Once upon a time, maybe a decade ago, I had parked my new car in a midtown garage. I was in a hurry. The young, swaggering, insultingly insolent parking attendant was not. It is hard to get my goat, but after two cars debouched whose owners arrived after I’d claimed mine, my goat was got. I suppose I said something like, “Excuse me, sir, what’s going on?” (Loss of sangfroid, in young Carll’s curriculum, equaled loss of respect.) My tone, I’ve no doubt, quivered with contempt. (One might sneer in my childhood home, but never snap.) My shiny new and not inexpensive car appeared at last. The attendant hovered by the driver’s door for his tip. After such obnoxious conduct, a tip? “Thank-you,” I slid into my seat gruffly. Then the squeal – of a sharp object gouging a scratch across my spotless flank. I briefly considered brawling, cop-calling, succumbing to my rage, but no, my wiser head prevailed. The youth would have made short work of me. As I turned onto the street, I saw him tip his cap with a grin.

So, if he feels anything (which I doubt), must the Nameless One feel seeking military assistance from the proud powers he’s so lavishly impugned. They’re too well bred to say “Fuck you,” but you can sense their satisfaction as they tip their caps. Even liddl ole Vlad Zelenskyy, whom the Nameless One bounced as casually as a beachball, got the chance to flash a grin that might have made his neediness feel almost worth it.

America’s leader has no friends – and Americans must endure the pity of our former pals. Fellow NATO nations, in a recent survey, rated China a more reliable partner than the United States – China, America’s arch adversary in our cartoonish reduction of world affairs to a cowboys-and-Indians standoff. No one forgives an insult less readily than a former friend. The sting lingers – and a longing for revenge.

“Pride goeth before destruction,” quoth the author of Proverbs, “and an haughty spirit before a fall.” If ever illustration of that prediction were required, it’s America today. “Serves you right!” we can feel old allies’ chuckle’ as a nail scrapes across our dazzling door.

Our nation’s response to this comeuppance should be mea culpa and sackcloth, only we’re not that smart. Our pride will keep proliferating bone-headed mistakes till we displace our tinpot despot whose vanity swells him into a parade float. Pop him and nothing remains but plastic glop and an expensive clean-up.

Goodness is not goody-goody but good sense. I aim to befriend, even where I abhor, for, in a more recent proverb, “The toes you step on today may be connected to the foot that kicks you tomorrow.” Inveigh against me and I’ll invite your thoughts – at least, that’s the road I intend. One amiable word costs less than rehabbing your chariot.

The practical benefits of civility are so obvious, why isn’t everyone nice, sidekick Henry wants to know. I can’t get Henry’s goat: cockapoos don’t have them.

Pride is an incurable disease, transmitted generationally, that dooms its sufferers to despite and despair. Geneticists have yet to identify the pride gene, best I know; its modification would be a boon to mankind. My history may be read as a battle against pride’s corrosive effects. Mostly these days I keep it caged, but still it paces.

America’s decline – and perhaps fall – should be attributed to pride: the pride of overconfidence, cocksureness, contempt for fellow citizens and fellowship, sneering at civility. Our present leader, whom we elected twice, is symptom, not cause, of our disease.