"Trump...Trump...Trump..."
Breslin was an adequate reporter who seemed to never fail to aggravate me each and every day. I would read him just to rail against him. A new York sop who would luxuriate in reporting on others troubles. A left of St. Patrick Irish mope who pretended to be the Lord Mayor of Dublin himself.
A passable writer, but he couldn’t shine either Damon Runyon or Bob Considine’s shoes. Throw in Dorothy Kilgallen for that matter.
"Trump...Trump...Trump..."