If you listen closely to the wind howling through the hollow corridors of American political discourse, you can hear the distinct sound of two massive egos colliding over a block of ice that neither of them could locate on an unmarked map without a team of handlers. Gavin Newsom, the Governor of California and the slickest object in the known universe, has taken a break from micromanaging the decline of the Golden State to offer his geopolitical expertise on the matter of Greenland. His assessment? Donald Trump is “playing” Europe.

It is truly touching to watch Newsom attempt to elevate the raw, chaotic id of Donald Trump into something resembling 4D chess. It is a classic case of projection. Newsom, a man whose every facial twitch is focus-grouped and whose hair has its own zoning laws, assumes that everyone operates with the same Machiavellian calculation he employs to order lunch at the French Laundry. When he sees Trump floating the idea of purchasing a sovereign territory like it’s a distressed casino in Atlantic City, Newsom doesn’t see a toddler grabbing at a shiny object. No, he sees a grand strategy. He sees a master manipulator “playing” the European Union like a fiddle.

Let us pause to appreciate the sheer stupidity of the timeline we inhabit. We are discussing the potential acquisition of the world’s largest island as if it were a foreclosure listing on Zillow. The last time this came up, the Danes looked at Washington with the confused pity one usually reserves for a senile relative trying to eat soup with a fork. Yet here is Newsom, treating it as a credible threat, a tactical maneuver designed to rattle the fragile nerves of the Eurocrats. And frankly, he might be right, but not for the reasons he thinks.

Trump isn’t “playing” Europe in the Metternich sense. He isn’t weaving a complex web of diplomatic intrigue. He is bullying them because he knows they are weak, feckless, and addicted to the status quo. He knows that the mere suggestion of buying Greenland sends the European diplomatic corps into frantic meetings about “norms” and “territorial integrity,” wasting their time while he likely forgets he even said it ten minutes later. Newsom interprets this as genius because Newsom requires the world to be a stage for great men. If Trump is just a chaos agent, then the game is meaningless. But if Trump is a strategist, then Newsom—his foil, his younger, better-coiffed shadow—is also a player in the great game.

It is fascinating to watch Newsom position himself as the translator of Trumpism for the bewildered masses. He speaks of Trump not as an enemy, but almost as a colleague in the grift. By legitimizing the Greenland talk as a strategic play, Newsom is essentially saying, “I see what you’re doing, and I respect the hustle.” It is the professional courtesy of one narcissist to another. They both understand that the actual substance of governance—fixing roads, balancing budgets, ensuring the populace doesn't die of exposure—is boring. Buying massive islands? That’s branding. That’s legacy. That’s the kind of megalomania that gets your face carved into a mountain, or at least a gold-plated tower.

The Europeans, for their part, are exactly as pathetic as both Trump and Newsom imagine them to be. They react to these absurdities with earnest horror, failing to realize that their earnestness is the fuel that powers the American outrage machine. Newsom warns them that they are being played, but he offers no solution, because there isn’t one. You cannot negotiate with a hurricane of nonsense. You can only batten down the hatches and hope your basement doesn’t flood. But Europe has no basement; they pawned it decades ago to pay for their social safety nets and now rely on the US military to keep the roof on.

Ultimately, this entire spectacle is a distraction from the rotting foundations of the empire. While Newsom plays pundit and Trump plays real estate tycoon, the actual strategic value of Greenland—its rare earth minerals, its shipping lanes—is being eyed by China with cold, quiet efficiency. The Chinese aren’t making headlines about buying the island; they are just slowly, methodically infiltrating the infrastructure. Meanwhile, our two champions of American exceptionalism are engaged in a meta-commentary on the nature of “playing” the game.

Newsom wants us to believe that there is a logic to the madness, a method to the spray-tanned madness. He needs to believe it, because the alternative—that the fate of the Western world rests in the hands of impulsive children fighting over toys—is too terrifying even for a man with that much hair product to contemplate. But we know better. There is no strategy. There is no 4D chess. There is only the endless, exhausting noise of egos screaming into the void, demanding to be heard, demanding to be bought, demanding to be feared. And the ice continues to melt, indifferent to them all.