Donald Trump reminds me of that bully boy, a playmate from my childhood, with whom we played football.
Unlike us, he was a kind of child, to whom his parents did not deny anything.
Some evenings, when he got tired of his individual games, he would join us in the small field where we strolled around until the sun went down. Often he brought with him a new football of his.
Then two teams were formed. I remember that he wanted to build his team with the strongest and most capable, even if the latter were not always happy to be on his side.
Nonetheless, when his team lost, or he couldn't score, or things didn't turn as he said, he accused the referee of favoritism and in order to win, he was able to argue that one of his shots, clearly out of goal, had instead entered the mirror of the door.
When he was unable to impose his will, he would walk away, taking his balloon with him.
So, sometimes, in order not to remainfootballless, we would bow his head and give it to him.
This is what Donald Trump clearly did.
He wanted to take the White House away, because the voters didn't vote him.
But this time, the owner of the ball went wrong.
