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Berlusconi relished Trump’s defeat. He said he was happy that America chose a character under the lines like Biden; Democrat or Republican doesn’t care as long as he’s a true moderate, that’s what he says in interviews. But those who know the Cav know that politics has little to do, practically nothing, and behind his joy at the change in direction of the United States there are mainly personal reasons: “Donald” was frankly in his mind. It always bothered him that someone could get close to him because of certain gross similarities like billions, women, mistakes, and power. Silvio considers himself a world record holder, a model unmatched in all fields; does not accept comparisons with a guy who is far behind him in the ranking of Scrooge, who inherited his fortune from his father instead of building it from scratch, who did at most some television program where Berlusconi’s televisions mounted three, which He found himself in the White House almost by chance without even having founded a plastic party in his image and likeness. There is a big difference between the original and any imitation, Berlusconi complains privately. It would be like putting Elvis Presley and Little Tony on the same level, or Parmesan and scarlet, incommensurable entities.
But Trump’s real fault, which makes him distasteful in their eyes, is that he never revered him as a teacher. Had he been humble and wise, the apprentice would have rushed to Arcore to take advantage of his experience, as Berlusconi has met with a number of world leaders and has maintained a close friendship with one American president in particular, George W. Bush. Even with Barack Obama, he had established a certain form of trust, spiced with admiration for his wife Michelle. Instead of Trump, who on paper must have looked more like him, zero invitations to the White House: cut, rejected across the board. The two did not know each other before, they did not meet after. Never a phone call even now that Trump is unleashed about the alleged electoral fraud committed against him, when it would be enough to ask Berlusconi to find out that the avalanche of appeals already announced is just a waste of time, a dead end. While losing by a handful of votes could, paradoxically, represent a fortune.
The Cav would tell what happened to him on April 10, 2006, when he was expelled from Palazzo Chigi for less than 25,000 votes out of 40 million: a terrible joke, an unbearable pain. Until the end he had tricked himself to make up for the handicap and almost succeeded. He even summoned his Interior Minister, Beppe Pisanu, to order him to block the vote count (but he did not obey him). Then someone argued that the real trickster had been Silvio, who overnight had converted wagons of blank ballots into so many votes in his favor; but the thesis is fictitious and does not explain why the Cayman lost the same, also by so few votes. He refused (like Trump) to admit defeat, asked in vain to recount all the ballots. Expelled from Palazzo Chigi, he spent months shouting against the frauds of the “communists” but could not prove anything, and even Forza Italia had to acknowledge the veracity of the vote by accepting a defeat that unexpectedly turned out to be a life blow for the Cav. Yes, because with only 7 senators ahead, the Prodi government was in trouble, and after only two unstable years it fell, opening the way for the return of the center-right. “A bad victory is not always better than a good defeat,” Berlusconi could assure Trump if he called him. Perhaps, taking advantage of the opportunity, I would advise you not to argue too much with the judges because it always ends badly; be gentle with the opposite sex; to avoid parties, especially the “elegant” ones. I would have a thousand other tips to give you, based on experience. But Donald prefers to make a mistake on his own, and then the worst for him.
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