Dan Morris: Bad bromance more gaga than MAGA

Not since Pompey and Caesar or Liam and Noel (does it count though if they are actually brothers, and thinking about it never liked each other that much anyway?) have we seen such an earth-shattering implosion of a fraternal relationship as the recent demise of that between the world’s most powerful man and the world’s richest.

It’s true – 2024/25’s greatest buddy cop comedy, Donny and ‘Lonny, is in limbo, with US President Donald Trump and Tesla/X overlord Elon Musk having cut ties (at least for now) after the social media row of the century.

Many expected this to happen, and, indeed, in exactly the spectacularly theatrical fashion in which it did.

Musk has since issued a grovelling apology to Trump, but can things be repaired?

Boys will be boys. However, when their toys and teddies are as big as this, the rest of us can’t perhaps help starting to feel a little unnerved when things begin to be thrown out of the pram.

Aside from such concerns, this latest pantomime has had me thinking about a few of the bromances I’ve been proud to share over the years, and how, happily, these have never crumbled like a proverbial house of cards.

As a regional journalist and not POTUS or Prime Minister, (yet), you’ll be unsurprised to know that my many bonds with brothers from other mothers have not come with the pressure and potential high stakes consequences of that between Trump and Musk.

Rather than tech billionaires, my pals have largely been a mixture of sales floor swashbucklers and blue collar banter churns. 

Consequently, minimal disagreements over the years have not attracted the attention of the world’s press, nor been amplified by the two penneth of our collective gazillion Instagram fans. Leading a more humble life has its charms, one of which being that absolutely no-one cares what goes on in your personal world.

As such, even when bromances hit rocky ground, they can repair and bloom afresh.

When the term ‘bromance’ was coined all those many moons ago, I remember it instantly brought to mind two incredible pals of mine who have been nothing less than rocks for me from day one. 

The first has been my best friend in life for over 20 years, the second is nothing less than the little brother I never had. And, with the former having had more than his fair share of lovin’ in this column over the years, I will illustrate what a bromance should be by paying homage to the latter.

Aeons back, I suffered a back injury that kept me housebound for some time. Caused by a simple misjudged step from a kerb, a slipped disk had made it impossible to drive, and incredibly difficult to even walk. Those who have suffered the same will know that this is the type of injury that often sorts itself out of its own accord – yet the debilitating interim is one of the most frustrating experiences one can imagine. Bored and lonely during my incarceration in my flat, I’d spent two days using every piece of furniture I owned to swing my pathetic form around without using my legs and, it’s fair to say, I was well and truly fed up.

Preparing meals had become a monstrous and in fact dangerous endeavour, and sitting down to use the toilet was simply an exercise in torture.

Aware of my plight, I had been visited by a cabal of wonderful, well-meaning friends and family who wanted to make sure I was as okay as could be.

Visitors had come from far and wide with offerings of grapes, watermelon, walking sticks and cushions, and all of these thoughtful bestowments truly were appreciated. Yet, nothing had quite lifted me out of my grump for more than 30 seconds. Until day three, and a knock at the door from a particularly shining warrior.

Having taken precious time out of his working day, little-bro-that-never-was patiently waited on my doorstep for me to hobble down and let him in. It was lunchtime and I was particularly hungry, extra cranky, and in little mood for small talk – even of the comforting variety – with anyone.

Not wanting to be rude though, I braced myself to welcome into my abode whoever had taken the trouble to check on me and indulge in a good half an hour of well-meant but perhaps literally physically painful chatter.

Yet, as I swung the door open with all of the paltry strength I could muster, my heart burst with joy.

Bambino bro stood there with a bucket of fried chicken under one arm, and a DVD boxset of exemplary pirate drama Black Sails under the other. With a wry smile, he simply walked in, deposited both on my sofa, and then left with nothing more than an “enjoy”.

No one has ever understood me better in my entire life, and that is what bromances are all about.

Maybe there’s a lesson here for the MAGA boys: there ain’t no problem that can’t be made better with a certain 11 herbs and spices and a bit of pirate party telly.

Get yourselves round the campfire Donny and ‘Lonny, and let The Colonel and Co. get the train back on the rails…