One reason I failed to see Donald Trump coming is that I never saw even a single episode of “The Apprentice.” Indeed, I’d be hard put to name a single “reality TV” program I’ve watched from beginning to end. The hallmark of the genre, of course, being its sheer artificiality.
For entertainment, I mainly watch ball games.
So everything I knew about Trump came from the New York tabloids: He was a vainglorious blowhard with more garish taste than Liberace. A publicity hound who’d inherited a whole lot of money; a playboy and an epic fabulator.