Wall Street Journal Opinion reports:

When I was a kid in the mid-1950s, I used to play touch football with Robert F. Kennedy, the father, and his crew on a field in Georgetown. I remember one Saturday morning when—despite being conspicuously pregnant—Ethel Kennedy was in the game. She lined up as a wide receiver. Bobby, as usual, was captain and quarterback. Ethel faked right, then cut to the inside, and her husband threw her a perfect spiral. She bobbled it, the ball doing a little dance in midair for a second, and then she dropped it. Bobby, infuriated, cussed her out.