reproductions of famous nude paintings. He also bragged, after a woman he arrested for selling contraceptive pills died by suicide, that she was the 15th person targeted by one of his investigations to take her own life. The censorious values that produced the Comstock Act, in other words, are quite alien to most modern-day Americans. The law stems from an era when women could not vote, when reproductive health care was far cruder and less reliable than it is today, and when Congress thought it was a good idea to ban books and fine art. Would today’s courts actually allow Comstock to be enforced against abortion providers? A 2022 memo by the Justice Department’s Office of Legal Counsel lays out the very strong case for reading the Comstock Act narrowly. This memo argues that the law does not prohibit mailing or otherwise transporting abortion medications “where the sender lacks the intent that the recipient of the drugs will use them unlawfully.” Thus, under the current Justice Department’s reading of the law, abortion-related materials may still be shipped to states where abortion is legal. They may also be shipped if the sender is unaware that the recipient intends to use the item for an illegal purpose. As the memo notes, federal appeals courts have held for more than a century that the Comstock Act should not be read as a general ban on shipping any abortion-related item. In Bours v. United States (1915), for example, the United States Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit held that the law must be given a “reasonable construction” to permit physicians to advertise in the mail that they will perform a lifesaving abortion. Later decisions read the law even more narrowly. One of the seminal court decisions interpreting the Comstock Act, the hilariously named Second Circuit decision in United States v. One Package of Japanese Pessaries (1936), held that the law only applies when someone ships an item intending it to be used for an illegal purpose. The Comstock Act, One Package concluded, “was not to prevent the importation, sale, or carriage by mail of things which might intelligently be employed by conscientious and competent physicians for the purpose of saving life or promoting the well being of their patients.” Accordingly, the court ruled that the statute must only be read to target “unlawful” activity. Though the Supreme Court never explicitly embraced the reasoning of Bours or One Package, that’s most likely because the Court’s constitutional decisions rendered the Comstock Act irrelevant for many decades. The Court’s decisions in Griswold v. Connecticut (1965) and Eisenstadt v. Baird (1972) established a constitutional right to contraception, thus preventing Comstock from being used to target birth control. And Roe, of course, until very recently prevented the government from banning abortion. Nevertheless, there are powerful legal arguments supporting the proposition that cases like One Package remain good law today and should prevent nearly any prosecution under the Comstock Act. As the Justice Department notes in its memo, the Postal Service “accepted the courts’ narrowing construction of the Act in administrative rulings, and it informed Congress of the agency’s acceptance of that construction” when Congress amended the law after Griswold to largely remove its provisions targeting contraception. Ordinarily, when Congress amends a law that has been consistently interpreted in a particular way by the courts, Congress is understood to ratify the courts’ reading of that law. As the Supreme Court held in Texas Department of Housing and Community Affairs v. Inclusive Communities Project (2015), “if a word or phrase has been … given a uniform interpretation by inferior courts … a later version of that act perpetuating the wording is presumed to carry forward that interpretation.” Many states, meanwhile, apply a doctrine known as “desuetude” to criminal laws that remain on the books, but that haven’t actually been used for a very long time. As the West Virginia Supreme Court said in a 1992 opinion, “a law prohibiting some act that has not given rise to a real prosecution in 20 years is unfair to the one person selectively prosecuted under it.” That said, this same West Virginia opinion also warned that the desuetude doctrine does not encompass particularly reprehensible acts — “if no one had been prosecuted under an obscure statute prohibiting ax murders since Lizzie Borden was acquitted, we would still allow prosecution under that statute today” — so even if the US Supreme Court were inclined to embrace this doctrine, the Republican-controlled Court might look upon abortion as morally similar to murder. Ultimately, in other words, the fate of a Comstock prosecution is not likely to rest upon whether Congress ratified One Package, or on whether there is legal support for the proposition that long-defunct criminal laws cease to function. The Supreme Court is made up of political appointees, some of whom are quite willing to ignore the law to achieve partisan goals, and the only way to definitely shut down Comstock prosecutions is to convince a majority of the justices to do so. Many Republican judges, meanwhile, have been quite willing to revive long-dead abortion bans now that Roe is no longer around. Just last month, for example, Arizona’s Supreme Court reinstated a Civil War era ban on abortions — although the state legislature quickly moved to repeal that ban. All of which is a long way of saying that the current status of the Comstock Act is highly uncertain, and will depend on who sits on the Supreme Court if and when the Justice Department decides to bring a prosecution under this law. And, even in the best-case scenario, if a future Justice Department is willing to do so, the mere threat of a Comstock prosecution is likely to shut down access to abortion pills (and potentially to surgical equipment used to perform abortions) throughout the country.
I lost my life savings to a Tinder swindler in $22K crypto scam — and ‘feel ridiculous’“It was my whole life savings which I inherited off my grandad - it’s left me totally distraught," she said.
Food fight at restaurant runs deeper for family than just one night out: 'Think carefully'Writing on Reddit, a man described a family feud over dining and tipping practices. The relationship drama has drawn in over 1,200 reactions, with some telling the young man to tread carefully.
‘The Bachelorette’ star Ryan Sutter says wife Trista’s absence brought ‘questions’ and ‘worry’"The Bachelorette" star Ryan Sutter is happy to have his wife, Season 1 lead Trista Sutter, home, after he shared some very cryptic posts about her whereabouts on social media.
Dare to bare: 24 of the world's best nude beachesFrom big-city bays to secluded shores, there are hundreds of beaches where you can legally frolic while naked. If you're so inclined, strip off that bathing suit and enjoy 24 of the best nude beaches around the world.
Dare to bare: 24 of the world's best nude beachesFrom big-city bays to secluded shores, there are hundreds of beaches where you can legally frolic while naked. If you're so inclined, strip off that bathing suit and enjoy 24 of the best nude beaches around the world.
Watch as Toddler Is 'Full Comatose' Asleep—Until His Favorite Song Comes onIt doesn't matter where Maverick is, or even if he's asleep, if he hears music start playing, he's just "got to be moving."
Who is Chase Oliver and What Are Libertarian Candidate's Views?Oliver has won the Libertarian Party's presidential nomination for the 2024 election.
Sports Church With Pat McAfeeThe Pat McAfee Show, hosted by the ex–NFL punter turned TV presenter, is the only program on ESPN that opens with a warning label. It was one of the few concessions McAfee made to his new Disney-owned employer when he brought his YouTube hit to the network in September in a five-year, $85 million deal. The label urges viewers to please bear in mind that the show is “meant to be comedic informative”—entertainment, in other words, not journalism—and that the often dopey opinions and sometimes false facts shared by him or his guests “do not necessarily reflect the beliefs” of anyone else at ESPN. The warning ends with a jokey plea: “Don’t sue us.”McAfee is an athlete, not a reporter, and when it comes to stuff like accuracy, he’s careful to set the bar very low. He has become the epitome of athlete encroachment on terrain historically controlled by nonathlete journalists, and to put it mildly, the journalists are not happy about it. McAfee couldn’t care less.Pat McAfee’s influence is bigger than his audience. His hours-long show airs during TV’s midday dead zone, when most sports fans are at work or school. It averages just 332,000 live viewers on its linear broadcast, according to the most recent figures from ESPN, and factoring in other platforms like ESPN’s YouTube channel and TikTok, its daily audience tops out at just under 900,000—a fraction of the eight-figure viewership for Monday Night Football. But the numbers belie how much attention he gets for the more provocative things that are said on the show, including the dingbat views of the Jets quarterback and anti-vaxxer Aaron Rodgers. Airtime equals power, and no one at ESPN spends more time on air than Pat McAfee. From the moment he arrived, he’s arguably been the network’s most influential mouthpiece and indisputably its most polarizing.If you’re a newcomer to The Pat McAfee Show, it can be tough to follow. The show is filled with locker-room joshing delivered in the outer-Pittsburgh Yinzer accent of McAfee’s youth. It’s one of America’s more unsung regional accents, super fun to imitate, but McAfee and his supporting panel of regulars—even the ones who aren’t from Pittsburgh—lay it on so thick, you might need to consult an English-to-Yinzer dictionary. Teams win chompionships. Joe Flacco, the name of the aging Super Bowl–winning quarterback, is pronounced Jee-oh Flacc-kew. Even the ticker at the bottom of the screen has a Yinzer accent: Program is spelled “progrum.”[Keith O'Brien: You’ll miss sports journalism when it’s gone]Everyone observes a firm dress code: down. Way down. McAfee, who has bouffant hair that crests like a giant wave at Nazaré, prefers black tees and white tanks. Boston Connor, one of two members of McAfee’s peanut gallery known as the Toxic Table, has a porn ’stache, an intentional mullet, and an endless supply of animal-stencil T-shirts: wolves, lions, elephants, snow owls. He looks as though he saw Zach Galifianakis in The Hangover and thought to himself, That guy looks awesome. Ty Schmit, the other half of the Toxic Table, favors Green Bay Packers jerseys and University of Iowa hoodies. McAfee will often wrap up segments by leading all of them in a round of applause for themselves, like they just aced a tackling drill. “Good seg, good seg,” he’ll say.Watching an episode of The Pat McAfee Show is like attending mass at sports church. Since its inception in 2015 as a YouTube livecast on Barstool Sports and continuing through its move to ESPN, the show has been broadcast from an enormous studio–slash–home gymnasium dubbed “the Thunderdome” on McAfee’s property outside Indianapolis, the city where he spent eight seasons with the Colts as a punter. His guests all appear to be cast in his image—jocular white dudes with beards—only paler and softer of flesh. They’re not athletes, they’re not journalists, they’re not even particularly good on TV, and yet they’re on ESPN for 15 hours a week because they’re friends with McAfee. When he really gets rolling, his flock will join in with some call-and-response, but instead of crying out “Amen” or “Praise Jesus,” they belch out a loud WHADD. Roughly translated, it means “Damn right.”By the time McAfee retired unexpectedly from football at age 29 to concentrate full-time on The Pat McAfee Show, he’d made $15 million in the NFL, and according to the prevailing wisdom at the time, he was out of his mind to walk away from a job that paid him a fortune to kick a ball five or six times a game. In the NFL, though, kickers are marginal figures who get the spotlight only when they screw up. On The Pat McAfee Show, he’s the pope. He often describes himself as a “dumb punter” and his buddies on the show as “a collection of stooges,” but he’s far more shrewd than he lets on, and he proved it when he accepted ESPN’s offer. (He’s also a regular panelist on ESPN’s College GameDay, and a commentator for the WWE’s Monday Night Raw. McAfee might love pro wrestling even more than he loves football.)The men who watch The Pat McAfee Show—its audience is almost entirely male—share a lot in common with Pat McAfee. It’s on in the weight room at the team training complex (whadd), or in the living room at the fraternity house (whadd), or on the TV above the bar at Buffalo Wild Wings (whadd). It’s like background noise for committed sports fans. It’s not so much content as friendly company. His viewers aren’t watching McAfee’s progrum with focused attention, or for trenchant insights. They’re watching because of the easy camaraderie, because he and his pals are a quality hang, solid guys who like talking sports and crushing beers.In stark contrast with much of ESPN’s morning and daytime programming, with its fire-breathing takes and verbal warfare that 30 Rock once lampooned with a fake show called Sports Shouting, The Pat McAfee Show has very little conflict. No one’s arguing or talking over one another or putting guests on the spot. This is surely a big reason why so many notable sports figures are willing to come on the show.In April alone, McAfee hosted the women’s basketball phenom Caitlin Clark; the San Francisco 49ers quarterback Brock Purdy; UConn’s back-to-back national-champion head coach, Dan Hurley; and Major League Baseball’s top pitching prospect, Paul Skenes (better known to McAfee’s viewers as Livvy Dunne’s boyfriend). During last week’s NFL Draft, McAfee offered a reminder about why he’s so valuable to ESPN, booking a pair of coveted media-averse guests: the former New England Patriots head coach Bill Belichick and NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell. They feel comfortable letting down their guard around McAfee because he sees athletes, coaches, and the business of sports through the same prism that they do. ESPN may be paying his salary, but McAfee is clear about where his loyalties lie.Since McAfee joined ESPN, he’s given just one extended interview of his own, and it was to a popular podcast called All the Smoke hosted by the ex-NBA players Matt Barnes and Stephen Jackson, whom McAfee befriended during Jackson’s stint with the Indiana Pacers. McAfee doesn’t talk with journalists unless it’s on his show and he’s the one doing the interviewing, and they’re rarely invited. (He didn’t respond to my requests for an interview.) ESPN’s NFL correspondent and scoop machine Adam Schefter appears often, and the NBA reporter Brian Windhorst has dropped by during the playoffs—mostly to talk about the Pacers—but they’re exceptions. Almost from the jump, the suspicions between McAfee and ESPN journalists have been mutual.[Jemele Hill: Aaron Rodgers is lighting his football legacy on fire]When ESPN offered McAfee that $85 million, its parent company, Disney, was in the midst of corporate-wide layoffs. ESPN was hit particularly hard. Lots of people got fired to pay for McAfee. Yet upon arriving, McAfee sounded hurt that he didn’t get a warmer reception. Just four months after joining the network, he accused ESPN executives of “actively trying to sabotage” his show, and he called out one of them by name, the powerful event and studio production chief Norby Williamson. Williamson, McAfee said live on air, was “a rat.”It was a stunning moment—the kind of public airing of grievances that ESPN is renowned for not tolerating. Many past ESPN talents, such as Jemele Hill (now a writer for The Atlantic) and Bill Simmons, have been pushed out for far less. And yet McAfee suffered no consequences. No suspension, no public reprimand. Then, three months later, Williamson was fired. If any doubt remained about who had the power now at ESPN—the suits or the dumb punter—it vanished along with Williamson. McAfee could seemingly get away with anything, and then boast about it in public. Before Williamson got guillotined, McAfee bristled during his appearance on All the Smoke at the notion that he’d gone after one of his bosses: “I’m like, I don’t got a motherfucking boss! What are we … like, are we talking [ESPN Chairman] Jimmy Pitaro or [Disney CEO] Bob Iger? Is that who we’re talking about? Because those are people who could technically be described as my boss.”No relationship, though, better crystallizes the growing enmity between McAfee and ESPN’s news division than his continued indulgence of his good friend, the New York Jets quarterback, defiant anti-vaxxer, ayahuasca enthusiast—and, for a brief moment, Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s rumored running mate—Aaron Rodgers.On October 23, 2023, during one of his weekly appearances on The Pat McAfee Show, Rodgers took a veiled shot at the Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce, referring to Kelce as “Mr. Pfizer” for his participation in an awareness campaign urging people to get vaccinated against COVID. McAfee made sure to note on air that he was vaccinated, an implicit rejection of Rodgers’s position, but he didn’t challenge his friend about it and he expressed surprise afterward that anyone expected him to. That’s not the line of work he’s in, folks. He was just kibbitzing with his freethinking friend.Then on January 2, 2024, Rodgers shared on McAfee’s show a slanderous rumor about the late-night host Jimmy Kimmel and Jeffrey Epstein that deserves no repeating here. Kimmel’s show airs on ABC, which, like ESPN, is owned by Disney, meaning that McAfee had let his buddy use his platform to smear a co-worker. Kimmel responded angrily on X, calling Rodgers “a soft-brained wacko” and threatening to sue. This time, even McAfee seemed to know that Rodgers had gone too far. Later that day, he met with the only two people at Disney he recognizes as authority figures, Jimmy Pitaro and Bob Iger, then expressed contrition during his broadcast the next day. He chalked it up to “shit talk” gone awry and added, “We apologize for being part of it.” Once again, there was no evident discipline for McAfee. And a week later, Rodgers was right back on the show for his regular appearance, during which the quarterback notably did not apologize to Kimmel. (The next day, McAfee announced that Rodgers would not return to the program for the remainder of the NFL season, but no one seriously doubts that he’ll be back before the fall.)Two months later, CNN reported that Rodgers had, in private conversations, expressed suspicions that the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School was a government inside job. After Rodgers tweeted a denial—“I am not and have never been of the opinion that the events did not take place”—McAfee read it aloud on his show. “I’m happy to hear that,” McAfee said. “That is good news.” Anyone expecting McAfee to denounce his friend should’ve known better by then. [From the September 2013 issue: The global dominance of ESPN]On All the Smoke, after the Kimmel smear but before the Sandy Hook nonsense, McAfee shared that he’d lost sleep over his role in the Rodgers saga, saying, “Maybe I am fucking this up completely.” But he also offered a novel defense, which is that his relationship with Rodgers had enabled him to tease out a more honest and complete portrait of a historic figure in sports. “Whenever there’s documentaries made about Aaron Rodgers, they are going to use so much of our show,” he said. “Is that not journalism?”No. It is not. Journalism requires an active pursuit of the truth. This was more like stepping on a rake. He’s not completely wrong, though. We can debate forever the ethics of platforming public figures who say odious things, but it’s also true that Rodgers used to be considered among the more thoughtful, intellectually curious stars in the NFL. And now, thanks in no small measure to The Pat McAfee Show, we’ve heard enough of his self-satisfied, moronic bloviating to know better. April 5 had all the makings of a triumphant day for McAfee: Williamson had been fired in the morning, and the show would be broadcasting live from Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia, site of that weekend’s WrestleMania XL. Borrowing from the College GameDay script, McAfee likes to take his show on the road, and wherever he goes, he’s greeted by a brigade of fans packed behind his broadcast platform like thick stogies. This day, at least 20 percent of them had fake championship belts slung over their shoulders like they were Triple H. You could swap any of them for Boston Connor, and no one would notice for an hour, including Pat. “Mac-uh-fee!” they chanted. “Mac-uh-fee! Mac-uh-fee!” Right away, though, something went wrong. To viewers at home, nothing seemed amiss, but inside the arena, the sound wasn’t working. The fans couldn’t hear anything. McAfee didn’t realize until sound technicians started scrambling behind the podium, frantically working to rectify the situation. Now the crowd began a new chant: “We want speakers! We want speakers!” Minutes of airtime passed. McAfee’s mood soured. “Obviously a massive week in Philadelphia—we’ve got all these people staring at us, can’t hear a damn thing we’re saying,” he said. “One of the most uncomfortable situations I’ve ever been placed in in my entire life right now.” Every time he tried to move forward with the show, the crowd would cut him off and start chanting again, and now they were getting salty. “Bulllll-shiiiit! Bullll-shiiiit! Bulllshiiiit!”[Read: Sports streaming makes losers of us all]On TV, you could see the panic bleed into McAfee’s eyes as it dawned on him how bad this could get. This was a three-hour broadcast. If they started bringing out WWE legends and the sound still wasn’t fixed—folks, this was a wrestling crowd in Philadelphia. They would absolutely turn on him. The situation required McAfee and his Toxic Table to do something they were deeply ill-prepared for: be television professionals. Buy time. Improvise.Instead, McAfee and his panelists exchanged small talk for a while like they were waiting for an elevator to arrive. Apropos of nothing, Pat congratulated two crew members named Nick and Carly, who’d apparently just had a baby, and led the panel in a round of applause for them. A producer handed a mobile microphone to Boston Connor and instructed him to go interview fans, but Connor doesn’t really know how to do that, so instead he approached someone dressed as the WWE star Cody Rhodes and, unprovoked, called him a “crybaby bitch.”Anything can happen on live television, as the cliché goes, which is why TV professionals always have a plan B. McAfee, though, barely has a plan A. Even on its better days, his show is slapdash to the point that it feels like an act of defiance, like a noogie to the heads of all those suits in Bristol. (“We don’t really like to plan or think things out,” McAfee says often.) Finally, after more than 30 minutes, the sound in the arena got fixed. McAfee, champion of the working man, led the panel in another round of applause: “Big shout-out to the Philadelphia union for coming through,” he said. He hinted that it must have been the suits, who were always out to get him, who’d screwed up. “Hey, I come from Pittsburgh. Believe me, I very much understand the entire process of the entire thing.” Whatever had gone wrong, disorder was now restored.
Sports Church With Pat McAfeeThe Pat McAfee Show, hosted by the ex–NFL punter turned TV presenter, is the only program on ESPN that opens with a warning label. It was one of the few concessions McAfee made to his new Disney-owned employer when he brought his YouTube hit to the network in September in a five-year, $85 million deal. The label urges viewers to please bear in mind that the show is “meant to be comedic informative”—entertainment, in other words, not journalism—and that the often dopey opinions and sometimes false facts shared by him or his guests “do not necessarily reflect the beliefs” of anyone else at ESPN. The warning ends with a jokey plea: “Don’t sue us.”McAfee is an athlete, not a reporter, and when it comes to stuff like accuracy, he’s careful to set the bar very low. He has become the epitome of athlete encroachment on terrain historically controlled by nonathlete journalists, and to put it mildly, the journalists are not happy about it. McAfee couldn’t care less.Pat McAfee’s influence is bigger than his audience. His hours-long show airs during TV’s midday dead zone, when most sports fans are at work or school. It averages just 332,000 live viewers on its linear broadcast, according to the most recent figures from ESPN, and factoring in other platforms like ESPN’s YouTube channel and TikTok, its daily audience tops out at just under 900,000—a fraction of the eight-figure viewership for Monday Night Football. But the numbers belie how much attention he gets for the more provocative things that are said on the show, including the dingbat views of the Jets quarterback and anti-vaxxer Aaron Rodgers. Airtime equals power, and no one at ESPN spends more time on air than Pat McAfee. From the moment he arrived, he’s arguably been the network’s most influential mouthpiece and indisputably its most polarizing.If you’re a newcomer to The Pat McAfee Show, it can be tough to follow. The show is filled with locker-room joshing delivered in the outer-Pittsburgh Yinzer accent of McAfee’s youth. It’s one of America’s more unsung regional accents, super fun to imitate, but McAfee and his supporting panel of regulars—even the ones who aren’t from Pittsburgh—lay it on so thick, you might need to consult an English-to-Yinzer dictionary. Teams win chompionships. Joe Flacco, the name of the aging Super Bowl–winning quarterback, is pronounced Jee-oh Flacc-kew. Even the ticker at the bottom of the screen has a Yinzer accent: Program is spelled “progrum.”[Keith O'Brien: You’ll miss sports journalism when it’s gone]Everyone observes a firm dress code: down. Way down. McAfee, who has bouffant hair that crests like a giant wave at Nazaré, prefers black tees and white tanks. Boston Connor, one of two members of McAfee’s peanut gallery known as the Toxic Table, has a porn ’stache, an intentional mullet, and an endless supply of animal-stencil T-shirts: wolves, lions, elephants, snow owls. He looks as though he saw Zach Galifianakis in The Hangover and thought to himself, That guy looks awesome. Ty Schmit, the other half of the Toxic Table, favors Green Bay Packers jerseys and University of Iowa hoodies. McAfee will often wrap up segments by leading all of them in a round of applause for themselves, like they just aced a tackling drill. “Good seg, good seg,” he’ll say.Watching an episode of The Pat McAfee Show is like attending mass at sports church. Since its inception in 2015 as a YouTube livecast on Barstool Sports and continuing through its move to ESPN, the show has been broadcast from an enormous studio–slash–home gymnasium dubbed “the Thunderdome” on McAfee’s property outside Indianapolis, the city where he spent eight seasons with the Colts as a punter. His guests all appear to be cast in his image—jocular white dudes with beards—only paler and softer of flesh. They’re not athletes, they’re not journalists, they’re not even particularly good on TV, and yet they’re on ESPN for 15 hours a week because they’re friends with McAfee. When he really gets rolling, his flock will join in with some call-and-response, but instead of crying out “Amen” or “Praise Jesus,” they belch out a loud WHADD. Roughly translated, it means “Damn right.”By the time McAfee retired unexpectedly from football at age 29 to concentrate full-time on The Pat McAfee Show, he’d made $15 million in the NFL, and according to the prevailing wisdom at the time, he was out of his mind to walk away from a job that paid him a fortune to kick a ball five or six times a game. In the NFL, though, kickers are marginal figures who get the spotlight only when they screw up. On The Pat McAfee Show, he’s the pope. He often describes himself as a “dumb punter” and his buddies on the show as “a collection of stooges,” but he’s far more shrewd than he lets on, and he proved it when he accepted ESPN’s offer. (He’s also a regular panelist on ESPN’s College GameDay, and a commentator for the WWE’s Monday Night Raw. McAfee might love pro wrestling even more than he loves football.)The men who watch The Pat McAfee Show—its audience is almost entirely male—share a lot in common with Pat McAfee. It’s on in the weight room at the team training complex (whadd), or in the living room at the fraternity house (whadd), or on the TV above the bar at Buffalo Wild Wings (whadd). It’s like background noise for committed sports fans. It’s not so much content as friendly company. His viewers aren’t watching McAfee’s progrum with focused attention, or for trenchant insights. They’re watching because of the easy camaraderie, because he and his pals are a quality hang, solid guys who like talking sports and crushing beers.In stark contrast with much of ESPN’s morning and daytime programming, with its fire-breathing takes and verbal warfare that 30 Rock once lampooned with a fake show called Sports Shouting, The Pat McAfee Show has very little conflict. No one’s arguing or talking over one another or putting guests on the spot. This is surely a big reason why so many notable sports figures are willing to come on the show.In April alone, McAfee hosted the women’s basketball phenom Caitlin Clark; the San Francisco 49ers quarterback Brock Purdy; UConn’s back-to-back national-champion head coach, Dan Hurley; and Major League Baseball’s top pitching prospect, Paul Skenes (better known to McAfee’s viewers as Livvy Dunne’s boyfriend). During last week’s NFL Draft, McAfee offered a reminder about why he’s so valuable to ESPN, booking a pair of coveted media-averse guests: the former New England Patriots head coach Bill Belichick and NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell. They feel comfortable letting down their guard around McAfee because he sees athletes, coaches, and the business of sports through the same prism that they do. ESPN may be paying his salary, but McAfee is clear about where his loyalties lie.Since McAfee joined ESPN, he’s given just one extended interview of his own, and it was to a popular podcast called All the Smoke hosted by the ex-NBA players Matt Barnes and Stephen Jackson, whom McAfee befriended during Jackson’s stint with the Indiana Pacers. McAfee doesn’t talk with journalists unless it’s on his show and he’s the one doing the interviewing, and they’re rarely invited. (He didn’t respond to my requests for an interview.) ESPN’s NFL correspondent and scoop machine Adam Schefter appears often, and the NBA reporter Brian Windhorst has dropped by during the playoffs—mostly to talk about the Pacers—but they’re exceptions. Almost from the jump, the suspicions between McAfee and ESPN journalists have been mutual.[Jemele Hill: Aaron Rodgers is lighting his football legacy on fire]When ESPN offered McAfee that $85 million, its parent company, Disney, was in the midst of corporate-wide layoffs. ESPN was hit particularly hard. Lots of people got fired to pay for McAfee. Yet upon arriving, McAfee sounded hurt that he didn’t get a warmer reception. Just four months after joining the network, he accused ESPN executives of “actively trying to sabotage” his show, and he called out one of them by name, the powerful event and studio production chief Norby Williamson. Williamson, McAfee said live on air, was “a rat.”It was a stunning moment—the kind of public airing of grievances that ESPN is renowned for not tolerating. Many past ESPN talents, such as Jemele Hill (now a writer for The Atlantic) and Bill Simmons, have been pushed out for far less. And yet McAfee suffered no consequences. No suspension, no public reprimand. Then, three months later, Williamson was fired. If any doubt remained about who had the power now at ESPN—the suits or the dumb punter—it vanished along with Williamson. McAfee could seemingly get away with anything, and then boast about it in public. Before Williamson got guillotined, McAfee bristled during his appearance on All the Smoke at the notion that he’d gone after one of his bosses: “I’m like, I don’t got a motherfucking boss! What are we … like, are we talking [ESPN Chairman] Jimmy Pitaro or [Disney CEO] Bob Iger? Is that who we’re talking about? Because those are people who could technically be described as my boss.”No relationship, though, better crystallizes the growing enmity between McAfee and ESPN’s news division than his continued indulgence of his good friend, the New York Jets quarterback, defiant anti-vaxxer, ayahuasca enthusiast—and, for a brief moment, Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s rumored running mate—Aaron Rodgers.On October 23, 2023, during one of his weekly appearances on The Pat McAfee Show, Rodgers took a veiled shot at the Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce, referring to Kelce as “Mr. Pfizer” for his participation in an awareness campaign urging people to get vaccinated against COVID. McAfee made sure to note on air that he was vaccinated, an implicit rejection of Rodgers’s position, but he didn’t challenge his friend about it and he expressed surprise afterward that anyone expected him to. That’s not the line of work he’s in, folks. He was just kibbitzing with his freethinking friend.Then on January 2, 2024, Rodgers shared on McAfee’s show a slanderous rumor about the late-night host Jimmy Kimmel and Jeffrey Epstein that deserves no repeating here. Kimmel’s show airs on ABC, which, like ESPN, is owned by Disney, meaning that McAfee had let his buddy use his platform to smear a co-worker. Kimmel responded angrily on X, calling Rodgers “a soft-brained wacko” and threatening to sue. This time, even McAfee seemed to know that Rodgers had gone too far. Later that day, he met with the only two people at Disney he recognizes as authority figures, Jimmy Pitaro and Bob Iger, then expressed contrition during his broadcast the next day. He chalked it up to “shit talk” gone awry and added, “We apologize for being part of it.” Once again, there was no evident discipline for McAfee. And a week later, Rodgers was right back on the show for his regular appearance, during which the quarterback notably did not apologize to Kimmel. (The next day, McAfee announced that Rodgers would not return to the program for the remainder of the NFL season, but no one seriously doubts that he’ll be back before the fall.)Two months later, CNN reported that Rodgers had, in private conversations, expressed suspicions that the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School was a government inside job. After Rodgers tweeted a denial—“I am not and have never been of the opinion that the events did not take place”—McAfee read it aloud on his show. “I’m happy to hear that,” McAfee said. “That is good news.” Anyone expecting McAfee to denounce his friend should’ve known better by then. [From the September 2013 issue: The global dominance of ESPN]On All the Smoke, after the Kimmel smear but before the Sandy Hook nonsense, McAfee shared that he’d lost sleep over his role in the Rodgers saga, saying, “Maybe I am fucking this up completely.” But he also offered a novel defense, which is that his relationship with Rodgers had enabled him to tease out a more honest and complete portrait of a historic figure in sports. “Whenever there’s documentaries made about Aaron Rodgers, they are going to use so much of our show,” he said. “Is that not journalism?”No. It is not. Journalism requires an active pursuit of the truth. This was more like stepping on a rake. He’s not completely wrong, though. We can debate forever the ethics of platforming public figures who say odious things, but it’s also true that Rodgers used to be considered among the more thoughtful, intellectually curious stars in the NFL. And now, thanks in no small measure to The Pat McAfee Show, we’ve heard enough of his self-satisfied, moronic bloviating to know better. April 5 had all the makings of a triumphant day for McAfee: Williamson had been fired in the morning, and the show would be broadcasting live from Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia, site of that weekend’s WrestleMania XL. Borrowing from the College GameDay script, McAfee likes to take his show on the road, and wherever he goes, he’s greeted by a brigade of fans packed behind his broadcast platform like thick stogies. This day, at least 20 percent of them had fake championship belts slung over their shoulders like they were Triple H. You could swap any of them for Boston Connor, and no one would notice for an hour, including Pat. “Mac-uh-fee!” they chanted. “Mac-uh-fee! Mac-uh-fee!” Right away, though, something went wrong. To viewers at home, nothing seemed amiss, but inside the arena, the sound wasn’t working. The fans couldn’t hear anything. McAfee didn’t realize until sound technicians started scrambling behind the podium, frantically working to rectify the situation. Now the crowd began a new chant: “We want speakers! We want speakers!” Minutes of airtime passed. McAfee’s mood soured. “Obviously a massive week in Philadelphia—we’ve got all these people staring at us, can’t hear a damn thing we’re saying,” he said. “One of the most uncomfortable situations I’ve ever been placed in in my entire life right now.” Every time he tried to move forward with the show, the crowd would cut him off and start chanting again, and now they were getting salty. “Bulllll-shiiiit! Bullll-shiiiit! Bulllshiiiit!”[Read: Sports streaming makes losers of us all]On TV, you could see the panic bleed into McAfee’s eyes as it dawned on him how bad this could get. This was a three-hour broadcast. If they started bringing out WWE legends and the sound still wasn’t fixed—folks, this was a wrestling crowd in Philadelphia. They would absolutely turn on him. The situation required McAfee and his Toxic Table to do something they were deeply ill-prepared for: be television professionals. Buy time. Improvise.Instead, McAfee and his panelists exchanged small talk for a while like they were waiting for an elevator to arrive. Apropos of nothing, Pat congratulated two crew members named Nick and Carly, who’d apparently just had a baby, and led the panel in a round of applause for them. A producer handed a mobile microphone to Boston Connor and instructed him to go interview fans, but Connor doesn’t really know how to do that, so instead he approached someone dressed as the WWE star Cody Rhodes and, unprovoked, called him a “crybaby bitch.”Anything can happen on live television, as the cliché goes, which is why TV professionals always have a plan B. McAfee, though, barely has a plan A. Even on its better days, his show is slapdash to the point that it feels like an act of defiance, like a noogie to the heads of all those suits in Bristol. (“We don’t really like to plan or think things out,” McAfee says often.) Finally, after more than 30 minutes, the sound in the arena got fixed. McAfee, champion of the working man, led the panel in another round of applause: “Big shout-out to the Philadelphia union for coming through,” he said. He hinted that it must have been the suits, who were always out to get him, who’d screwed up. “Hey, I come from Pittsburgh. Believe me, I very much understand the entire process of the entire thing.” Whatever had gone wrong, disorder was now restored.
The Rangers are riding the magic of unlikely goal-scorers — but can they keep getting away with it?Either the Rangers are so deep that they might be unbeatable, or their stars are in such a slump that they might be doomed.
Ukraine Strikes Russian Oil Depot Deep Behind Enemy LinesUkraine has carried out at least 13 successful attacks on Russian oil refineries during since full-scale war began in 2022.
‘The Bachelorette’ star Trista Sutter breaks silence on ‘nervous breakdown’ and split rumors after husband Ryan’s bizarre posts"The Bachelorette" star Trista Sutter is breaking her silence after her husband, Ryan Sutter, raised eyebrows with some bizarre posts amid her absence.
Internet Obsessed With Golden Retriever Playing Peek-a-Boo Inside ClosetBonchi's antics have amused plenty of social media users, as one TikToker joked that he "likes feeling like a guest."
The Sports Report: Dodgers lose their fifth in a rowThe Dodgers' offense remains anemic as the team is swept by Cincinnati and sees its losing streak reach five.
Woman Rescinding Offer to Host Friend's Wedding for Free Cheered: 'Said No'The woman told Newsweek that her ex-friend and fiance have now separated. "[She] is apologizing but no dice," she said.
Alina Habba Has 'Serious Concerns' Over Donald Trump's JuryTrump's attorney Alina Habba said she has "worries" about the jury in the New York hush money trial not having been sequestered over the weekend.
Donald Trump Golf Video With Granddaughter Goes ViralThe former president took a ride on a golf cart with four-year-old Carolina Dorothy and her stuffed Pikachu on Saturday, sparking a mixed response online.
Night Camera Captures Moment Dad Leaps Into Action To Save Baby's Life"I'm thankful for the alarm—without it, I wouldn't be able to get any sleep at night," mom Jessica Forbes told Newsweek.
Prison Ship Martyrs Monument is America's 'original' tomb of unknown war heroesThe Prison Ship Martyrs Monument in Brooklyn, New York, pays chilling tribute to the 11,500 Americans and allies who died aboard British prison ships during the American Revolution.
Nintendo 'Paper Mario' 2024 US remake includes transgender character 'Vivian'A transgender character will be featured in the remake of The remake of Nintendo's "Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door."
Bill Pullman gets into the twisted mind of a killer. He could use a few laughs nowHe's played good guys and he's played bad guys. David Lynch sees something in his eyes that could be trouble.
The Importance of Religious Freedom in a Critical Election Year | OpinionAt its core, religious freedom is about liberty and human dignity. It does not inherently promote one specific set of beliefs, or any one religious identity, over another.
Seven Stories to Read on Memorial DayThis is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here.For Memorial Day, our editors have selected a list of seven notable stories about the greenest way to grill, the decline of babysitters in America, and more.Your Reading List25 Books to Get Lost in This Summer Here are 25 books to pick up as your summer unfurls, whether you’re in the mood to transport yourself to another place, indulge in a breezy beach read, learn something completely new, or immerse yourself in a cult classic. By The Atlantic Culture DeskThe Greenest Way to Grill The type of fuel you choose isn’t as important as how sustainably it’s sourced, and what you’re grilling matters more. By Ian BogostThe One Place in Airports People Actually Want to Be Inside the competition to lure affluent travelers with luxurious lounges By Amanda MullHow to Be Less Busy and More Happy If you feel too rushed even to read this, then your life could use a change. By Arthur C. BrooksDon’t Tell America the Babysitter’s Dead For decades, sitting was both a job and a rite of passage. Now it feels more like a symbol of a bygone American era. By Faith HillHow Daniel Radcliffe Outran Harry Potter He was the world’s most famous child star. Then he had to figure out what came next. By Chris HeathWhy a Dog’s Death Hits So Hard I loved my mom more than my dog. So why did I cry for him but not for her? By Tommy TomlinsonP.S.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem “Decoration Day,” published in The Atlantic in June 1882, pays tribute to what was then a new form of civic observance: a day set aside to commemorate those who had died in the Civil War. This custom eventually gave rise to our modern Memorial Day.Shan Wang contributed to this newsletter.When you buy a book using a link in this newsletter, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.
Seven Stories to Read on Memorial DayThis is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here.For Memorial Day, our editors have selected a list of seven notable stories about the greenest way to grill, the decline of babysitters in America, and more.Your Reading List25 Books to Get Lost in This Summer Here are 25 books to pick up as your summer unfurls, whether you’re in the mood to transport yourself to another place, indulge in a breezy beach read, learn something completely new, or immerse yourself in a cult classic. By The Atlantic Culture DeskThe Greenest Way to Grill The type of fuel you choose isn’t as important as how sustainably it’s sourced, and what you’re grilling matters more. By Ian BogostThe One Place in Airports People Actually Want to Be Inside the competition to lure affluent travelers with luxurious lounges By Amanda MullHow to Be Less Busy and More Happy If you feel too rushed even to read this, then your life could use a change. By Arthur C. BrooksDon’t Tell America the Babysitter’s Dead For decades, sitting was both a job and a rite of passage. Now it feels more like a symbol of a bygone American era. By Faith HillHow Daniel Radcliffe Outran Harry Potter He was the world’s most famous child star. Then he had to figure out what came next. By Chris HeathWhy a Dog’s Death Hits So Hard I loved my mom more than my dog. So why did I cry for him but not for her? By Tommy TomlinsonP.S.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem “Decoration Day,” published in The Atlantic in June 1882, pays tribute to what was then a new form of civic observance: a day set aside to commemorate those who had died in the Civil War. This custom eventually gave rise to our modern Memorial Day.Shan Wang contributed to this newsletter.When you buy a book using a link in this newsletter, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.
Home insurance was once a ‘must.’ Now more homeowners are going without. Slammed by the rising price of policies and climate-driven natural disasters, more and more Americans are exposing themselves to risk and forgoing home insurance.
NY school aide yanked arm of third grader with autism in scream-laden ‘assault’ — but was allowed to keep job: suit“Like he didn’t understand if he had done something wrong, why she was still there and in charge of him."
Braves' Ronald Acuña Jr, out for season with torn ACL, apologizes to fans on social mediaRonald Acuña Jr., the reigning National League MVP, will be out the remainder 2024 MLB season after suffering a torn ACL, the Atlanta Braves announced on Sunday.
Missing Oregon survivalist, seeking enlightenment in ‘The Valley of Death,’ leaves behind a trail of questionsThe case of missing person Justin Alexander Shetler is being explored in 'Status: Untraced.'
‘General Hospital’ actor Johnny Wactor was fatally shot while shielding a female co-worker: brotherWactor, 37, was shot in the chest when he threw himself in between his co-worker and one of the three thieves.
Israeli airstrike kills dozens in Rafah; raw milk under scrutinyAt least 35 people were killed and dozens more injured in an Israeli airstrike on an encampment in Rafah. As bird flu spreads among dairy cattle herds, raw milk is undergoing renewed scrutiny.
Israeli airstrike kills dozens in Rafah; raw milk under scrutinyAt least 35 people were killed and dozens more injured in an Israeli airstrike on an encampment in Rafah. As bird flu spreads among dairy cattle herds, raw milk is undergoing renewed scrutiny.
An Israeli airstrike killed 35 Palestinians in an encampment for displaced peopleThe Israeli military said it killed two Hamas militant leaders in the strike but Palestinian health officials say dozens of civilians who had sought shelter in an encampment were killed and injured.
Red Sox, Brewers clear benches after heated words between pitcher and first base coachThe Boston Red Sox and Milwaukee Brewers saw a benches-clearing skirmish in their series finale at Fenway Park after pitcher Chris Martin had words with first base coach Quintin Berry.
Guy Pearce's Palestinian Pin Removed in Photo Sparks Fury'Vanity Fair France' found itself in hot water when the Palestinian pin was notably absent from the actor's jacket in a photo.
Lizzo responds to South Park name-drop: 'I'm really that b---h'Singer Lizzo reacted on her Instagram and TikTok account to her name being used and mocked during a recent special episode of “South Park" on Saturday.
Manhunt in Louisiana for 4 escapees, including 3 homicide suspectsAuthorities in Louisiana are searching for four inmates who escaped from the Tangipahoa Parish Jail, just north of New Orleans — and three of the four are homicide suspects, the parish sheriff's office says.
Manhunt in Louisiana for 4 escapees, including 3 homicide suspectsAuthorities in Louisiana are searching for four inmates who escaped from the Tangipahoa Parish Jail, just north of New Orleans — and three of the four are homicide suspects, the parish sheriff's office says.
How do you play a 400-year-old sin eater? Terrifyingly if you're 'Fargo's' Sam SpruellThe British actor has played a lot of villains but this one takes the cake, er, biscuit
A family lost 2 sons during WWII. 80 years later their last child is home.One family who lost two sons in World War II waited 80 years to bring their last child home from overseas thanks to a federal defense agency that accounts for fallen soldiers.
Joe can’t hide from Bidenomics, Clinton trade relations and other commentary“As far as the November election is concerned, the issue of inflation is settled, and President Biden has lost,” declares Jason De Sena Trennert at The Washington Times.
Donald Trump Fumes at Alvin Bragg's Court MoveThe former president attacked the district attorney by describing him as "corrupt" and complicit in "an Election Interfering Witch Hunt" over the weekend.
Donald Trump Fumes at Alvin Bragg's Court MoveThe former president attacked the district attorney by describing him as "corrupt" and complicit in "an Election Interfering Witch Hunt" over the weekend.
Judge presiding over LSU student’s attack makes unprecedented decision, prompting questions about conflictsMadison Brooks was an LSU sophomore when she was allegedly raped and fatally struck by a car in Baton Rouge in January 2023.
AI will transform sports betting. It will also increase the risks.AI is set to revolutionize the sports betting industry. Problem gambling will rise, too.
