One man hasn’t watched television in 25 years, gets around in a Ford Focus, and is named for a nature-loving pauper who didn’t believe in owning money, property or shoes. He is considered infallible, but often doubts his daily utterances.

The other man spent 14 years in the mirrored embrace of a television show about him, is transported by a fleet with his name on the side, and looks down on anyone who hasn’t amassed a mountain of property. He thinks he’s infallible.

In a few weeks, Pope Francis will visit our fair land, a fitting pivot from the Summer of Trump, closing out a gluttonous episode of narcissism, rudeness, frivolity and xenophobia. For all that the orangutan-haired vulgarian has done to elevate the worst human traits a public figure can have, Francis is the anti-Trump. He has more power, media magnetism and authenticity in his lone functioning lung than Donald Trump has in his entire empire of ego.

Trump may dismiss the 78-year-old leader of the world’s 1.2 billion Roman Catholics. Yeah, so he’s got his little 109-acre Vatican City, with those silly Swiss Guards. It’s the smallest country in the world — one-eighth the size of Central Park! As Joseph Stalin asked: How many divisions does the pope have? And this guy from Argentina with the goofy grin — no golf courses, resorts or even women who, sadly, are no longer a 10. He’s celibate!