Once upon a time beating the Russians at hockey was
enough to make people feel good about being Americans.
Now they need to kill somebody. Maybe it's just that back
in the day, you really couldn't pull the trigger, or the world
would have roasted. Maybe.
In that instance, the pride people felt was because basically the USA hockey team were a real pack of amateurs, and the Russians were a professional hockey team, who pretty much never lost to anybody. The pride came in knowing that you were seeing an exceptional level of achievement on our side, and we just forgot about how maybe the Russians didn't play their best game that day.
When American young people moved into the streets Sunday night chanting USA...USA...USA!!, it wasn't because American underdogs had found a way to win the big hockey game. It was because American elite killers had finally found the one guy in the world they (and most Americans) wanted to waste. And they wasted him, along with several other human beings, and then dumped the body of the wastee-in-chief into the drink, where the sharks are no doubt shitting out his remains right now.
Pride in amateur sports has transmuted to pride in professional assassination.
So it goes as the republic fades utterly into the empire.