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Bill Kauffman

The wonderful world of community theater

The woman sitting next to me whispered urgently: ‘I can’t take my eyes off that man’s nipple’

By Bill Kauffman

Home

I am a part of Batavia, New York

My friend Henry W. Clune used to say that all he ever really wanted was to appear considerable in the eyes of his hometown

By Bill Kauffman

Books

Solzhenitsyn, Russian Nobelist and noblest Russian

Cheer, Cheer for Old Notre Dame

By Bill Kauffman

A farewell to Armistice

The movable feast of Veterans Day

By Bill Kauffman

The (congress)man who wasn’t there

The invisible candidacy of Chris Collins

By Bill Kauffman

Kum ba yah, baby, and pass the ammo

What’s so funny about peace, love and understanding?

By Bill Kauffman

Brett Kavanaugh as political football

In the private sector, we get blitzed

By Bill Kauffman

Status Cuomo in New York

…in the land the Democrats forgot

By Bill Kauffman

John McCain: the man from nowhere who unleashed a deathstorm

The rooted ask the great unasked question in American foreign policy: What does this war mean for my block, my neighbourhood, my town?

By Bill Kauffman

Breaking up is impossible to do in California

As Tim Draper has learned…

By Bill Kauffman

Chris Collins, we hardly knew ye

Blue State: Republicans gone rogue…

By Bill Kauffman

Europe

How NATO became the most sacred cow in the barn

Before Trump’s visit the Senate approved by a near-Soviet margin of 97-2 a resolution expressing ‘ironclad’ support for NATO.

By Bill Kauffman

Politics

Is Andrew Cuomo about to finally get his comeuppance?

Almost a quarter of a century ago, New York voters, weary of Governor Mario Cuomo’s sanctimonious bullyragging, rejected the three-term incumbent. Mario’s son Andrew, now seeking his own third term in office, has worn out his welcome with greater celerity. But then the son has all of dad’s bad qualities (i.e., he’s an arrogant prick) […]

By Bill Kauffman

Cheap gimmicks are ruining baseball

Baseball’s minor leagues, that congeries of 247 farm teams scattered across the fruited plain, kick off (damn football; even its idioms invade other sports) a new season next week. The minors are the beating, or at least fluttering, heart of professional baseball. Its players—the cocksure, the self-doubters, the athletic princelings, the juicers and has-beens and […]

By Bill Kauffman

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