ESPN is shifting its strategy on online sports gambling, ending its partnership with Penn Entertainment.
The companies announced Thursday they were terminating an agreement that offered ESPN equity in Penn, which operated the ESPN Bet sportsbook app. The app will no longer carry the familiar red ESPN logo. It will operate under a new name.
ESPN said it will partner with DraftKings, a leading sports betting company, which will provide odds and other gaming-related data for the Walt Disney Co. unit’s programs and its digital platforms. ESPN’s on-air staff will use DraftKings’ odds starting Dec. 1.
According to people familiar with the ESPN-Penn arrangement, the app simply didn’t reach its financial targets in the highly competitive business, which operates in the 31 states where online gambling is legal.
In 2023, Penn agreed to pay $1.5 billion in cash over the next 10 years for the rights to use the ESPN name on its app. As part of the deal, ESPN promoted the product across its programming and provided access to on-air talent. ESPN had the right to purchase up to 31.8 million shares of Penn stock for $500 million over the 10-year period.
“When we first announced our partnership with ESPN, both sides made it clear that we expected to compete for a podium position in the space,” said Jay Snowden, CEO and President of Penn Entertainment. “Although we made significant progress in improving our product offering and building a cohesive ecosystem with ESPN, we have mutually and amicably agreed to wind down our collaboration.”
The end of the deal comes shortly after an FBI investigation led to the arrest of Miami Heat player Terry Rozier, who allegedly pulled out of a game claiming injury to deliver a win on one of his prop bets.
ESPN’s decision is unrelated to the recent news, as the company has been in talks for months with DraftKings about a new partnership. But no longer having the ESPN name on a betting app will keep the brand out of the line of fire if the NBA case escalates.
Beginning in December, DraftKings will have its app exclusively integrated across ESPN’s platforms.
The companies said they will “collaborate to advance their shared commitment to responsible gaming, by dedicating prominent assets to educate, raise customer awareness and promote responsible play through campaigns and integrations.”
DraftKings will provide the betting tab within the ESPN app and its customers will receive special promotions for ESPN’s newly launched direct-to-consumer streaming product.
DraftKings operates in 28 states and in Washington, D.C., and Ontario, Canada, and has more than 10 million customers across its products.
When it comes to Proposition 50, Marcia Owens is a bit fuzzy on the details.
She knows, vaguely, it has something to do with how California draws the boundaries for its 52 congressional districts, a convoluted and arcane process that’s not exactly top of the mind for your average person. But Owens is abundantly clear when it comes to her intent in Tuesday’s special election.
“I’m voting to take power out of Trump’s hands and put it back in the hands of the people,” said Owens, 48, a vocational nurse in Riverside. “He’s making a lot of illogical decisions that are really wreaking havoc on our country. He’s not putting our interests first, making sure that an individual has food on the table, they can pay their rent, pay electric bills, pay for healthcare.”
Peter Arensburger, a fellow Democrat who also lives in Riverside, was blunter still.
President Trump, said the 55-year-old college professor, “is trying to rule as a dictator” and Republicans are doing absolutely nothing to stop him.
So, Arensburger said, California voters will do it for them.
Or at least try.
“It’s a false equivalency,” he said, “to say that we need to do everything on an even keel in California, but Texas” — which redrew its political map to boost Republicans — “can do whatever they want.”
A reasoned attempt to even things out in response to Texas’ attempt to nab five more congressional seats. Or a ruthless gambit to drive the California GOP to near-extinction.
It all depends on your perspective.
Above all, Proposition 50 has become a political ink-blot test; what many California voters see depends on, politically, where they stand.
Mary Ann Rounsavall thinks the measure is “horrible,” because that’s how the Fontana retiree feels about its chief proponent, Gavin Newsom.
“He’s a jerk,” the 75-year-old Republican fairly spat, as if the act of forming the governor’s name left a bad taste in her mouth. “No one believes anything he says.”
Timothy, a fellow Republican who withheld his last name to avoid online trolls, echoed the sentiment.
“It’s just Gavin Newsom playing political games,” said the 39-year-old warehouse manager, who commutes from West Covina to his job at a plumbing supplier in Ontario. “They always talk about Trump. ‘Trump, Trump, Trump.’ Get off of Trump. I’ve been hearing this crap ever since he started running.”
Riverside and San Bernardino counties form the heart of the Inland Empire. The next-door neighbors are politically purple: more Republican than the state as a whole, but not as conservative as California’s more rural reaches. That means neither party has an upper hand, a parity reflected in dozens of interviews with voters across the sprawling region.
On a recent smoggy morning, the hulking San Bernardino Mountains veiled by a gray-brown haze, Eric Lawson paused to offer his thoughts.
The 66-year-old independent has no use for politicians of any stripe. “They’re all crooks,” he said. “All of them.”
Lawson called Proposition 50 a waste of time and money.
Gerrymandering — the dark art of drawing political lines to benefit one party over another — is, as he pointed out, hardly new. (In fact, the term is rooted in the name of Elbridge Gerry, one of the nation’s founders.)
What has Lawson particularly steamed is the cost of “this stupid election,” which is pushing $300 million.
“We talk and talk and talk and we print money for all this talk,” said Lawson, who lives in Ontario and consults in the auto industry. “But that money doesn’t go where it’s supposed to go.”
Although sentiments were evenly split in those several dozen conversations, all indications suggest that Proposition 50 is headed toward passage Tuesday, possibly by a wide margin. After raising a tidal wave of cash, Newsom last week told small donors that’s enough, thanks. The opposition has all but given up and resigned itself to defeat.
It comes down to math. Proposition 50 has become a test of party muscle and a talisman of partisan faith and California has a lot more Democrats and Democrat-leaning independents than Republicans and GOP-leaning independents.
Andrea Fisher, who opposes the initiative, is well aware of that fact. “I’m a conservative,” she said, “in a state that’s not very conservative.”
She has come to accept that reality, but fears things will get worse if Democrats have their way and slash California’s already-scanty Republican ranks on Capitol Hill. Among those targeted for ouster is Ken Calvert, a 16-term GOP incumbent who represents a good slice of Riverside County.
“I feel like it’s going to eliminate my voice,” said Fisher, 48, a food server at her daughter’s school in Riverside. “If I’m 40% of the vote” — roughly the percentage Trump received statewide in 2024 — “then we in that population should have fair representation. We’re still their constituents.” (In Riverside County, Trump edged Kamala Harris 49% to 48%.)
Amber Pelland says Proposition 50 will hurt voters by putting redistricting back into the hands of politicians.
(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
Amber Pelland, 46, who works in the nonprofit field in Corona, feels by “sticking it to Trump” — a tagline in one of the TV ads supporting Proposition 50 — voters will be sticking it to themselves. Passage would erase the political map drawn by an independent commission, which voters empowered in 2010 for the express purpose of wrestling redistricting away from self-dealing lawmakers in Washington and Sacramento.
“I don’t care if you hate the person or don’t hate the person,” said Pelland, a Republican who backs the president. “It’s just going to hurt voters by taking the power away from the people.”
Even some backers of Proposition 50 flinched at the notion of sidelining the redistricting commission and undoing its painstaking, nonpartisan work. What helps make it palatable, they said, is the requirement — written into the ballot measure — that congressional redistricting will revert to the commission after the 2030 census, when California’s next set of congressional maps is due to be drafted.
“I’m glad that it’s temporary because I don’t think redistricting should be done in order to give one political party greater power over another,” said Carole, a Riverside Democrat. “I think it’s something that should be decided over a long period and not in a rush.” (She also withheld her last name so her husband, who serves in the community, wouldn’t be hassled for her opinion, she said.)
Texas, Carole suggested, has forced California to act because of its extreme action, redistricting at mid-decade at Trump’s command. “It’s important to think about the country as a whole,” said the 51-year-old academic researcher, “and to respond to what’s being done, especially with the pressure coming from the White House.”
Felise Self-Visnic, a 71-year-old retired schoolteacher, agreed.
She was shopping at a Trader Joe’s in Riverside in an orange ball cap that read “Human-Kind (Be Both).” Back home, in her garage-door window, is a poster that reads “No Kings.”
She described Proposition 50 as a stopgap measure that will return power to the commission once the urgency of today’s political upheaval has passed. But even if that wasn’t the case, the Democrat said, she would still vote in favor.
“Anything,” Self-Visnic said, “to fight fascism, which is where we’re heading.”
Consumer confidence is dropping. The national debt is $38 trillion and climbing like the yodeling mountain climber in that “The Price is Right” game. Donald Trump’s approval ratings are falling and the U.S. is getting more and more restless as 2025 comes to a close.
What’s a wannabe strongman to do to prop up his regime?
Attack Latin America, of course!
U.S. war planes have bombed small ships in international waters off the coast of Venezuela and Colombia since September with extrajudicial zeal. The Trump administration has claimed those vessels were packed with drugs manned by “narco-terrorists” and have released videos for each of the 10 boats-and-counting it has incinerated to make the actions seem as normal as a mission in “Call of Duty.”
“Narco-terrorists intending to bring poison to our shores, will find no safe harbor anywhere in our hemisphere,” Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth posted on social media and who just ordered an aircraft carrier currently stationed in the Mediterranean to set up shop in the Caribbean. It’ll meet up with 10,000 troops stationed there as part of one of the area’s biggest U.S. deployments in decades, all in the name of stopping a drug epidemic that has ravaged red America for the past quarter century.
This week, Trump authorized covert CIA actions in Venezuela and revealed he wants to launch strikes against land targets where his people say Latin American cartels operate. Who cares whether the host countries will give permission? Who cares about American laws that state only Congress — not the president — can declare war against our enemies?
It’s Latin America, after all.
The military buildup, bombing and threat of more in the name of liberty is one of the oldest moves in the American foreign policy playbook. For more than two centuries, the United States has treated Latin America as its personal piñata, bashing it silly for goods and not caring about the ugly aftermath.
“It is known to all that we derive [our blessings] from the excellence of our institutions,” James Monroe concluded in the 1823 speech that set forth what became known as the Monroe Doctrine, which essentially told the rest of the world to leave the Western Hemisphere to us. “Ought we not, then, to adopt every measure which may be necessary to perpetuate them?”
Our 19th century wars of expansion, official and not, won us territories where Latin Americans lived — Panamanians, Puerto Ricans, but especially Mexicans — that we ended up treating as little better than serfs. We have occupied nations for years and imposed sanctions on others. We have propped up puppets and despots and taken down democratically elected governments with the regularity of the seasons.
The culmination of all these actions were the mass migrations from Latin America that forever altered the demographics of the United States. And when those people — like my parents — came here, they were immediately subjected to a racism hard-wired into the American psyche, which then justified a Latin American foreign policy bent on domination, not friendship.
Nothing rallies this country historically like sticking it to Latinos, whether in their ancestral countries or here. We’re this country’s perpetual scapegoats and eternal invaders, with harming gringos — whether by stealing their jobs, moving into their neighborhoods, marrying their daughters or smuggling drugs — supposedly the only thing on our mind.
That’s why when Trump ran on an isolationist platform last year, he never meant the region — of course not. The border between the U.S. and Latin America has never been the fence that divides the U.S. from Mexico or our shores. It’s wherever the hell we say it is.
Colombian President Gustavo Petro Urrego addresses the 80th session of the United Nations General Assembly on Sept. 23 at U.N. headquarters.
(Pamela Smith / Associated Press)
That’s why the Trump administration is banking on the idea that it can get away with its boat bombings and is salivating to escalate. To them, the 43 people American missile strikes have slaughtered on the open sea so far aren’t humans — and anyone who might have an iota of sympathy or doubt deserves aggression as well.
That’s why when Colombian President Gustavo Petro accused the U.S. of murder because one of the strikes killed a Colombian fisherman with no ties to cartels, Trump went on social media to lambaste Petro’s “fresh mouth,” accuse him of being a “drug leader” and warn the head of a longtime American ally he “better close up these killing fields [cartel bases] immediately, or the United States will close them up for him, and it won’t be done nicely.”
The only person who can turn down the proverbial temperature on this issue is Secretary of State Marco Rubio, who should know all the bad that American imperialism has wrought on Latin America. The U.S. treated his parents’ homeland of Cuba like a playground for decades, propping up one dictator after another until Cubans revolted and Fidel Castro took power. A decades-long embargo that Trump tightened upon assuming office the second time has done nothing to free the Cuban people and instead made things worse.
Instead, Rubio is the instigator. He’s pushing for regime change in Venezuela, chumming it up with self-proclaimed “world’s coolest dictator” Nayib Bukele of El Salvador and cheering on Trump’s missile attacks.
“Bottom line, these are drug boats,” Rubio told reporters recently with Trump by his side. “If people want to stop seeing drug boats blow up, stop sending drugs to the United States.”
You might ask: Who cares? Cartels are bad, drugs are bad, aren’t they? Of course. But every American should oppose every time a suspected drug boat launching from Latin America is destroyed with no questions asked and no proof offered. Because every time Trump violates yet another law or norm in the name of defending the U.S. and no one stops him, democracy erodes just a little bit more.
This is a president, after all, who seems to dream of treating his enemies, including American cities, like drug boats.
Few will care, alas. It’s Latin America, after all.
Anthony Frias II will suffer a setback, like those scary months when the UCLA running back was stuck in transfer portal limbo, unsure if his college career was over, and he’ll hear those familiar words.
It’s part of the movie.
He’ll strain in anonymity, police repeatedly coming to the door of his home at 2:30 a.m. because neighbors kept complaining about the sound of weights slamming onto the floor of the garage after another sweaty deadlift, and here comes his father’s favorite phrase again.
UCLA running back Anthony Frias II’s family gathers for a photo in front of the Rose Bowl before cheering for him and the Bruins.
(The Frias family)
It’s part of the movie.
Then there’s moments like last weekend, when something happens that makes this whole improbable journey feel like it’s just getting started, like there’s so much left to do and so many people to inspire for the kid from a tiny town in the San Joaquin Valley who once had no college scholarship offers.
Having been made a bigger part of the offensive game plan against Maryland, Frias bolted for his first career touchdown run. Later, with the Bruins needing to reach field-goal range in the game’s final moments, he chugged ahead for 35 yards, dragging defenders with him to set up the winning score.
When Frias emerged from the tunnel inside the Rose Bowl afterward to reconnect with his family, having starred inside the stadium where he once stood as a teenager with a sign proclaiming that he would play there one day, it was only a matter of time before he heard that refrain once more.
“Every time something happens, he mentions it,” the namesake son said of his father, “and it gives me a little bit more belief each time that he’s right.”
For many years, the genre of Anthony Frias II’s story seemed uncertain.
Would it be a hero’s tale? A drama about unfulfilled dreams?
The only sure thing was the conviction of the boy and his father who believed their journey would take them well beyond the confines of Le Grand, Calif., population 1,592.
Little Anthony wanted to play football so badly growing up that after suffering a hairline fracture in his knee that was supposed to sideline him for the rest of the season, he made his own rehabilitation plan.
He was only 9.
Setting his alarm for 5:30 in the morning, he’d wake his father and they would go for a 1½-mile run to a relative’s home for workouts before running back. With his team on the verge of its championship game, Anthony needed a doctor’s clearance to return ahead of schedule.
One morning, he took a crumpled piece of paper to his mom in bed. When she awoke unexpectedly, he ran away nervously. Sabrina Frias looked at the paper, which outlined his recovery and mentioned that he had been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Anthony Frias II was in high school when he stood in front of the Rose Bowl while holding up a sign that read, “One day I will play here!” and featured the Stanford logo. He realized his dream of playing in the Rose Bowl, although it was for UCLA.
(The Frias family)
Anthony left his fate in his mother’s hands, asking her to make a choice — circle the “Yes” he had written alongside a happy face or the “No” alongside a sad face.
Her heart breaking at the thought of denying her son, she circled “Yes.” Anthony went on to score every point in his team’s 20-19 victory.
By the time he was 13, Anthony had modeled his playing style after Christian McCaffrey, the dynamic Stanford running back who was making a strong push for the Heisman Trophy. That made the Christmas present he received that year — tickets to see Stanford play Iowa in the Rose Bowl — an all-time favorite.
Before the game, Anthony’s father painted a giant red “S” on his son’s bare chest. Together, they made a sign that Anthony held above his head while standing outside the stadium. It read, “One day I will play here!”
Looking back, Anthony said the sign was mostly his father’s idea.
“He just knew,” Anthony said, “that I was gonna be so special.”
Few shared that belief when Anthony was coming out of high school.
Starring for Turlock High, which was not known for producing high-level college prospects, wasn’t enough to draw interest beyond a few Division II schools. What was the recruiters’ biggest hang up?
“When they looked at him,” Anthony’s father said of someone who now stands 5-foot-10 and weighs 225 pounds, “he wasn’t the guy they wanted.”
Enrolling at Modesto Junior College, Anthony quickly rose from fourth-stringer to featured tailback during the 2021 season, topping 100 yards rushing three times and leading all California junior college players with 17 rushing touchdowns.
It was enough to earn him a scholarship offer at Kansas State.
Kansas State running back Anthony Frias II catches the ball during a game against Tulane on Sept. 17, 2022, in Manhattan, Kan.
(Colin E Braley / Associated Press)
Buried on the depth chart, he redshirted during his first season with the Wildcats. The next season, playing mostly on special teams, Anthony rarely got more than a carry or two in any game. As confident as he was in his ability, it was impossible to keep out the doubt.
He forged ahead, bolstered by his religious faith and conversations with the father who also happened to be his therapist and best friend, telling him not to worry, that things would eventually pay off.
“You know, we talk it through, I’m there for him all the time,” the elder Frias said. “I’ve been there through the tears, I’ve been there through the needing to hold my son, through the questioning, ‘What more can I do, dad?’ But he never faltered, never quit.”
He did seek a new football home.
Kansas State running back Anthony Frias II carries the ball while running into the Central Florida defense on Sept. 23, 2023, in Manhattan, Kan.
(Travis Heying / Associated Press)
Before Kansas State played its bowl game at the end of the 2023 season, Frias entered the transfer portal. Then he waited. And waited. Months went by without a new offer to play elsewhere.
“Nobody was coming, nobody was calling, there was a moment where we were just like, ‘Man, what are we going to do?’” Anthony’s father said. “We just prayed and had faith, like it’s going to work out, don’t worry.”
Sure enough, the new coaching staff at Arizona, which had pursued Anthony when it was at San José State, offered a spot as a preferred walk-on. That meant Anthony was going to have to take out student loans and pay for his own apartment in Tucson.
About a week before he was scheduled to move in, Anthony received a call from Marcus Thomas, UCLA’s running backs coach. How would you like to become a Bruin? Anthony told him that he’d need to be more than a preferred walk-on because otherwise he was just going to go to Arizona.
Less than five minutes later, UCLA offensive coordinator Eric Bieniemy called. The team agreed to cover his tuition and living expenses through name, image and likeness funds, even though he wouldn’t be on scholarship.
Done.
When Anthony giddily walked into the Rose Bowl for the first time as a player, during a practice before the 2024 season opener, he FaceTimed his parents, even going over to the seat where he and his father had watched that Rose Bowl game.
“That,” Anthony said, “was like the first full-circle moment that I had.”
Anthony’s first season as a Bruin largely mirrored his final season as a Wildcat. There was a lot of special teams work and only a few carries before an expanded role in the season finale against Fresno State.
Entering what’s likely to be his final college season, the redshirt senior earned a scholarship but no guarantee of emerging from the shadows.
As usual, his father wore his son’s No. 22 jersey last weekend when he settled into his seat in the family section inside the Rose Bowl, never imagining the name on the back would be one of the most talked about inside the stadium.
When Anthony took a handoff early in the second quarter, cutting one way and then the other before breaking a tackle on the way to a 55-yard touchdown run, his every movement was accompanied by his father’s voice in the stands.
“I’m like, ‘Oh, oh dang, oh dang!’ ” the elder Frias said. “And then I stand up, like, ‘Oh!’ and I see that [defender] chase him and I’m like, ‘Come on, Ant, turn it up!’ and then he beats the guy out to score the touchdown and I just went crazy.”
With fellow running backs Anthony Woods and Jaivian Thomas later sidelined by injuries, Anthony Frias got a few more carries. His last one, on the game’s final offensive play, captured the essence of someone who refused to quit.
Running away from one defender who tried to grab him by the shoulders, he spun away from another before finally getting dragged down at the five-yard line to set up the winning field goal on the next play.
“Just all the pain, all the suffering, all the longing, all the workouts, all the late nights, all the no-love, no-opportunity, that run signified the release of that,” his father said. “And when he came out of there, he let out his roar. He was like, ‘I won’t be denied any more.’ ”
In one game and only four carries, Anthony had piled up 97 rushing yards — exceeding the 91 yards he had tallied in the three previous seasons combined.
“He made the most of the situation,” UCLA interim coach Tim Skipper said. “He made critical plays — I mean, we’re not just talking he got some first down or something, he made critical, impact, explosive plays that changed that game and for that to happen for him, it couldn’t have happened to a better person.”
Later, emerging from the tunnel leading to the same spot outside the Rose Bowl where he had held that sign over his head almost a decade earlier, Anthony flashed a smile that his father had never seen before when he reached a jubilant throng of family and friends.
“It just was all the years of the grinding and the behind-the-scenes stuff that I’ve been going through,” Anthony said, “and you know, getting opportunities here and there doing different things and showing that I could do more.”
Everyone shouting his name, waiting their turn for a hug, the only thing missing was a climactic score and rolling credits.
Brooke Knowles knew she wanted the black puppy posted on the Facebook page of a self-described home breeder of Coton De Tulears. He looked like he’d have an outgoing personality.
She put down a nonrefundable deposit and drove to Temecula to pick him up. She paid about $2,000 and named him Ted.
Before she even left for home, Ted vomited and had diarrhea on the grass outside. He was lethargic, his chest soaked with drool.
A closer look later at the paperwork provided by the seller revealed something else unsettling: Ted wasn’t bred in California. He had been imported from a kennel in Utah.
“I thought that I was getting a dog that had been bred at his home,” Knowles said in a series of interviews with The Times. “This poor puppy, he was so traumatized.”
On Thursday, Gov. Gavin Newsom signed a series of animal welfare bills into state law that will restrict puppy sales and strengthen protections for buyers like Knowles. The bills were introduced as a result of a Times investigation last year that detailed how designer dogs are trucked into California from out-of-state commercial breeders and resold by people saying they were small, local operators.
The three bills Newsom signed into law are:
Assembly Bill 519 by Assemblymember Marc Berman (D-Menlo Park) bans online marketplaces where dogs are sold by brokers, which is defined as any person or business that sells or transports a dog bred by someone else for profit. That includes major national pet retailers, including PuppySpot, as well as California-based operations that resell puppies bred elsewhere. The law applies to dogs, cats and rabbits under a year old. It does not apply to police dogs or service animals and provides an exemption for shelters, rescues and 4H clubs.
AB 506 by Assemblymember Steve Bennett (D-Ventura) voids pet purchase contracts involving California buyers if the seller requires a nonrefundable deposit. The law also makes the pet seller liable if they fail to disclose breeder details and medical history.
Senate Bill 312 by state Sen. Tom Umberg (D-Orange) requires pet sellers to share health certificates with the California Department of Food and Agriculture, which would then make them available without redactions to the public.
The bills were supported by California Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta, who said they are “an important step in shutting down deceptive sales tactics of these puppy brokers.”
“Sunlight is the best disinfectant, and it’s time to shine a light on puppy mills,” Newsom said in a statement. “Greater transparency in pet purchases will bring to light abusive practices that take advantage of pets in order to exploit hopeful pet owners. Today’s legislation protects both animals and Californians by addressing fraudulent pet breeding and selling practices.”
Lawmakers said new laws close loopholes that emerged after California in 2019 banned the sale of commercially bred dogs, cats and rabbits in pet stores. That retail ban did not apply to online sales, which surged during the COVID-19 pandemic.
The Times’ investigation found that in the years after the retail ban took effect, a network of resellers stepped in to replace pet stores, often posing as local breeders and masking where puppies were actually bred. Some buyers later discovered they had purchased dogs from sellers using fake names or disposable phone numbers after their pets became ill or died.
Times reporters analyzed the movement of more than 71,000 dogs coming into California since 2019 by requesting certificates of veterinary inspection, which are issued by a federally accredited veterinarian listing where the animal came from, its destination and verification that it is healthy enough to travel.
The California Department of Food and Agriculture has long received those health certificates from other states by mistake — the records are supposed to go to county public health departments — and, in recent years, made it a practice to immediately destroy them. Dog importers who were supposed to submit the records to counties largely failed to do so.
The Times obtained the records by requesting the documents from every other state. In the days following the story’s publication, lawmakers and animal advocates called on the state’s Food and Agriculture Department to stop “destroying evidence” of the deceptive practices by purging the records. The department began preserving the records thereafter, but released them with significant redactions.
In one instance, the state redacted the name and address of a person with numerous shipments of puppies from Ohio. The Times obtained the same travel certificates without redactions from the Ohio Department of Agriculture. The address listed on the records is for a Home Depot in Milpitas. The phone number on some of those travel certificates belongs to Randy Kadee Vo.
The Times’ reporting last year found Vo’s name and various Bay Area addresses, including a warehouse, were listed as the destination for 1,900 dogs imported into California since 2019. At the time, he disputed that number but declined to say how many he had imported. People who bought puppies from Vo told The Times that they were told they were buying puppies that were locally bred.
Shortly after The Times questioned Vo about the imports, a different name, along with the Home Depot address, began appearing on health certificates with his phone number. Vo did not respond to a request for comment.
The Times identified hundreds of records detailing other sellers with names that appear to be fake or addresses that go to unaffiliated businesses, shopping centers and commercial mailbox offices.
While the new laws were championed by animal welfare groups, some have questioned how adequately the laws will be enforced by state officials — particularly when it comes to policing out-of-state facilities selling online and then shipping puppies directly California buyers.
“Enforcement will now fall on nonprofits like ours to monitor and report issues that we see, in hopes that the agencies act,” said Mindi Callison, head of the Iowa-based anti-puppy-mill nonprofit Bailing Out Benji.
Callison said lawmakers should next turn their focus to requiring California breeders to be licensed, similar to standards in Iowa, Missouri and other states. California does not have a statewide licensing program, instead relying on local jurisdictions for oversight. While some cities and counties require breeders to be licensed and inspected, little information is available online to help consumers vet them.
“There is a higher risk of dogs being kept in inhumane conditions in states where there are no regulations to follow and have no eyes on them,” Callison said.
Opponents of the legislation argued that California’s previous attempts to cut off the supply from puppy mills by banning pet store sales only fueled an unregulated marketplace — and warned banning brokers will do the same.
“Eliminating these brokers will not reduce demand for pets; it will simply force more Californians into unregulated, riskier marketplaces,” said Alyssa Miller-Hurley of the Pet Advocacy Network, which represents breeders, retailers and pet owners, in a letter opposing the legislation.
For consumers like Knowles, the lack of transparency when buying her puppy Ted has been long-lasting and costly. More than a year after Knowles took the puppy to her home in Long Beach, he developed stomach issues that got so bad he wound up in the emergency room. She also had doubts that her puppy was a purebred Coton De Tulear as advertised.
She said a pet DNA test confirmed those suspicions and connected her with other people whose dogs were purchased from the same seller. The test results said one of the dogs share the same amount of DNA as people do with their full siblings – and that they’re mutts.
“We call him the most expensive rescue dog we’ve ever had,” Knowles said of Ted, who is now on a restrictive diet. “Our group started to call our dogs ‘Fauxtons,’ since they weren’t Cotons.”
Knowles sued the seller, Tweed Fox of Carlsbad Cotons, over the test results showing Ted was not a purebred puppy, but said she lost.
“Really the core issue is … masquerading to be something you’re not,” she said.
Fox told The Times that he began sourcing from a Utah company during the Covid pandemic, when the demand for puppies spiked beyond the number he was able to breed at home.
He thought the Utah puppies were purebreds because they came with the proper registration paperwork, but said that “turned out not to be the case.” He said he did not mislead customers because he was in fact a home breeder, and only advertised the out-of-state puppies as Coton de Tulears, “which is what I thought I was purchasing.”
“You only can breed so many in a home,” he said. “I thought I was providing equal quality puppies at the time, and apparently, I wasn’t at that point, except for my own home bred.”
Fox said he has since moved to Dallas, where he breeds and sells Cotons. While the California broker law won’t impact him now that he’s left the state, he said he refuses to buy anyone else’s puppies for resale.
“I only sell my own,” he said. “I’m not in the business to cheat people out of anything.”
Though the new animated feature “Aztec Batman: Clash of Empires” bears the name of one the most emblematic American superheroes, its creation was entirely a Mexican affair.
The action-packed saga reimagines the caped crusader as a young Aztec man named Yohualli, whose father is killed when conquistador Hernan Cortes arrives on the coast of what we know today as the state of Veracruz. By the time Cortes and his troops reach the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan, the brave Yohualli has become a fierce warrior protected by the bat deity known as Tzinacan (an actual Aztec god that fits perfectly within this fictional narrative).
Produced by Mexico City-based animated outfit Ánima Estudios, a company at the forefront of the medium in the country for over two decades, “Aztec Batman” emerged as an attempt to expand Ánima’s relationship with Warner Bros. Ánima previously produced two CG-animated films based on “Top Cat,” the classic Hanna-Barbera cartoon owned by Warner.
Released Sept. 18 on HBO Max, “Aztec Batman” was initially conceived as a miniseries, and eventually took the more concise form of a film. And while it’s a work meant to entertain, the creators hope that it also ignites new curiosity in younger audiences, particularly those in Mexico and of Mexican descent elsewhere, to learn more about Indigenous peoples.
“The movie seeks to generate pride because part of our roots as Mexicans are Indigenous cultures,” Ánima co-founder José C. Garcia de Letona said in Spanish during a recent video interview. “For many of us, the other part comes from the Spanish. We’re not passing judgment because we are a consequence of what happened, but rather giving a slightly more respectful place to the Aztecs and all Indigenous cultures.”
Why focus on the Aztecs out of the numerous civilizations that existed in the territory that now constitutes Mexico? “Because they were the ones who confronted the Spanish. As the name suggests, it was a clash of empires,” Garcia de Letona adds.
“The victors usually decide who the good guys and the bad guys were when they write their version of the story, but they always omit or diminish the other side. And this is an opportunity to tell this chapter of history from a perspective that isn’t often told,” explains director Juan Meza-Leon, a native of Ensenada, in the Mexican state of Baja California Norte, who has worked in the U.S. animation industry since the mid-2000s. While Meza-Leon has a story credit, Ernie Altbacker, a veteran in the world of DC Comics, wrote the screenplay.
Key to the aesthetic and historical authenticity of “Aztec Batman” was the knowledge that Alejandro Díaz Barriga, one of the most prominent historians of Aztec culture, shared with the production.
“Alejandro accompanied us from the script stage to the character design up to the final cut of the film,” explains Garcia de Letona. Díaz Barriga’s contributions included details on how clothing differed depending on the person’s social class, and letting the production know that the Aztecs didn’t have chairs, tables or doors in their daily lives.
The armor for this Batman took inspiration from Aztec eagle warriors and jaguar warriors, and integrated elements referencing the god Tzinacan. For example, the Batman insignia in the film is at once recognizable as an Aztec design, while also instantly identifiable as the superhero’s logo. “We wanted the designs to have that pre-Columbian quality, but at the same time to look appropriate for what they are: comic book characters,” says Meza-Leon.
The animation team behind “Aztec Batman” consisted mostly of Mexican talent with a few other artists in Brazil and Peru. “Many of us in Latin America, myself included, never imagined being part of a Batman project, and that excited us all infinitely,” says Garcia de Letona.
From the onset, Warner insisted “Aztec Batman” should be produced in Spanish first, and then dubbed into English. The Spanish cast includes actors Horacio Garcia Rojas and Omar Chaparro, while the English version features Mexican American actors Jay Hernandez and Raymond Cruz. U.S.-based Mexican filmmaker Jorge Gutierrez (“The Book of Life”) voices Yohualli’s father, Toltecatzin, in both versions.
Whether you watch with the original Spanish track or the English dub, the dialogue is laced with phrases and words in the Nahuatl language, the native tongue of the Aztecs. “Once the story was finalized, we collaborated with a Mexican writer named Alfredo Mendoza, who helped us incorporate the Nahuatl language to differentiate between the different empires since they both speak Spanish in the film,” said Meza-Leon.
Batman’s classic villains are also transformed into characters that exist organically within the Aztec context. The Joker, for example, becomes Yoka, a shaman and right-hand man to emperor Moctezuma who can communicate with the gods. Catwoman appears here as a jaguar warrior, since there were no domestic cats at that point in history in the Americas. Some creative liberties were taken — the Aztec wouldn’t allow women to become trained fighters. The dubious Cortes becomes Two-Face, while Poison Ivy appears as an enigmatic goddess.
“The idea wasn’t to make a copy of the characters, but to capture their essence, so you could say, ‘That’s the Joker,’ ‘That’s Two-Face,’ ‘That’s Catwoman,’ although we never called them by those names,” says Meza-Leon. “We also never call him Batman; it’s Tzinacan or Bat Warrior, but the spirit of the character is there.”
Since the project was originally developed as a series, Meza-Leon has already developed a larger world. If this first chapter succeeds with audiences, an “Aztec Batman” sequel is feasible. The film is currently playing in Mexican cinemas and streaming globally. “I hope it is successful enough for us to continue exploring this alternative version of the conquest of Mexico, because there are still many ideas left,” says Meza-Leon.
Every episode of “South Park” opens with a disclaimer: “All characters and events in this show — even those based on real people — are entirely fictional. All celebrity voices are impersonated … poorly. The following program contains coarse language and due to its content it should not be viewed by anyone.”
While some of that language must be required by an exhausted legal team behind the scenes, the long-running satirical cartoon is known for pressing hot-button topics and rapidly churning out searing parodies. Season 27, which premiered in July, is no exception, focusing on President Trump, his associates, policies and other current events. Some members of Trump’s cabinet have been outspoken about their likeness appearing in “South Park,” but others have shrugged it off. Over the years, the animated series has depicted conservatives and liberals alike, leaving almost no public figure, politician or activist shielded from critique or crude depiction.
This season has had an unusual cadence of episodes, with the first two arriving on a weekly schedule, then biweekly before the arrival of Episode 5, which aired three weeks later on Wednesday. The delayed episode arrived after the shooting death of conservative activist Charlie Kirk, whose debate style was depicted in the Episode 2. However, “South Park” creators Matt Parker and Trey Stone told the Denver Post the delay was unrelated to recent events, like Jimmy Kimmel’s suspension, or the content: “No one pulled the episode, no one censored us, and you know we’d say so if true.” The pair had issued a statement on Sept. 17 saying the episode wasn’t finished in time. Future episodes will air every two weeks through Dec. 10.
Here is a guide to every parody and reference so far on this season of “South Park.”
This story will be updated with each new episode.
‘Sermon on the ‘Mount,’ Episode 1
Cartman in “Sermon on the ‘Mount.”
(Comedy Central)
Cutting funding to the Corp. for Public Broadcasting
Cartman is dismayed to find out National Public Radio has lost its federal funding after he tunes in to hear static — an NPR program is his “favorite show,” he says, where “all the liberals b— and whine about stuff.” He rants to his friends about how the government “can’t cancel a show” and wonders what might be next on the chopping block.
In July, the Senate voted to approve the Trump White House’s proposal to claw back roughly $1 billion in federal funding previously allocated for public broadcasting. NPR and PBS are still operating despite the funding cuts, but layoffs and reduced programming are expected.
Christianity in public schools
Head of South Park Elementary PC Principal, whose name was a play on the initialism for politically correct, announces to the school that his name now stands for “Power Christian Principal.” He holds an assembly where he says that “our Lord and savior Jesus Christ” is the only thing that can bring back some normalcy to these “corrupt times.” He proceeds to welcome Jesus to the assembly as a guest speaker. When the students go back home, their parents and the people of South Park are alarmed to hear about the emphasis on Christianity — and the presence of Jesus — in the town’s public school.
The phrase frequently used by Trump was inscribed on a T-shirt Cartman wears after he realizes the concept of “wokeness” is no longer prominent. “Everyone hates the Jews, everyone’s fine with using gay slurs,” he says, lamenting that he no longer feels purpose if there’s no wokeness to contest.
Karoline Leavitt
The White House press secretary is depicted corralling the president, sporting a large cross necklace, as she often does during press briefings. Leavitt tells Trump a lot of his supporters are starting to turn against him and begs him to talk to them, adding that they’re “really riled up.” Trump’s base has expressed frustration over the administration’s approach to sharing information about the Jeffery Epstein case after he promised more transparency about the convicted sex offender, who died by suicide in 2019, and the sex trafficking investigation involving the late financier.
President Trump
Trump appears this season with an image of his face over an animated body, frequently repeating the phrase “Relax, guy” and threatening lawsuits against anyone who’s in his way. He is shown berating a White House portrait painter for an unflattering depiction of him and there are references to the size of the president’s genitalia. He’s also depicted as being in an abusive relationship with Satan — in which Trump is the abuser. “South Park” has previously depicted Satan as being the victim in an abusive relationship with Saddam Hussein.
The Epstein list
Satan laments the speculation that Trump’s name is on the “Epstein list,” a purported list of his alleged clients. In reality, the Justice Department has said no such list exists, walking back comments Atty. Gen. Pam Bondi made in a Fox News interview earlier this year that the list was “sitting on my desk” in preparation for release. When the list is brought up in the series, fictional Trump says, “Are we still talking about that?,” mirroring comments he made in real life.
CBS’ ’60 Minutes’ and Paramount drama
The stopwatch featured in the introduction to “60 Minutes” is strapped to a bomb when it appears on “South Park.” The hosts of the show are visibly nervous and continue praising the president while covering his lawsuit against the town of South Park, adding that they don’t agree with Trump’s detractors.
The scene references the legal tussle between Trump and Paramount Global, the parent company of CBS, which airs “60 Minutes.” The president sued over edits to a “60 Minutes” interview with then-Vice President Kamala Harris, which led to Paramount agreeing to pay $16 million to settle the lawsuit in July; shortly after, the Federal Communications Commission, led by a Trump appointee, approved Paramount’s merger with Skydance.
During the episode’s fictitious “60 Minutes” segment over Trump’s lawsuit against the town, Jesus comes to visit the townspeople. Through whispers, he tells them, “I didn’t want to come back and be in the school, but I had to because it was part of a lawsuit and the agreement with Paramount.”
“The president’s suing you?” a protester asks.
Jesus, through clenched teeth, explains: “The guy can do what he wants now that someone backed down. … You guys saw what happened to CBS? Well, guess who owns CBS? Paramount! You really want to end up like Colbert? You guys gotta stop being stupid. … If someone has the power of the presidency and also has the power to sue and take bribes, then he can do anything to anyone.”
“All of you, shut the f— up or South Park is over!” Jesus says.
The people of South Park end up settling their lawsuit with the president for $3.5 million, saying it will be fine as long as they cut some funding for their schools, hospitals and roads. And as part of the settlement, they have to agree to “pro-Trump messaging.” Cut to a live-action deepfake video of Trump trekking through the desert in a show of loyalty to his supporters before he strips naked.
‘Got a Nut,’ Episode 2
Cartman becomes a podcaster in Episode 2.
(Comedy Central)
Note: This episode aired on Aug. 6, more than a month before political commentator Charlie Kirk, who is parodied throughout the episode, was shot and killed.
ICE recruitment and immigration raids
This episode is focused on the ongoing raids carried out across the country by Immigration and Customs Enforcement and Department of Homeland Security officials since earlier this year.
When South Park Elementary counselor Mr. Mackey is fired — the government is doing away with needless spending in schools, he’s told — he signs up for a job with ICE, enticed by a generous signing bonus and a higher salary. Mackey watches a promotional video, complete with animations of officers wearing gaiters and a theme song: “We don’t ask for experience, just show up / We don’t care if you’ve read a book or grown up / If you’re crazy or fat and lazy, we don’t care at all … If you need a job, it’s a job to have.”
Mackey is hired with alarming speed and proceeds to go on his first raid, targeting a “Dora the Explorer” live show, which has a not-so-intimidating audience of young children and abuelitas. After ICE agents hear from protesters that there are “many Latinos in heaven,” they make the pearly gates their next stop.
Kristi Noem
The Department of Homeland Security secretary leads ICE agents through a series of raids this episode, but she first appears in an orientation video. She tells the new recruits, “A few years ago, I had to put my puppy down by shooting it in the face because sometimes doing what’s important means doing what’s hard,” and she proceeds to going on a shooting spree targeting yelping puppies (including Krypto the Superdog) throughout the episode. In her 2024 book, Noem wrote about how she killed her 14-month-old dog for exhibiting aggressive behavior.
She’s also seen rounding up as many immigrants as possible in raids, shouting orders like, “If it’s brown, it goes down.”
And in a running gag, her face periodically melts off, requiring a glam squad equivalent to a pit crew, and at one point, it seems to take on a life of its own. Trump also says her face “freaks me out” during the episode.
Noem responded to the depiction on Glenn Beck’s podcast, calling it “lazy” to target her looks. “If they wanted to criticize my job, go ahead and do that, but clearly they can’t, they just pick something petty like that,” she said.
Right-wing debate podcasts
While conservative political commentator Charlie Kirk does not appear as a character in this episode, his style of debate content — and his name — are featured.
Loudmouthed Cartman is frustrated that so many others, namely his classmate Clyde Donovan, are profiting off of “his shtick” of arguing against liberal views.
Clyde has a debate podcast, inviting viewers to watch as he “totally destroys these woke liberal students.” He’s set up in a tent on a college campus where he waits as a line of students come to speak with him, and he challenges them to “prove me wrong.” Cartman eventually takes over, saying that he is the “master debater” and sporting a haircut similar to Kirk’s. He shuts down his opponents’ arguments with phrases like, “You just hate America and you love abortions.”
Clyde and Cartman’s content replicates Kirk’s well-known style. The founder of the conservative organization Turning Point USA frequently toured college campuses and hosted events just like the one depicted in the episode. The phrase “prove me wrong” was used frequently by Kirk to promote his events, inviting students to challenge his political and cultural views.
On Sept. 10, Kirk was shot and killed while hosting such an event at Utah Valley University, the first stop of his “American Comeback” tour. Weeks before he was killed, Kirk responded to the episode with a 30-minute YouTube video, finding it humorous.
“I think a lot of it was hilarious towards me,” he said. “Some of it was very funny and I don’t think we should have too thick of skin.”
He also touched on the reach of his organization and events, noting that his name is enshrined in “The Charlie Kirk Award for Young Masterdebaters” that Cartman and Clyde compete for in the episode. “So a campus thing I’ve been doing for 13 years to debate random college kids has now been so important that it gets prominent prime-time placement on Comedy Central?” he asked through laughs. “I think the whole thing is just awesome and hilarious.”
Mar-a-Lago
When Mr. Mackey is rewarded for good work as an ICE agent, he’s flown to Trump’s Mar-a-Lago estate, where he frequently stays and hosts events.
He’s greeted by giggling women who hand him a drink and put flower leis around his neck before the president meets him and gives him a brief tour of Mar-a-Lago. While there, Mackey accidentally walks in on two older men receiving massages from younger women, one of whom is a tearful Dora, detained in the raid that took place earlier in the episode. The scene is likely a reference to Epstein and accounts from survivors who say they were forced to give massages to him and his associates. Trump said this summer that Epstein “stole” young women who worked at the Mar-a-Lago spa, which caused them to have a falling-out.
JD Vance
The vice president is depicted as a version of Tattoo, the character from late-’70s drama “Fantasy Island,” and is animated similarly as Trump, except the photo used for his face is lifted directly from viral memes. He often does the president’s bidding, calling him “boss.” In turn, Trump frequently calls Vance “stupid.” Acknowledging the caricature, Vance wrote on X, “Well, I’ve finally made it.”
‘Sickofancy,’ Episode 3
Randy begins microdosing ketamine and Towelie goes to Washington, D.C., in this episode.
(Comedy Central)
Immigration raid at cannabis farm
Randy’s hemp farm business, Tegridy Farms, is the site of an immigration raid at the the beginning of this episode. While Randy is shooting a commercial, complete with calming guitar music and a trite script, ICE officers interrupt by detaining almost all the workers. “You sons of b—,” Randy screams after the vans as they drive away. “Those are my Mexicans!”
In July, chaotic raids targeting a cannabis company’s growing site and greenhouse in Santa Barbara and Ventura counties drew national attention after a man who was fleeing immigration officials died.
Microdosing ketamine
With his business in shambles, Randy rethinks his strategy with the help of an over-complimentary AI chatbot. Perhaps in a nod to Trump’s former ally and onetime “special government employee” Elon Musk, the billionaire businessman behind Tesla, SpaceX and X, Randy turns to ketamine. Randy insists a slew of “tech guys” are taking small doses of ketamine and the drug “gives their minds the edge to work with AI.” Ketamine “bolsters our focus and creativity,” he tells his partner Towelie. Under the influence of the drug, Randy transforms Tegridy Farms from a “quaint farm” into an “AI-powered marijuana platform for global solutions.”
Musk’s use of ketamine and other drugs has been previously reported, with the tech leader saying in a 2024 interview that ketamine has been prescribed to him and is “helpful for getting one out of a negative frame of mind.” He has denied abusing it. “If you use too much ketamine, you can’t really get work done. I have a lot of work, I’m typically putting in 16-hour days,” he said. “So I don’t really have a situation where I can be not mentally acute for an extended period of time.”
Musk supported Trump’s campaign and served as an advisor to the president, helming the Department of Government Efficiency earlier this year with the goal of slashing spending.
Mark Zuckerberg and Tim Cook
Meta and Apple chief executives Mark Zuckerberg and Tim Cook, who were both present at Trump’s inauguration and have maintained friendly relationships with him, are both portrayed in this episode as members of a long line outside of the Oval Office waiting to bestow a gift on the president.
“Mr. President, your ideas for the tech industry are so innovative,” Cook says to Trump. Cook gives the president a gift on behalf of Apple, which actually happened this summer. Zuckerberg is later seen giving the president a gift that appears to be a gold and bejeweled Meta virtual reality headset.
Luxury jet from Qatar
Qatar’s leader is also seen in line holding a model gold plane with a tag that says “Air Force One.” Like everyone else, the leader compliments the president and insists his genitalia is not small before giving him the gift. Trump and the Defense Department accepted a luxury Boeing 747 aircraft from Qatar for President Trump to use as Air Force One this summer, despite ongoing questions about the ethics and legality of taking the expensive gift from a foreign nation.
Washington, D.C.
When Towelie takes a trip to the capital in this episode, he sees armed troops guarding monuments like the Washington and Lincoln memorials and the Capitol surrounded by tanks and jets. In the episode, the Lincoln Memorial has been replaced by a statue of a stern-faced Trump with exposed genitalia.
In August, Trump called up National Guard troops to Washington, D.C., to assist federal law enforcement in his bid to “reestablish law and order” by targeting criminals — though crime has been down in the city — and the homeless. Although troops were not initially armed, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth later ordered them to carry service-issued weapons.
Reclassifying marijuana
Randy sends Towelie to meet with Trump and give him a gift in hopes of persuading him to reclassify marijuana on the national level. (The gift is Towelie himself.) Randy, in the form of a hologram, tells Trump he thinks they can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Trump said in an August press conference that his administration was considering reclassifying marijuana as a less dangerous drug, which would be a significant change in policy but would not make the drug legal across the country.
‘Wok is Dead,’ Episode 4
Butters buys a Labubu for his girlfriend.
(Comedy Central)
Tariffs and Labubus
The clerk at the City Pop-Up — rebranded from City Wok — the lone purveyor of Labubus in the area, says the popular dolls are hard to keep in stock, and they’re very expensive because of tariffs. The “mystery box” that Butters has to purchase for the chance of getting the exact Labubu his girlfriend wants sets him back $85, and later, the price shoots up to $120 to offset a rise in tariffs. (The real-life dolls often fetch much more than that on resale sites, especially if they are rare.) When Butters balks at the price, the store owner explains that the cost of tariffs is passed onto the customer.
Fox News
This episode shows a clip from a Fox News segment where an anchor is overly complimentary of the president. The anchor says the president will take questions from a “diverse crowd of reporters” after returning to the U.S. from a historic tariff summit, only to reveal all of the reporters are from Fox.
The Fox News reporters also fixate on President Trump’s relationship with his wife, Melania, and his increasingly frequent appearances with Satan. There’s a heavy use of wordplay that suggests the anchors could be asking about the affair between the president and Satan or about whether Trump is actually the devil himself.
Kid Rock
Fox News reporters check in with Trump ally Kid Rock after breaking the news that — buckle up — Trump has impregnated Satan. A sobbing Kid Rock tells the reporters, “I’m just so happy.” The musician is a friend and ardent supporter of Trump, having performed at his inaugural rally in January and spoken many times publicly about his support of the president.
‘Conflict of Interest,’ Episode 5
South Park Season 27, Episode 5 “Conflict of Interest”
(Comedy Central)
Israel and Gaza
Kyle becomes irate when his classmates place bets on a popular market prediction app that his mother would “strike Gaza and destroy a Palestinian hospital.”
This episode marks the first time this season that the show has touched on the current conflict in Gaza, and it referenced real-life Israeli strikes on hospitals in the area.
Donald Trump Jr.
Trump’s eldest son appears in this episode as someone with many roles — he’s a strategic advisor for predictive markets, he answers the phone for the Commodity Futures Trading Commission and also acts as a special advisor to Israel. Although he wears all those hats, the series doesn’t portray him as particularly bright — he has a complete conversation over the phone with himself.
He’s also animated to look as if he’s had extensive plastic surgery and he speaks with a strained voice, as if he can’t move his face.
Trump Jr. holds several key roles in his family’s business and his father’s political sphere in real life, and he serves as an advisor to both Polymart and Kalshi, two prediction market apps that are named and spoofed in this episode.
Trump’s stance on abortion
Less keen on the baby he’s expecting with Satan, Trump looks for different ways to harm the pregnancy in hopes of terminating it. He asks Satan if he wants to smoke and hang out in a hot tub, holds up a wire hanger, tries to get him to trip down the stairs or fall under a pile of cat feces, and even makes Satan a soup full of emergency contraceptive pills.
In reality, Trump has repeatedly shifted his messaging on abortion but has most recently said he believes specific abortion policies and access should be decided not by federal law but by individual states.
Brendan Carr
The chairman of the Federal Communications Commission comes into the fold this episode when Kyle goes through several hoops to try to file a complaint over the bet involving his mom, which he finds offensive. The FCC is “dealing with all the offensive stuff now,” Kyle is told.
Carr says he needs to speak with the president after learning about the offensive content, but he ends up falling victim to all of Trump’s antics in his attempt to terminate Satan’s pregnancy, which send him to the hospital. The doctors say they’re “afraid he may lose his freedom of speech.”
Vance later threatens Carr, who keeps interfering with Trump’s attempts to end Satan’s pregnancy (Vance doesn’t want anything to mess with his proximity to the presidency). “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way,” Vance says to Carr.
Those words match the phrase Carr said in real life a week before this episode aired in reference to his call on ABC to act on comments late-night host Jimmy Kimmel made about Kirk’s suspected killer and his death. Carr has remained in the headlines since then as backlash grew against the FCC’s role in Kimmel’s suspension.
Benjamin Netanyahu
Frustrated by the bet about her and the ongoing conflict in Gaza, Kyle’s mom storms into the office of the Israeli prime minister. “Just who do you think you are, killing thousands and flattening neighborhoods, then wrapping yourself in Judaism like it’s some shield from criticism?” she says. “You’re making life for Jews miserable and life for American Jews impossible.” She continues to berate him and a group of officials while the credits roll. Netanyahu does not say anything in response.
“House of Guinness,” as in the famous Dublin brewery, begins with the disclaimer “inspired by true facts,” which is another way of saying, “Don’t believe everything you’ll see.” Or, in “Dragnet”-speak, “Names have not been changed, and we have no desire or obligation to protect the innocent. This is a drama, and anyway, you can’t libel the dead.” The framing may be sound, but the portraits are imaginary.
The unchanged names in the series, which premieres Thursday on Netflix, belong to the four children of Benjamin Lee Guinness, whose grandfather created the signature porter in 1778. They are Arthur (Anthony Boyle), Edward (Louis Partridge), Anne (Emily Fairn) and Benjamin (Fionn O’Shea). As we begin, it is 1868 and Benjamin Lee, just deceased, has left the brewery in equal shares to Arthur, who has been away in London for five years losing his accent and finding peace, and Edward, who has been pretty much running the place. Anne, only a woman, and a married one, is basically skipped over; and Benjamin, who has problems with drink and gambling, is given a small allowance, because, as expressed in his late father’s will, “I feel it wise not to burden Benjamin with the temptations that come with fortune.”
As seen here, neither Arthur nor Edward, whose professional expertise is mostly represented by signing papers and occasionally walking around his factory — you won’t learn anything about how Guinness is made — seems capable of running a brewery. But all that really matters to the show is that each is a tortured romantic and will have to find a way to thrive in their uneasy, unasked-for partnership.
Indeed, as a viewer in search of entertainment rather than enlightenment, it’s best to treat these characters, however much attached they are to the real people whose names they bear, as entirely fictional. There are also, of course, characters mixed up in this business who have no factual counterparts, and by virtue of their fates not being written in books or Wikipedia pages, are subject to the whims of series creator Steven Knight (“Peaky Blinders,” “A Thousand Blows,”), creating opportunities for suspense that might otherwise be lacking.
Prime among these creations are Sean Rafferty (James Norton), the Guinness family fixer, a handsome brute whom the ladies like, and the beautiful, brilliant Ellen Cochrane (Niamh McCormack), a Catholic firebrand who sees a better way toward Irish independence than throwing rocks at old man Guinness’ hearse or setting beer barrels on fire; for some reason, the Fenians, epitomized by Ellen’s “bonehead” brother Patrick (Seamus O’Hara), a grating presence and no advertisement for the movement, have decided that targeting Guinness (rich, Protestant) is going to get them somewhere.
James Norton as Sean Rafferty in “House of Guinness.”
(Ben Blackall / Netflix)
Apart from the politics, the family squabbles and the not particularly worrying fortunes of the family business — I mean, you can still order a Guinness — the main concerns of this historical melodrama, this stout opera, if you will, are beating hearts and heaving breasts. Skeptically accepting a meeting with Edward in the spirit of detente, Ellen feels electricity sparking between them, and vice versa. (More acceptably, Edward also has eyes for his cousin Adelaide Guinness, played by Ann Skelly, who has none for him.) Ben, meanwhile, is beloved by Lady Christine O’Madden (Jessica Reynolds), who foolishly believes she can reform him. Well, we’ve all seen that story.
But wait, there’s more! In this telling, at least, Arthur is gay, which is a problem for him as a person living in a super-religious country in the late 19th century and as a representative of the family and their eponymous product. If his orientation becomes known, it is suggested, the world will cease drinking his beer, and the family will be forced to subsist on the millions of pounds they have in the bank and whatever they can scrape off the several estates they own around the country. (Whenever contemporary figures are mentioned, screen-filling subtitles translate the sum into its 2025 equivalent, just so you realize how freaking rich these people were. The budget of the series is not sufficient to make that readily apparent.)
Arthur’s “complication,” which is no secret among his nonjudgmental siblings, has made him A) a target for blackmail, and B) a person in immediate need of a wife, especially as he’s about to stand for his late father’s seat in parliament. Enter Aunt Agnes Guinness (Dervla Kirwan), the story’s yenta, and marriage prospect Lady Olivia Hedges (Danielle Galligan), who is quite happy to settle for a maximum of freedom and a modicum of responsibility, and who curses in a most unladylike fashion. (But, really, the F-words and the Sh-words fly everywhere in this show.)
And what about Anne, saddled with a degenerative disease and a less-than-sexy cleric husband? She’ll sublimate her own romantic heartache in urban renewal and other good works. (Factually, the family had a philanthropic bent, and the company was so far ahead of its time in treating its workers well, including pensions beginning in the 1880s — that gets a moment here — and providing medical care to staff and their families, that much of this country still hasn’t caught up. They were less evolved, however, for many years, when it came to hiring Catholics.)
What else? There’s a curious Hobbit of a character named Byron Hedges (Jack Gleeson), an illegitimate cousin who arrives to sell himself as the man to represent their interests in America, into which Edward is keen to expand; we get some scenes set in New York. There’s Potter (Michael McElhatton), the droll, dry butler, who looks askance upon the younger Guinnesses but stays loyal, like butlers do. And Bonnie Champion (David Wilmot), a charismatic crime lord who’s also involved in the company’s export business.
There’s nothing subtle about “House of Guinness,” which makes its points in declarative sentences — sometimes gussied up with Irish-y prose — and gives its characters hardly a moment to relax and enjoy their porter, swelling the soundtrack with aggressive modern Irish rock and rap to make it exciting to the people of 2025. The show can border on the cornball; the characters are the sort you might have seen in the sort of dramas popular in 1868. But the actors inhabit their roles with commitment, so that even the bad company is good company. Good craic, as they say over there.
Rihanna and ASAP Rocky have welcomed the latest addition to their growing family: their first baby girl.
The “Love on the Brain” singer announced the arrival of her daughter with the “Highest 2 Lowest” star on Wednesday, sharing a photo of her newest bundle of joy to Instagram. In the picture, Rihanna cradles her newborn, who is wearing a baby-pink jumpsuit.
“Rocki Irish Mayers,” she says in the Instagram caption, which also reveals the date of birth, Sept. 13.
Baby Rocki is the third child for the celebrity pair, who began dating in 2019. They also share sons RZA, born in May 2022, and Riot, who was born in August 2023. Rocki’s name is a twist on her father’s stage name, but it also continues the stars’ tradition of choosing names that begin with the letter “R.” Notably, Rihanna’s and ASAP Rocky’s birth names also begin with that letter: Robyn and Rakim.
The Fenty Beauty mogul shared the first public photos of her daughter months after her splashy pregnancy reveal at the 2025 Met Gala in May. At the event, the singer cradled her baby bump as she posed for photographers in a custom-made Marc Jacobs suit. She walked solo down the red carpet. ASAP Rocky, who was one of the co-chairs of the annual event, had arrived earlier in the evening. Even before hitting the carpet, the “Umbrella” and “Don’t Stop the Music” hitmaker publicized her pregnancy on social media.
“It feels amazing, you know,” ASAP Rocky told CBS News in May, confirming the pregnancy on the red carpet. “It’s time that we show the people what we was cooking up.”
For Rihanna, 37, and ASAP Rocky, 36, the arrival of their baby girl is the latest event in a busy year that also included a legal victory for the “Sundress” rapper and Hollywood projects for both.
In a 2024 cover story for Interview magazine, the singer expressed her desire for a large family, saying that having children with ASAP Rocky “was the best thing that ever happened to us.”
Rihanna also said at the time that she wanted as many kids as “God wants me to have.”
You can say you are building a ballpark, but the anticipation accelerates when the community sees what the ballpark might look like. For the city of Ontario and its architects, the rendering of its minor league ballpark included a team name.
A placeholder, that is. The new team owners did not yet own the team. The name would come later. The Dodgers’ California League team would not move in until 2026.
On that drawing last year: the Ontario Sky Mules, with a whimsical logo of a grinning donkey wearing sunglasses and flying a prop plane. It was, frankly, awesome.
It was the essence of the minor leagues. Don’t know what a sky mule is? Hardly anyone knew what a trash panda was, either, and the Trash Pandas are one of the hottest brands in the minors.
This year, the newly hired team staff dropped hints about the actual name, about the buzz in town. On the walls of the team offices: “Cleared for Takeoff.” The city referenced ballpark fan zones nicknamed “The Airfield” and “The Tarmac.”
And, just last week, the biggest hint of all: the announcement of a naming rights deal with Ontario International Airport, close enough to the ballpark that you’ll be able to see flights take off. The ballpark name: ONT Field (spell it out: O-N-T, like LAX).
On Thursday, eight months in advance of its first game, the team finally revealed its name: the Ontario Tower Buzzers.
It’s an homage to the movie “Top Gun,” and to the defiant line uttered by the pilot played by Tom Cruise: “It’s time to buzz the tower.” The Tower Buzzers’ mascot, a bee called Maverick, is named after Cruise’s character.
The team name balances heritage and whimsy. The city is paying for the ballpark and wants to promote its airport, which was used as a World War II air base before reverting to civilian use and expanding into an Inland Empire transportation hub.
“We want to honor that legacy and have fun with it,” Tower Buzzers general manager Allan Benavides said. “We found something we think is a fun minor league name, rather than just, say, Pilots or Aviators.”
“We want to honor that legacy and have fun with it,” Tower Buzzers general manager Allan Benavides, standing in front of a rendering of the team’s new stadium, said of the name.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
The Aviators? Already in use in Las Vegas. The Pilots? The name of a failed California League team in Riverside (the college landlord wouldn’t allow beer sales, which is akin to a death sentence in the minor leagues).
The Tower Buzzers should fare better, in a ballpark that figures to be the second-best place to see a ballgame in Southern California, behind Petco Park and ahead of Dodger Stadium and Angel Stadium.
The city’s latest cost estimate is $120 million, for a Class A ballpark. The stadium that opened this year for the Angels’ triple-A affiliate in Salt Lake City cost $140 million and holds 8,000.
ONT Field is expected to hold 6,500 — but with 3,200 seats between the foul poles, and the rest wherever you prefer: in the outfield, on the grass, in picnic areas, on a playground, or in bars, clubs and suites, including a couple where you can converse with the players.
There’s an ice cream parlor, a food hall, and a bar shaped like a luggage carousel. After a home run, the splash pad will erupt, and propellers will whirl in a bar. A runway will light up, and so will the antennas on the mascot.
The scoreboard is a hexagon, just like the one at Dodger Stadium. Soon to appear: a mural of Fernando Valenzuela. All fans, not just the ones in the fancy seats, can watch players in the batting cage.
On the afternoon I visited, the temperature was 108 degrees. The seating area will not have mist machines, as the Angels’ old California League stadium in Palm Springs did.
“It won’t be 108 at 7 o’clock,” Benavides said.
His target audience: the “30-year-old moms” that he said control the calendar and the spending for the family.
“Not everybody is a baseball fan, but they want to have time,” he said. “They want to be away from their cellphones and the TV and be outside, not spend a ton of money, and not have to drive to L.A. or San Diego.”
Crews work on the construction of ONT Field in Ontario last month. The team last week announced a naming rights deal with Ontario International Airport.(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
The Angels’ California League affiliate will play in Rancho Cucamonga, eight miles away. Another California League team plays in San Bernardino, 25 miles away. The Angels themselves are 35 miles away.
“We’re going to fight for dollars, certainly, but I think our affiliation with the Dodgers is huge,” Benavides said. “They’re the hottest brand in baseball, depending on who you ask. I’m a Dodger fan, so I think they are.
“And I think this will be the nicest minor league stadium in the country, regardless of classification.”
If the Tower Buzzers do not win that fight for dollars, Ontario’s investment in the ballpark could turn out to be a poor one.
The ballpark is the anchor of what the city is modestly calling the Ontario Sports Empire, a 200-acre facility for training and competition billed by the city as the “largest sports complex of its kind west of the Rocky Mountains.”
There absolutely is a market for sports tourism, for all those kids and all their parents shuttling to weekend tournaments in baseball, softball, football, soccer, tennis and more. But that market can be tapped without a nine-figure investment in a minor league ballpark. (The naming rights payments come from airport revenues, not city taxpayers; the airport is administered jointly by the city and San Bernardino County.)
A rendering of ONT Field, set to open in 2026.
(Courtesy of City of Ontario)
That ballpark investment is more about a local entertainment option for residents, with so many homes in the pipeline that the population could double from close to 200,000 to about 400,000 within two decades. The NHL’s Kings already have a minor league affiliate playing in the city’s arena, and city officials plan for restaurants, hotels and shops to surround the ballpark and sports complex.
Dan Bell, a city spokesman, said Ontario is adding about 1,200 new homes every year.
“And they’re reasonable,” Bell said. “You can’t afford the L.A. market anymore.”
On Thursday, at the moment the team announced the Tower Buzzers name, the team merchandise went on sale. The home jerseys say Buzzers.
So is it Buzzers or Tower Buzzers? It’s like Blazers or Trail Blazers.
“We’ll let fans decide,” Benavides said.
I still wondered about the homage. When the Tower Buzzers take the field next year, “Top Gun” will turn 40. To a fan of a certain age, the reference is obvious. It would be like opening a pizza delivery service and calling it Spicoli’s.
To a younger generation, “Top Gun” might mean a blank stare. No worries, Benavides said. You’ll be able to enjoy a night at the ballpark all the same.
“We’re not going to 100% lean into that film,” he said. “This isn’t going to be a ‘Top Gun’ museum.”
Well, then, Tower Buzzers: You are cleared for takeoff.
HONOLULU — Dodgers star Shohei Ohtani and his agent, Nez Balelo, moved to dismiss a lawsuit filed last month accusing them of causing a Hawaii real estate investor and broker to be fired from a $240-million luxury housing development on the Big Island’s Hapuna Coast.
Ohtani and Balelo were sued Aug. 8 in Hawaii Circuit Court for the First Circuit by developer Kevin J. Hayes Sr. and real estate broker Tomoko Matsumoto, West Point Investment Corp. and Hapuna Estates Property Owners, who accused them of “abuse of power” that allegedly resulted in tortious interference and unjust enrichment.
Hayes and Matsumoto had been dropped from the development deal by Kingsbarn Realty Capital, the joint venture’s majority owner.
In papers filed Sunday, lawyers for Ohtani and Balelo said Hayes and Matsumoto in 2023 acquired rights for a joint venture in which they owned a minority percentage to use Ohtani’s name, image and likeness under an endorsement agreement to market the venture’s real estate development at the Mauna Kea Resort. The lawyers said Ohtani was a “victim of NIL violations.”
“Unbeknownst to Ohtani and his agent Nez Balelo, plaintiffs exploited Ohtani’s name and photograph to drum up traffic to a website that marketed plaintiffs’ own side project development,” the lawyers wrote. “They engaged in this self-dealing without authorization, and without paying Ohtani for that use, in a selfish and wrongful effort to take advantage of their proximity to the most famous baseball player in the world.”
The lawyers claimed Hayes and Matsumoto sued after “Balelo did his job and protected his client by expressing justifiable concern about this misuse and threatening to take legal action against this clear misappropriation.” They called Balelo’s actions “clearly protected speech “
In a statement issued after the suit was filed last month, Kingsbarn called the allegations “completely frivolous and without merit.”
Ohtani is a three-time MVP on the defending World Series champion Dodgers.
“Nez Balelo has always prioritized Shohei Ohtani’s best interests, including protecting his name, image, and likeness from unauthorized use,” a lawyer for Ohtani and Balelo, said in a statement. “This frivolous lawsuit is a desperate attempt by plaintiffs to distract from their myriad of failures and blatant misappropriation of Mr. Ohtani’s rights.”
Lawyers for Hayes and Matsumoto did not immediately respond to a request for comment.
Clifton Powell is unapologetically dropping the name of the agent who he alleges fired him for taking a role in the 2005 musical “The Gospel.”
“My agent at the time, and I’ll say his name, his name is Jeff Witjas at APA,” the veteran actor told “The Art of Dialogue” last week on YouTube. “He called me and said, ‘You’re doing another one of those little Black movies?’ I said, ‘You’re damn right. I got a family to feed’ and hung up the telephone on his ass and they let me go.”
Witjas did not respond immediately Friday to The Times’ request for comment.
One of Hollywood’s famous “Oh, that guy” character actors is headed toward 300 credits in his prolific career. Powell, 69, has appeared in Oscar-winning films like the 2004 biopic “Ray,” critically acclaimed films like the 1993 crime drama “Menace II Society” and box office juggernauts like the 1998 buddy-cop comedy “Rush Hour.”
Throughout his career, Powell said he doesn’t let his representation dictate the projects he takes. When picking his projects, the actor follows advice given to him by Jamie Foxx years ago.
“He said, ‘Clif Powell, keep one foot in…’ that means keep one foot in with your people and I’m always going to be with the people, because African Americans, and young white kids, young Asians, Latinos and women have made me a household name.”
Powell said his mentality has paid dividends. The director of “The Gospel” later cast him in Peacock’s critically hailed crime drama “Fight Night: The Million Dollar Heist.”
His hiccup with a top acting agency did not slow down his career. Based on his IMDb page, Powell has remained a working actor and kept his family well fed. But there are certain roles his personal boundaries have ruled out: gay roles.
“It’s not militant. It’s just that I’m — certain things I’m just not comfortable with,” Powell said.
One role that did fall within his zone of comfort was a part in 2Pac’s dystopian music video for “California Love,” where his character is introduced as “Monster” by a high-pitched Chris Tucker.
“A lot of people still don’t know that’s me … everybody thinks that’s George Clinton,” Powell said on “The Art of Dialogue.”
So shout his name next time the video plays, instead of saying “That’s the guy from ‘Rush Hour.’” That guy’s name is Clifton Powell.
When a door slammed shut in the childhood home of Andry Hernández Romero, he wasn’t just startled. He winced, recoiling from the noise.
Nearly a month had passed since Hernández Romero, a 32-year-old makeup artist, and 251 other Venezuelans were released from a notorious Salvadoran mega-prison.
In a Zoom interview in August from Venezuela, Hernández Romero listed the ways in which the trauma of the ordeal still manifests itself.
“When doors are slammed — did you notice [my reaction] when the door made noise just now?” he said. “I can’t stand keys. Being touched when I’m asleep. If I see an officer with cuffs in their hand, I get scared and nervous.”
Trump administration officials accused the Venezuelan men of being members of the transnational gang Tren de Aragua and a national security threat, though many, including Hernández Romero, had no criminal histories in the U.S. or Venezuela.
While he was confined, with no access to his attorneys or the news, Hernández Romero had no idea he had become a poster child for the movement to free the prisoners.
“Before I was Andry the makeup artist, Andry the stylist, Andry the designer,” he said. “I was somewhat recognized, but not as directly. Right now, if you type my name into Google, TikTok, YouTube — any platform — my entire life shows up.”
Days after he was sent to El Salvador on March 15, CBS News published a leaked deportation manifest with his name on it. His lawyer Lindsay Toczylowski, who co-founded the Los Angeles-based Immigrant Defenders Law Center, denounced his removal on “The Rachel Maddow Show” and a “60 Minutes” expose.
In the “60 Minutes” episode, Time photojournalist Philip Holsinger recounted hearing a man at the prison cry for his mother, saying, “I’m not a gang member. I’m gay. I’m a stylist,” while prison guards slapped him and shaved his head.
Outrage grew. On social media, users declared him disappeared, asking, “Is Andry Hernández Romero alive?”
Congressional Democrats traveled to El Salvador to push for information about the detainees and came back empty-handed.
“Let’s get real for a moment,” Rep. Ritchie Torres (D-N.Y.) said in an April 9 video on X. The video cut to a glamour shot of Hernández Romero peering from behind three smoldering makeup brushes.
“When was the last time you saw a gay makeup artist in a transnational gang?” Torres said.
Hernández Romero walks through a market in his hometown of Capacho Nuevo.
Hernández Romero shows the crown tattoos that U.S. authorities claimed linked him to the Tren de Aragua gang.
Hernández Romero fled Venezuela after facing persecution for his sexuality and political views, according to his lawyers.
He entered the U.S. legally at the San Ysidro Port of Entry on Aug. 29, 2024, after obtaining an appointment through CBP One, the asylum application process used in the Biden administration. The elation of getting through lasted just a few minutes, he said.
Hernández Romero spent six months at the Otay Mesa Detention Center. He had passed a “credible fear” interview — the first step in the asylum process — but immigration officials had lasered in on two of his nine tattoos: a crown on each wrist with “Mom” and “Dad” in English.
Immigrant detainees are given blue, orange or red uniforms, depending on their classification level. A guard once explained that detainees wearing orange, like him, could be criminals. Hernández Romero said he replied, “Is being a gay a crime? Or is doing makeup a crime?”
When his deportation flight landed in El Salvador, he saw tanks and officials dressed in all black, carrying big guns.
A Salvadoran man got off first — Kilmar Abrego García, whose case became a focus of controversy after federal officials acknowledged he had been wrongly deported.
Eight Venezuelan women got off next, but Salvadoran officials rejected them and they were led back onto the plane. Hernández Romero said the remaining Venezuelans felt relieved, thinking they too would be rejected.
Instead, they ended up in prison.
Hernández Romero does the makeup for Gabriela Mora, the fiancee of his fellow prisoner Carlos Uzcátegui, hours before their civil wedding in the town of Lobatera.
“I saw myself hit, I saw myself carried by two officials with my head toward the ground, receiving blows and kicks,” Hernández Romero said. “After that reality kind of strikes me: I was in a cell in El Salvador, in a maximum-security prison with nine other people and asking myself, ‘What am I doing here?’”
As a stylist, he said, having his hair shaved off was particularly devastating. Even worse were the accompanying blows and homophobic insults.
He remembers the photographer snapping shots of him and feeling the sting of his privacy being violated. Now, he understands their significance: “It’s thanks to those photos that we are now back in our homes.”
At the prison, guards taunted them, Hernández Romero said, telling them, “You all are going to die here.”
Hernández Romero befriended Carlos Uzcátegui, 32, who was held in the cell across the hall. Prisoners weren’t allowed to talk with people outside their cells, but the pair quietly got to know each other whenever the guards were distracted.
Uzcátegui said he was also detained for having a crown tattoo and for another depicting three stars, one for each of his younger sisters.
A prisoner is moved by a guard at the Terrorist Confinement Center, a high-security prison in Tecoluca, El Salvador, on March 26. (Alex Brandon, Pool/AFP via Getty Images)
As prisoners looks on, U.S. Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem speaks during a tour of the Terrorist Confinement Center on March 26. (Alex Brandon, Pool/AFP via Getty Images)
Hernández Romero said he noticed that some of the guards would stare at him when he showered. He told reporters that guards took him to a small, windowless room known as “La Isla,” or “The Island,” after noticing him bathing with a bucket outside of designated hours. There, he said, he was beaten by three guards wearing masks and forced to perform oral sex on one of them, according to NPR and other outlets.
Hernández Romero no longer wishes to talk about the details of the alleged abuse. His lawyers are looking into available legal options.
“Perhaps those people will escape earthly justice, the justice of man, but when it comes to the justice of our Father God, no one escapes,” he said. “Life is a restaurant — no one leaves without paying.”
Uzcátegui said guards once pulled out his toenails and denied him medication despite a high fever. He had already showered, but as his fever worsened he took a second shower, which wasn’t allowed.
He said guards pushed him down, kicked him repeatedly in the stomach, then left him in “La Isla” for three days.
In July, rumors began circulating in the prison that the Venezuelans might be released, but the detainees didn’t believe the talk until the pastor who gave their daily sermon appeared uncharacteristically emotional. He told them: “The miracle is done. Tomorrow is a new day for you all.”
Uzcátegui remained unconvinced. That night, he couldn’t sleep because of the noise of people moving around the prison. He said usually that meant that guards would enter their cell block early in the morning to beat them.
Hernández Romero noticed his friend was restless. “We’re leaving today,” he said.
“I don’t believe it,” Uzcátegui replied. “It’s always the same.”
Hernández Romero knew they had spent 125 days imprisoned because when any detainee went for a medical consult, they would unobtrusively note the calendar in the room and report back to the group. The detainees would then mark the day on their metal bed frames using soap.
On July 18, buses arrived at the prison at 3 a.m. to take the Venezuelans to the airport. Officials called out Hernández Romero and Arturo Suárez-Trejo, a singer whose case had also drawn public attention, for individual photos. Hernández Romero said they were puzzled but obliged.
Migrants deported by the United States to El Salvador under the Trump administration’s immigration crackdown arrive at Simon Bolívar International Airport in Maiquetia, Venezuela, on July 18.
(Ariana Cubillos / Associated Press)
When their flight touched down, an official told them: “Welcome to Venezuela.” Walking down the plane steps, Hernández Romero felt the Caribbean breeze on his face and thanked God.
A few days later, he was back in his hometown, Capacho Nuevo, hugging his parents and brother in the center of a swarm of journalists and supporters chanting his name.
“I left home with a suitcase full of dreams, with dreams of helping my people, of helping my family, but unfortunately, that suitcase of dreams turned into a suitcase of nightmares,” he told reporters there.
Hernández Romero said he wants to see his name cleared. For him, justice would mean “that the people who kidnapped us and unfairly blamed us should pay.”
President Trump had invoked an 18th century wartime law to quickly remove many of the Venezuelans to El Salvador in March. In a 2-1 decision on Sept. 2, a panel of judges from the U.S. 5th Circuit Court of Appeals found that the administration acted unlawfully, saying there has been “no invasion or predatory incursion.”
Trump administration officials have told a federal judge that they would facilitate the return of Venezuelans to the U.S. if they wish to continue the asylum proceedings that were dismissed after they were sent to El Salvador. If there’s another chance to fulfill his dreams, Hernández Romero said he’s “not closed off to anything.”
Uzcátegui sees it differently. After everything he went through, he said, he probably would not go back.
Now he suffers from nightmares that it’s happening again. “Despite everything, you end up feeling like it’s not true that we’re out of there,” he said. “You wake up thinking you’re still there.”
Carlos Uzcátegui exchanges vows with Gabriela Mora during their wedding in August as Hernández Romero, right, in cap, looks on.
As he restarts his career, Hernández Romero is redeveloping a client list as a makeup artist. Last month, he worked a particularly special wedding: Uzcátegui’s. He did makeup for his friend’s bride, Gabriela Mora.
“He lived the same things I did in there,” Uzcátegui said. “It was like knowing that we are finally free — that despite all the things we talked about that we never thought would happen, that friendship remains. We’re like family.”
Fox News doesn’t want to talk about the crude doodle of a naked woman, with its creepy message printed across her breasts and torso, and a signature — “Donald” — in her pubic area.
And it certainly doesn’t want to draw attention to a newly released photo of the convicted child sex trafficker Jeffrey Epstein holding an oversized check signed “DJTRUMP,” with a caption that reads, “Jeffrey showing early talents with money + women! Sells ‘fully depreciated’ [female’s name redacted] to Donald Trump for $22,500.”
While just about everyone has had something to say about the most damning documents yet to come out of the so-called Epstein files, America’s No. 1 cable news network has opted to sit this one out.
Questions about President Trump’s shared history with the nation’s most notorious sex offender shot to the top of news feeds Tuesday after the Republican-led House Oversight Committee released documents to the public that it had subpoenaed from the Epstein estate. The material included notes, drawings and photos from friends and associates to Epstein on his 50th birthday in 2003.
Donald Trump, his future wife Melania, Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell at Mar-a-Lago in 2000.
(Davidoff Studios Photography / Getty Images)
The “body art” letter that appears to be written by Trump features this bizarre, imaginary conversation:
Voice Over:There must be more to life than having everything. Donald: Yes, there is, but I won’t tell you what it is. Jeffrey: Nor will I, since I already know what it is. Donald: We have certain things in common, Jeffrey. Jeffrey: Yes, we do come to think of it. Donald: Enigmas never age, have you noticed that? Jeffrey: As a matter of fact, it was clear to me the last time I saw you. Donald: A pal is a wonderful thing. Happy birthday — and may every day be another wonderful secret.
Fox News on Tuesday suppressed the skeezy birthday note like a dark family secret and instead focused on safer, more comfortable subject matter, like Bill Clinton. But there wasn’t much to say since the birthday greeting that appeared to have been signed by the former president lacked drawings of naked females or implications about buying girls and/or women for sex. The short passage praised Epstein’s “childlike curiosity.” Thankfully, Fox had other breaking stories to chase.
Host Sean Hannity focused on a deadly North Carolina train stabbing and how it implicated Democrats’ “woke” criminal policies. Earlier in the day, Fox News was busy plumbing the depths of the Biden “autopen” scandal after a “bombshell report.”
Fox News’ website was equally as busy avoiding the nation’s top story. It led with “Charlotte mayor scores primary reelection victory amid national backlash over gruesome train murder” and another breaking story: “Hellfire missile bounces off mysterious orb in stunning UAP footage shown to Congress.”
Its story on the scandalous documents? “Inside Epstein’s infamous ‘birthday book’: Clinton’s note, poolside candids and bizarre animal pics.” The piece was toward the bottom of the page, tucked away like dirty laundry. It never once mentioned Trump.
Ghislaine Maxwell compiled the birthday book, collecting sentiments from Epstein’s friends and then gifting the album to her high-rolling financier bestie. Less than two decades later, she would be convicted of sex trafficking, among other charges. Epstein died in jail of a reported suicide in 2019 while awaiting trial on similar charges. Maxwell is serving a 20-year prison term.
Trump said Tuesday when asked to respond to the birthday letter, “I don’t comment on something that’s a dead issue. I gave all comments to the staff. It’s a dead issue.” White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt told reporters Tuesday during a briefing that “the president did not write this letter. He didn’t sign this letter.” She said the administration would be open to a handwriting expert reviewing the signature on the letter.
But several news organizations have beaten them to it and compared the signature on the Epstein letter against Trump’s signature on other documents, and found them to be similar.
The alleged Trump letter was first reported by the Wall Street Journal in July, when the president denied writing it and said it was “a fake thing.” He filed a lawsuit against the paper’s publisher, reporters and executives, including News Corp. owner Rupert Murdoch.
The album also contains messages that appear to be from other notable personalities, including the current U.K. ambassador to the U.S., Peter Mandelson; Harvard law professor Alan Dershowitz, who was part of a legal team representing Trump during his first impeachment trial; and billionaire retail magnate Les Wexner.
The caption under the novelty-check photo appears to be written by Joel Pashcow, a Mar-a-Lago club member and former chairman of a New York real estate company. The woman’s name and photo are redacted in the caption and the image. Lawyers for Epstein’s estate removed the names and photos of women and minors who appeared in the book so possible victims of Epstein could not be identified.
Other drawings in the book make Trump’s alleged contribution look docile. They include a queasy illustration of Epstein handing out balloons to young girls. Fox did mention the drawings of Epstein being massaged by several topless women around a pool, and the one of a zebra having sex with a lion. How much time until it’s suggested that it could be the work of Biden’s autopen? 5,4,3…
It was a moment that should have been celebrated on both sides of the Atlantic. What could prove to be the most expensive transfer in women’s soccer history — and already is the largest outgoing transfer in NWSL history — had sent Alyssa Thompson from Angel City and the NWSL to Chelsea of England’s Women’s Super League.
It was a monumental deal, one that could come to define Thompson’s career and help repair Angel City’s brand as a rich club that has mostly bumbled its way through its first four seasons.
It was a massive win for the player and both clubs.
Yet before the ink on the agreement had dried Angel City was already tarnishing what it should have been cheering. Coach Alexander Straus refused to even say Thompson’s name, opening a conference call with reporters Thursday by insisting he would not answer questions about “a certain player” or “a certain transfer.”
It was the second time in four days Straus refused to acknowledge his team’s best player.
Thompson, of course, has never been “a certain player” or “a certain transfer.” She’s a player Angel City moved heaven and earth to draft and sign in 2023, giving her a contract worth an estimated $1 million, then one of the richest in the NWSL. She’s a player who went on to become the club’s all-time leader in goals and rank sixth in appearances.
The least the coach could do is say her name.
Then three hours after that conference call, and about an hour after Thompson’s transfer became official, the club muddled things even further by reaching out to anyone who would listen to say it had done everything it could to keep Thompson, who had professed her desire to stay with Angel City when she signed a long-term contract extension just nine months earlier.
Thompson has the right to change her mind when a better opportunity comes along, of course, and Chelsea offered exactly that. Just 20, Thompson has already proven to be one of the most dynamic players in the world but she hasn’t come close to realizing her full potential and it’s unlikely she would have stayed in the NWSL.
The transfer was necessary for Thompson to find out how good she can be. And just as important is the fact that Thompson, who lived with her parents for the first year of her professional career, will now be on her own for the first time. How she adapts will no doubt have a major influence on her career as well.
But the club’s admission it did everything it could to keep her — a message aimed at fans angry at seeing the team’s best player go — simply confirmed what many in Thompson’s camp had thought since Chelsea first approached Angel City with a transfer offer last month: the club was more interested in blocking the deal than facilitating it.
“She wants to go to Chelsea and made it very clear,” a Thompson confidant said late in the process. “ACFC has to respect her.”
Angel City forward Alyssa Thompson competes against the San Diego Wave on March 16.
(Kyusung Gong / Associated Press)
For the club to suggest it had tried to hold up the transfer was the exact wrong message to send and one that — along with Straus’ lack of respect — won’t soon be forgotten by ambitious young players Angel City may approach in the future.
Thompson was one of eight players on the Angel City roster aged 20 or younger. Many, if not all, of those young women must be confident the club won’t stand in their way if they have a chance to move on and develop their talent on a bigger stage.
That’s the way soccer works. It’s why clubs allow players to leave in the middle of a season to play for their national teams despite the risk of injury. It’s unfortunate the transfer happened now, hampering Angel City’s final push for a playoff berth. But as long as the NWSL plays on a different calendar from the rest of the world, the transfer windows will always be awkward.
Yes, Angel City should — and it did — fight hard for every last penny in the transfer talks. The team recruited Thompson, signed her, paid her good money and gave her an opportunity and a platform to play both professionally and in a World Cup.
By all accounts, the team was masterful in its negotiations with Chelsea and it was rewarded with a record-breaking transfer fee. They deserve a huge pat on the back for that.
Just which records the deal broke depends on how you look at it. Multiple sources involved in the talks confirmed the transfer’s value at $1.65 million, which would make it the most expensive transfer in women’s soccer history.
Yet that’s not what Angel City deposited in the bank last week. Whether Chelsea will pay the full amount will be determined by non-disclosed escalators, mainly based on Thompson’s performance, that were included in the deal. For the time being, however, Angel City will have to get by with about half a million less, putting the initial value of the transfer somewhere between the nearly $1.1 million Chelsea paid the San Diego Wave last January for defender Naomi Girma and the $1.5 million the Orlando Pride paid Mexico’s Tigres for Lizbeth Ovalle last month.
Either way it’s the largest fee for an outgoing player in NWSL history and probably enough for Angel City to keep the lights on. So on Friday morning the club sent out a tepid three-paragraph statement announcing a transfer everyone else knew was done.
“We thank Alyssa for her contributions to Angel City and are grateful for the mark she has left on our team and the city of Los Angeles,” it read.
At least they said her name.
⚽ You have read the latest installment of On Soccer with Kevin Baxter. The weekly column takes you behind the scenes and shines a spotlight on unique stories. Listen to Baxter on this week’s episode of the “Corner of the Galaxy” podcast.
It’s year No. 49 covering high school sports in Southern California. Let me tell you how it started.
Cut from the Madison Junior High basketball team, I discovered writing for the school newspaper offered more power and influence than sitting on a bench. Everyone likes to see their name mentioned, so now I knew I had a big responsibility going forward.
It was the time of Watergate and new heroes such as journalists Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein uncovering corruption at the highest level, inspiring future journalists. While attending Poly High in Sun Valley, Pete Kokon, the sports editor of the San Fernando Sun, offered to pay me $15 a week to write a story about high school sports. It was the first lesson of a sportswriter — don’t worry about the money, bask in the spotlight of having your name appear in a byline.
Kokon was the most entertaining character I’ve ever met. He owned an apartment building in Sherman Oaks and lived in his “penthouse,” which consisted of entering a screen door that was never locked and seeing a small room on the top floor. He’d leave his keys in his unlocked car under a mat. He used to cuss out Ronald Reagan whenever his name was mentioned. He taught me how to bet at the race track, saying, “Give me a dollar,” before going to the window to place a $2 bet.
Eric Sondheimer giving a speech in 1989 at the National Football Foundation and College Hall of Fame at Knollwood Country Club.
(Bob Messina Photography)
He taught me how to play golf, inviting me to Woodland Hills Country Club and shouting out his club ID number to pay for everything from food to shirts to drinks. He’d write all his stories on an ancient Royal typewriter. He smoked cigars and once was a boxing promoter. Two of his best friends were Hall of Famers Don Drysdale and Bob Waterfield, fellow Van Nuys High graduates. Everyone knew him, appreciated him and feared him whenever he got angry.
Pete Kokon covered high school sports in the San Fernando Valley for more than 60 years.
(Valley Times)
For more than 60 years, he covered high school sports. I never thought I’d challenge his record. But after becoming a stringer for the Daily News in 1976 and being hired full time in 1980 after turning down the job of sports information director at Cal State Northridge, I learned there was a need to cover local sports and it became my passion to make a difference. Yes, I’ve covered the Super Bowl, the NBA Finals, the 1984 Olympic Games, the World Series, the Rose Bowl, the Breeders’ Cup, the Little League World Series, but nothing has provided more satisfaction than telling the stories of teenagers rising up in the face of adversity or overcoming doubts from peers to succeed.
There have been tough stories through the years. I’ll never forget staying awake until 11:30 p.m. to see the lead story on ESPN SportsCenter detailing possible NCAA rule violations by the University of Kentucky after a package sent to a high school basketball star in Los Angeles had money inside. That was a story helped by others at the Daily News.
A young Paul Skenes at El Toro High. In Southern California, you never know when the teenager you’re talking to is a future Hall of Famer. pic.twitter.com/8CJWbIyZja
I’ve always treated high school sports as different than college or pros. These are teenagers, with criticism of coaches and athletes mostly off limits. But times are changing. Players are getting paid. Coaches are engaging in ethical lapses. It’s a growing challenge. I will continue to respect the tradition of high school sports being about having fun but insist on rules being followed.
Eric Sondheimer interviews Corona Centennial’s Eric Freeny at the end of the state championship in Sacramento in March 2022. Freeny is now a freshman at UCLA.
(Nick Koza)
There are so many stories of coaches getting mad. Sometimes it takes time for them to understand I’m just trying to do my job as a fair, dedicated journalist who understands my responsibilities and remembers my role.
Let me give an example. At one point years ago, Sylmar basketball coach Bort Escorto stopped reporting scores. Maybe it had something to do with writing about transfers. Maybe not. But today, he always answers my calls, “I didn’t do it.”
Let me be blunt. I don’t write about players simply because they have stars next to their name. I write about people who are good players, good students, good teammates, good citizens. That’s my mission.
You know you’ve won any argument when someone claims your bias for one school over another. That used to be the weekly debate years ago among Crespi and Notre Dame fans. Signs were made, barbs were shouted. It made me laugh. Now it’s about sharing selfies.
What keeps me coming back every season are the many new stories to tell. No area has a larger, more diverse collection of top athletes from a variety of sports than Southern California.
Eric Sondheimer interviews sophomore Tajh Ariza after a basketball game in 2022.
(Nick Koza)
There was a time more than a year ago that I got frustrated with the negativity going on in the world. I needed to do something to change my perspective. That’s when I vowed to write something positive every day about high school sports. Prep Talk was created to help inspire me and hopefully others that a positive message can break through in an era of social media nonsense.
To the readers through the years, you’ve helped me stay employed and stay dedicated to telling stories that resonate around the Southland. Newspapers are in trouble, but I can only control what I can control, so thank you for being loyal customers at a time of upheaval.
Eric Sondheimer interviews coach Ed Azzam of Westchester in 2020.
(Nick Koza)
Through the years as technology changed, I’ve adapted, such as sprinting from games to find a rotary telephone in a locked P.E. office or driving to a phone booth to call in a story under deadline pressure. I’ve climbed fences after being locked in as the last person in a stadium. I’ve sat on a gym floor in darkness writing a story. One night at Bishop Alemany, I lost my cellphone on the football field. I was ready to throw up in embarrassment. The athletic director, Randy Thompson, found it. My story was saved. I’ve learned to take videos and shoot photos and speak in front of audiences (thank you to speech class 101 at CSUN).
Today’s world for high school sports reporters is about not getting kicked out by security after games when everyone has left and staying calm when security doesn’t want to let you in before games or on a sideline with a press pass to do your job. Common sense is disappearing in the name of following orders.
I already have gold passes from the Southern Section and City Section, which means if I step away, I’ll still be able to attend events.
When and how this ends has yet to be decided. Pete Kokon died at age 85 in 1998 when he was found with his TV on and the channel tuned to ESPN in his penthouse apartment.
As long as a level of professionalism remains among stakeholders, I will continue to do my best to tell stories. My job is about serving the public, not myself, and that will be my mission forever.
Cracker Barrel’s new logo reveal is MAGA’s latest manufactured crisis. But what if a biscuit really just is a biscuit and not an LGBTQ+ gateway drug?
Masked goons are terrorizing American cities. The U.S. inflation rate is the highest it has been in over four decades. Gaza is starving to death. The Cracker Barrel unveils a new logo.
If you guessed which crisis is not like the others, then you’ve spotted the latest source of outrage fueling the right-wing media universe, where trivial distractions from Trump’s failures and the Epstein files are the name of the game.
In a kerfuffle as layered as the eatery’s hash-brown casserole ($4.79 for a side dish, $15 and upward for an entree-sized portion), the folksy-themed establishment, which first opened its doors in 1969, is once again fodder in a one-sided culture war.
The crime? The chain’s classic gold and brown logo now features the chain’s name in a more minimalistic font. Gone is the eatery’s unofficial mascot, that folksy fellow in coveralls who enjoys leaning on a wooden barrel.
“WTF is wrong with @CrackerBarrel??!” said Cracker Barrel regular-in-spirit-only Donald Trump Jr. when responding to a post on X where the user shockingly blamed DEI for the restaurant’s monstrous decision.
“Cracker Barrel is done,” wrote the Federalist’s Sean Davis. “Woke executives killed it, wrapped the corpse in a rainbow flag, and then made it do a little puppet show in New York City for the entertainment of all their woke little friends.”
Not exactly a puppet show, but the Cracker Barrel did host its “A Taste of Country, Anytime” event Thursday in New York City with country music star Jordan Davis. The chain purported to bring a “country hospitality experience to the big city,” complete with “entertainment on the front porch, rocking chairs, classic Cracker Barrel games and crave-worthy food.”
Clearly a ruse for yet another Pride parade or Latin American gang invasion.
The deception started on Aug. 19, when the Tennessee-based chain in a press release announced changes to its logo and menu as part of a campaign titled “All the More.” The rebrand features new menu items, restaurant remodels and an “enhanced brand look and feel.”
“We believe in the goodness of country hospitality, a spirit that has always defined us. Our story hasn’t changed,” said Cracker Barrel Chief Marketing Officer Sarah Moore in a statement. “Our values haven’t changed.”
But their signage has changed, and that in itself signaled a threat to a way of life that we need to rediscover, you know, in order to make America great again.
Nostalgia for a time that most of us weren’t even alive to see is part of Cracker Barrel’s appeal. Renowned for its Southern comfort food and down-home appeal, generations of Americans have wandered through the establishment’s general store decor and dined on its Southern comfort food. But like any business, it needs to keep up with the tastes and demands of new generations, and apparently Gen Z, millennials and even Gen Xers aren’t buying black licorice and candy corn like their predecessors once did.
It’s hardly the first time the dubiously-named dining establishment has faced accusations that it’s going gay. As the Bulwark pointed out, there was 2023 e-outrage over Cracker Barrel’s acknowledgment of Pride month, which included a rainbow-themed rocking chair and some corporate-speak about “diversity, equity, inclusion and belonging at Cracker Barrel.”
“We take no pleasure in reporting that Cracker Barrel has fallen,” the organization Texas Family Project wrote at the time. “A once family friendly establishment has caved to the mob.”
When the country is in chaos and entangled in man-made catastrophes abroad, it’s easier to rail, risk-free, against a manufactured crisis. Fox Business News led its Friday news lineup with a Cracker Barrel report, but not about the logo redesign: “Cracker Barrel over the past decade has worked closely with the Human Rights Campaign (HRC), changing its company culture to be more inclusive and LGBT-friendly ahead of its controversial store rebrand,” reads the lede.
It’s yet to be seen if a sizable swath of America will forgo the Signature Saucy Chicken Sandwich in protest, constituting another national crisis to chew on.
When it comes to athletes who deserve to be welcomed on a red carpet walk each time they show up for classes, the name of John Michael Flint of Bishop Diego High comes to mind.
He’s 6 feet 2 and 180 pounds, was the league player of the year in volleyball, has a 38-inch vertical leap that allows him to dunk a basketball or kill a volleyball at the blink of an eye, and starts for the football team at receiver and safety. He’s also an A student and the backup quarterback.
“We’re talking to him about doing some kicking,” football coach Tom Crawford said. “He can pretty much do anything you ask. He’s the complete student-athlete.”
He’s going to be a captain for the football team and also helps out with campus ministry.
“He’s mature beyond most high school kids’ years in terms of decisions he makes and how he relates to coaches and peers,” Crawford said. “I just like him because he has a great, quiet confidence and poise about him.”
He’s expected to also play basketball this coming season after not playing last season.
So get ready for the year of John Michael Flint showing the way at Bishop Diego.
This is a daily look at the positive happenings in high school sports. To submit any news, please email [email protected].
By Marissa Higgins Catapult: 272 pages, $27 If you buy books linked on our site, The Times may earn a commission from Bookshop.org, whose fees support independent bookstores.
In 1984, at age 33, I fell in love with a woman for the first time. Her name was Cathy. Her previous girlfriend’s name was also Cathy. “Wasn’t that confusing, sharing a name with your girlfriend?” I asked. She shrugged. “Everything about being a lesbian is confusing at first,” she said. “You get used to it.”
In “Sweetener,” Marissa Higgins’ sexy, poignant second sapphic novel, the reader is served plenty of confusion, lesbian-related and otherwise. For starters, two of the book’s three protagonists, who are breaking up as we meet them, are both named Rebecca. With 18,993 girls’ names in active use in contemporary America, why would Higgins build this disconcerting element into “Sweetener’s” structure? It proves to be a decision well-made. As the reader turns the pages, learning to individuate the two Rebeccas (whose central struggle is learning to individuate from each other) gives us bonus information about, and empathy for, both of them.
“My wife and I have the same first name, though our friends never used mine; I’ve always been Rebecca’s wife,” Rebecca No. 1 says of Rebecca No. 2 — No. 2 being the more powerful one, since she’s the one initiating the breakup. “Our last names, too, are still the same, as I took hers at our court wedding,” No. 1 tells us. “With the same name, it’s easy to become one person instead of two.”
Applying for a part-time cashier job near her dismal D.C. apartment, Rebecca No. 1 mulls, “Inside the market, I remind myself I am a person. I have an age, a birthday, an address.” When the store manager asks about Rebecca’s hobbies, she thinks, “Making rent? Getting myself off? Finding a woman with more money than either of us to take me to the dentist?”
The engaging, original plot of “Sweetener” is complex, too. Unbeknownst to Rebecca No. 1, she and No. 2 (PhD student, less depressed, more conniving, heavy drinker) are both dating Charlotte. Obsessed with having a baby, Charlotte wears a fake pregnancy belly, a fact known only to Rebecca No. 2, because Charlotte keeps her shirt on while having sex with Rebecca No. 1. (Having Charlotte thinking, “Please don’t notice please don’t notice please don’t notice” to cover Rebecca No. 1’s failure to notice that her sexual partner is wearing a huge baby-shaped silicone belt seems a bit of an, um, stretch.) Both Rebeccas have great sex with Charlotte. Neither Rebecca wants to stop.
Rebecca No. 2 also wants a baby and doesn’t want to stop drinking, which means not bearing but instead fostering a child, which means enlisting Rebecca No. 1 in the effort, since the two are still legally married, and fostering as a single divorcee requires a minimum one-year legal separation. Neither Rebecca is certain whether pretending to be married will result in their actual reconciliation. Only Rebecca No. 1 is certain that she wants that.
“I know it’s not fair of me to ask anything of you,” Rebecca No. 2 admits in a phone call to her soon-to-be ex-wife, “but I’m serious about wanting to have a family.”
“Sweetener” is the second novel by Marissa Higgins.
(Catapult)
Desperate as she is for a reconciliation, Rebecca No. 1 mulls, “When she says she wants me to think about how important a family is to her, and what this could mean for her, I understand she is not using the word we… I tell her I miss her and she says she misses me, too. Then she says, ‘So you’ll come by when the social worker is here?’”
In 1984, when I dated Cathy No. 2, like the Rebeccas, most of the lesbians I knew were young, poverty-stricken and uncomfortably enmeshed with their lovers, and they considered “lesbian” to be their primary identity. Unlike the Rebeccas, we were also terrified by the consequences of being out during what were extremely dangerous times. During the 1980s and 1990s, Cathy and I were chased down city streets by men shouting slurs at us. We were refused rooms in hotels. Cathy would have been fired from her childcare job if she’d come out at work. My custody of my children was threatened. I was banished from my father’s home.
“My wife and I go to our first class on child development together,” Rebecca No. 1 tells us. “Next to my wife, I feel cool.” A few pages later, she observes: “The social worker tells me I’m lucky to have a partner who values non-threatening communication.” During their home visit with a second D.C. social worker, the Rebeccas lie about a lot of things — chiefly, their marital and financial instability. But they don’t lie about what Cathy and I would have had to hide if we’d tried to adopt a child in the 1980s. Living in a big, liberal city, the Rebeccas don’t feel the need (still required for safety in “red” locales) to call each other roommates or friends. They call each other wives, because in 2025 same-sex marriage and parenting are givens, not distant fantasies.
Ten years after it became “cool” (and legal, and publicly acknowledged) for a woman to have a wife; 40 years after I and many, many others paid a terrible price for coming out in our families, workplaces and neighborhoods, lesbians like Marissa Higgins are creating lesbian characters who live in a sweeter, changed-for-the-better world. The sugar that made life safer for us is the queer activism that begins with telling true tales of queer lives and persists today with renewed need and renewed vigor. “Sweetener,” the novel, is a fun romp through one version of lesbo-land circa 2025. Higgins’ “Sweetener” celebrates and accelerates the long, rough ride to lasting queer equality.
Maran, author of “The New Old Me” and other books, lives in a Silver Lake bungalow that’s even older than she is.
With the Jeffrey Epstein controversy still dogging him, President Trump has embraced his favorite distraction: the culture wars.
It began when he announced that Coca-Cola was switching to cane sugar instead of high-fructose corn syrup. Coke responded with a statement that basically boiled down to: “Wait, what?” — before announcing the company would release a Trump-approved version of the famous cola.
Now, you might think decisions like these should be left up to the companies. After all, it’s none of the government’s business, and Republicans supposedly believe in free markets.
But no! Trump followed up by threatening to block a new stadium for Washington’s NFL team unless it changed its name back to the Redskins. He also demanded that Cleveland’s baseball team go back to being called the Indians.
At first glance, this seems like a ridiculous ploy to distract us from Epstein. And sure, that’s part of the story. But here’s what Trump understands: A lot of Americans feel like somebody came along and stole all their cool stuff — iconic team names, high-hold hair spray, military bases named after Confederate generals — and replaced them with soulless, modern stuff. “Guardians,” “low-flow shower heads,” “Fort Liberty.”
We might laugh at his trivial Coke crusade, but sports teams evoke more primal emotions. You can drink a Coke today and a Pepsi tomorrow. But you can’t root for the Indians on Monday and the Detroit Tigers on Tuesday. Not unless you’re a psychopath — or someone who wants to get punched in a bar. Team loyalty matters.
Trump gets this. When I was a kid, the Redskins won three Super Bowls. There were songs like “Hail to the Redskins,” team heroes (like John Riggins, Doug Williams and coach Joe Gibbs), and all manner of burgundy and gold merch. It wasn’t just a team. It was part of our identity — as well as an excuse to spend time together (even as decades passed without another Super Bowl run).
Then one day: poof. Goodbye Redskins.
Now imagine that same sense of loss in an already deracinated place like the Rust Belt, where the ball club is a big part of the city’s identity, and where they already closed Dad’s factory and then had the gall to take his boyhood team’s name too.
This isn’t really about names. It’s about nostalgia. Tradition. Identity. It’s about trying to keep a tenuous grip on a world you can still recognize, while everything else dissolves into a place where even choosing a bathroom is a political statement.
Now, is the name Redskins offensive? Sure. Even though a 2016 Washington Post poll found that 9 out of 10 Native Americans weren’t offended, you’d be hard-pressed to defend it on the merits. But the Indians? Come on. Just lose the Chief Wahoo cartoon. This isn’t rocket science.
So is Trump onto something when it comes to the real-world backlash to overwrought political correctness? Yes. But he’s also profiting politically off of people pining for a world that never really existed.
I thought about this last fall when Trump worked the fry station and drive-through window at a McDonald’s in Pennsylvania. At first, it seemed like just another stunt to troll Kamala Harris (who said she once worked for McDonald’s).
But then I saw him in that red apron with the yellow piping — still wearing his red tie, of course — and thought: This is Rockwell. This image evokes a time when a white guy of a certain age could sling burgers, go home to his wife and kids, mow his middle-class lawn, crack open a Coca-Cola, and watch the Redskins and the Cowboys.
Whether Trump consciously appreciates the power of this imagery, I don’t know. But he clearly understands that there is power in yearning, that culture is more primordial than American politics and that refusing to exploit these forces (out of some sense of propriety) would be a sucker’s move.
To some degree, he’s been playing this game for years — think energy efficient lightbulbs, paper straws and his criticism over Apple’s decision to get rid of the iPhone home button. If something new comes along, Trump is already up there stoking cultural outrage, blaming the “woke” left and demanding somebody bring him a Diet Coke. It’s what he does.
But here’s why this actually matters: These little skirmishes don’t just distract from the bigger, more dangerous stuff — they enable it.
Even as he accuses former President Obama of treason (which is absurd and dangerous), Trump’s bond with his supporters is reinforced by these small, almost laughable grievances. He makes them feel seen, defended and nostalgic for a world that (to them, at least) made more sense.
That emotional connection with his base is what allows Trump to tell bigger lies and launch bolder attacks without losing them.
Coke and the Redskins may seem trivial. But they’re the sugar that helps the poison go down.
