Mental Fitness Wars: Media Turns Heat on Trump, Ignores Biden Blunders

Paul Riverbank, 12/20/2025Media battles over Biden and Trump’s “mental fitness” fuel election drama and public perception wars.

Jake Tapper, a regular face in these debates, has spent months highlighting concerns about President Joe Biden’s age and public missteps. His surgical interviews and pointed questions have pushed this subject front and center. But recently, Tapper seemed to switch focus. One night, his CNN set glowed a shade paler, spotlight on Dr. Jonathan Reiner—a medical expert with a resume that includes treating Dick Cheney’s heart. Rather than probe Biden’s whispered turns at the podium, Tapper asked Reiner to assess Donald Trump’s delivery at a recent event. Reiner, measured but direct, called Trump’s speech “manic,” “disturbing,” and “almost frantic,” more due to delivery than actual words. If Tapper’s intent was subtle, the commentary wasn’t.

Curiously, Dr. Reiner—who’s been vocal about Trump—appeared less so when it’s Biden’s at-times odd microphone whispers or visible gaffes under the spotlight. Is it selective scrutiny, or just the rhythms of a campaign? Cynics notice the pattern, quick to point out that concern shifts to suit the day’s guest or the anchor’s whim. “We’re just asking questions,” Tapper might say, but as ever, the questions shape the answers people remember.

This isn’t new ground; American politics narrates its own mythologies. What feels different now is how overt these maneuvers have become. While news anchors frame debates about “mental fitness,” campaign operatives craft their own sly messages. Out on the White House colonnade—new ground for the display of presidential portraits—staff have set up plaques that are anything but reverent. There’s Joe Biden’s, accompanied by an autopen, a dig at claims of absentee leadership: “Sleepy Joe Biden was, by far, the worst President in American history.” Barack Obama is labeled divisive; the Clinton plaque all but taunts Hillary for her 2016 loss.

It’s hard to overlook the pettiness, but in election years, subtlety often takes a holiday. Still, not every conservative figure is amused. Fox’s Brian Kilmeade, typically not shy about taking sides, seemed genuinely exasperated by the display. “If you’re going to do it, do it right,” he said. “Just put the profiles up there.” For once, the “trolling” felt beneath even him. His point landed in the open: not everything in politics should be a punchline.

But the barbs keep coming, amplified in panels and posts. Every slight—on a plaque, in a headline, or during a TV hit—builds on the last. Over time they sculpt public memory, whether that’s fair or not. It’s less about who’s right, more about which narrative packs the most punch.

Beyond the slings and arrows of rhetoric, there’s another kind of headline-gearing underway. Consider Trump Media’s latest move—a merger with TAE Technologies, a nuclear fusion startup suddenly valued at $3 billion. The press fixated on the numbers: Trump Media stock leaped 41.9 percent, and TAE emerged as the world’s first publicly traded fusion company. But underneath is a familiar game: keep the Trump name out front, cast the campaign in an aura of dynamism and innovation, always one step ahead of rivals stuck arguing about age.

If all this feels scattered, that’s because the stories are. Each camp picks its terrain, from interview couches to White House walls and business pages, always angling to define “normal” and “disturbing” on its own terms. The fight isn’t only for press coverage, but for the collective gut-instinct of voters—who’s energetic, who’s focused, who’s fading.

Maybe the real power in politics has always belonged to the storyteller. Today, those storytellers are every bit as visible as the candidates themselves. Their questions, jokes, and business headlines—all tools in a contest that never really stops. As the air grows thick with speculation and spin, one challenge remains: sorting theater from substance, and figuring out whose version of “fitness” the country ultimately accepts.

Stories about who is “fit” to lead America used to unfold quietly—at dinner tables, in closed meetings, whispered among colleagues. Now, they’re debated on every platform, each side hoping to tip the scales, often by calling into question a rival’s sharpness or stamina. If the 2024 campaign has an unsung theme so far, it’s this tug-of-war over mental fitness—a topic as old as U.S. politicking, suddenly louder and more fragmented than ever.Jake Tapper, a regular face in these debates, has spent months highlighting concerns about President Joe Biden’s age and public missteps. His surgical interviews and pointed questions have pushed this subject front and center. But recently, Tapper seemed to switch focus. One night, his CNN set glowed a shade paler, spotlight on Dr. Jonathan Reiner—a medical expert with a resume that includes treating Dick Cheney’s heart. Rather than probe Biden’s whispered turns at the podium, Tapper asked Reiner to assess Donald Trump’s delivery at a recent event. Reiner, measured but direct, called Trump’s speech “manic,” “disturbing,” and “almost frantic,” more due to delivery than actual words. If Tapper’s intent was subtle, the commentary wasn’t.Curiously, Dr. Reiner—who’s been vocal about Trump—appeared less so when it’s Biden’s at-times odd microphone whispers or visible gaffes under the spotlight. Is it selective scrutiny, or just the rhythms of a campaign? Cynics notice the pattern, quick to point out that concern shifts to suit the day’s guest or the anchor’s whim. “We’re just asking questions,” Tapper might say, but as ever, the questions shape the answers people remember.This isn’t new ground; American politics narrates its own mythologies. What feels different now is how overt these maneuvers have become. While news anchors frame debates about “mental fitness,” campaign operatives craft their own sly messages. Out on the White House colonnade—new ground for the display of presidential portraits—staff have set up plaques that are anything but reverent. There’s Joe Biden’s, accompanied by an autopen, a dig at claims of absentee leadership: “Sleepy Joe Biden was, by far, the worst President in American history.” Barack Obama is labeled divisive; the Clinton plaque all but taunts Hillary for her 2016 loss.It’s hard to overlook the pettiness, but in election years, subtlety often takes a holiday. Still, not every conservative figure is amused. Fox’s Brian Kilmeade, typically not shy about taking sides, seemed genuinely exasperated by the display. “If you’re going to do it, do it right,” he said. “Just put the profiles up there.” For once, the “trolling” felt beneath even him. His point landed in the open: not everything in politics should be a punchline.But the barbs keep coming, amplified in panels and posts. Every slight—on a plaque, in a headline, or during a TV hit—builds on the last. Over time they sculpt public memory, whether that’s fair or not. It’s less about who’s right, more about which narrative packs the most punch.Beyond the slings and arrows of rhetoric, there’s another kind of headline-gearing underway. Consider Trump Media’s latest move—a merger with TAE Technologies, a nuclear fusion startup suddenly valued at $3 billion. The press fixated on the numbers: Trump Media stock leaped 41.9 percent, and TAE emerged as the world’s first publicly traded fusion company. But underneath is a familiar game: keep the Trump name out front, cast the campaign in an aura of dynamism and innovation, always one step ahead of rivals stuck arguing about age.If all this feels scattered, that’s because the stories are. Each camp picks its terrain, from interview couches to White House walls and business pages, always angling to define “normal” and “disturbing” on its own terms. The fight isn’t only for press coverage, but for the collective gut-instinct of voters—who’s energetic, who’s focused, who’s fading.Maybe the real power in politics has always belonged to the storyteller. Today, those storytellers are every bit as visible as the candidates themselves. Their questions, jokes, and business headlines—all tools in a contest that never really stops. As the air grows thick with speculation and spin, one challenge remains: sorting theater from substance, and figuring out whose version of “fitness” the country ultimately accepts.