He wants eleven dollar bills, you’ve only got ten
By 
I realize this is trivial, DamnYankeesLGM points out correctly that this isn’t true:
It’s not a trivial issue.
When people used to tell stories about how North Korean media would report that Kim Jong Il scored 18 holes in one on a golf course, its not trivial. It’s emblematic of what it means to live under a cult of personality dictatorship, and a clear sign of what a true nutjob you need to be to even want reports like that spread about you.
This is…literally the same thing. We have a demented nutjob in office and half the country worships at his feet. When Trump dies, people on Fox will weep and wail and moan. It’s a cult of personality and we – right now, today – live under an autocracy.
but among other things it reminds me in various ways of the absurd story involving Bill Ackman being deluded enough to think he could play tennis with actual professionals.
The scorecard pictured above shows Trump’s purported gross and net scores — the latter is the player’s actual score after subtracting the player’s handicap, which in Trump’s case is supposedly 2, which is as plausible as him running a sub-five minute mile — for a competitive round on Trump’s Bedminster course. This is a difficult course, which hosts professional events. No 79-year-old in the world could shoot anything like a legitimate 69 on it, even playing from forward tees. (The scores of the other competitors reflect this, and they were much younger than Trump). In fact someone with a LEGITIMATE 2 handicap, which again is just a completely preposterous claim in Trump’s case, would have about a one in 300 or 400 chance of shooting a 69 on a course as difficult as Bedminster.
So this score is completely fabricated.
It’s well known that Trump cheats egregiously at golf in pretty much every way you can (Rick Reilly wrote a whole book about this). And yes in and of itself it seems like a trivial issue, given everything else about the man, but consider what it says that the president of the United States, at age 79, is taking enormous pride in ordering the official White House communications office to post completely fake golf scores, after “winning” tournaments that are about as real as Commodus’s triumphs in the gladiatorial arena.
Speaking of which, Commodus was assassinated by his personal trainer/coach, after the emperor’s concubine found both her name and that of some other prominent people on a list of planned assassinations. The heartwarming story via Wikipedia:
In November 192, Commodus held Plebeian Games, in which he shot hundreds of animals with arrows and javelins every morning, and fought as a gladiator every afternoon, winning all the fights. In December, he announced his intention to inaugurate the year 193 as both consul and gladiator on 1 January.
When Marcia found a list of people Commodus intended to have executed, she discovered that she, the prefect Laetus, and Eclectus were on it. The three of them plotted to assassinate the emperor. On 31 December, Marcia poisoned Commodus’ food, but he vomited up the poison, so the conspirators sent his wrestling partner Narcissus to strangle him in his bath.[29]
Upon his death, the Senate declared him a public enemy (a de facto damnatio memoriae) and restored the original name of the city of Rome and its institutions. Statues of Commodus were demolished. His body was buried in the Mausoleum of Hadrian.
Yes it’s only golf, but the shamelessness, the dishonesty, the narcissism, the sheer childishness in a purported adult — all of this appears in far more fraught contexts, and none of it is, as it were, cricket:
WHEN I read of the goings-on in the House of Commons the week before last, I could not help being reminded of a little incident that I witnessed twenty years ago and more.
It was at a village cricket match. The captain of one side was the local squire who, besides being exceedingly rich, was a vain, childish man to whom the winning of this match seemed extremely important. Those playing on his side were all or nearly all his own tenants.
The squire’s side were batting, and he himself was out and was sitting in the pavilion. One of the batsmen accidentally hit his own wicket at about the same moment as the ball entered the wicketkeeper’s hands. ‘That’s not out,’ said the squire promptly, and went on talking to the person beside him. The umpire, however, gave a verdict of ‘out’, and the batsman was half-way back to the pavilion before the squire realized what was happening. Suddenly he caught sight of the returning batsman, and his face turned several shades redder.
‘What!’ he cried, ‘he’s given him out? Nonsense! Of course he’s not out!’ And then, standing up, he cupped his hands and shouted to the umpire: ‘Hi, what did you give that man out for? He wasn’t out at all!’
The batsman had halted. The umpire hesitated, then recalled the batsman to the wicket and the game went on.
I was only a boy at the time, and this incident seemed to me about the most shocking thing I had ever seen. Now, so much do we coarsen with the passage of time, my reaction would merely be to inquire whether the umpire was the squire’s tenant as well.
George Orwell, April 14, 1944, “As I Please”