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November 3, 2008 - October 27, 2008

Monday, October 29, 2007

...But does anyone here
remember comebacks?

He was an ordinary Joe. Unless he wasn't.

HAPPY, DEAN? Yeah, yeah. Patriots. Perfect season. Boring. How many of you really enjoy watching a steamroller leveling asphalt? Message to NFL fans. What's truly inspiring isn't the best agglomeration of players money can buy. It's the team that overcomes adversity to win the big prize against all odds.

Here's a scenario you can sink your teeth into. An NFL team starts like a house afire and after the first five games has a 4-1 record. Mission accomplished. Or well on the way. You know how that goes. Six games later, they're 6-5. Losers on a one-way trip to oblivion.

Who wouldn't be bummed? Their fans were outraged. Both of the U.S. Senators from California -- yes, kiddies, we're talking about the 49ers -- were, well, pessimistic. One said, "The season is lost. There's absolutely no way this team is going to the playoffs. I support the players, but it's time to fire all the coaches and start a long-term rebuilding program." The other said, "Californians have been lied to. We were told this team was a contender, a winner. Obviously, they aren't. They're total losers. An utter disgrace. Anyone who supports the players -- as I absolutely and unequivocally do -- must demand that the few talented members of the team be benched for the rest of the season so that no one worthwhile gets injured in a losing cause."

The rest is, as they say, history. The 1988 San Francisco 49ers went on to win four of their last five games, the divisional playoff, the NFC Championship, and the Super Bowl. You can see their record here.

Along the way, most of their fans rejected the official condemnations of their senators. They had faith. In fact, they enjoyed the season far more than Patriots fans are enjoying this season.

Is there a lesson? Of course not. The NFL has nothing to do with real life.

Unless it does.

The New American Way

Sweeps are cool.

AMERICAN PASTIME. According to some, Boston is the birthplace of America. It's where they had that big tea party the Brits weren't invited to, because if you're invited to a tea party in Boston you'd better be somebody important like a Kennedy or a Kerry or some other rich immigrant from lowlifeland who has more money than God and therefore knows how the rest of us poor schlubs should live.

There are no accidents. There's only an endless chain of symbolic events. The World Series and the unfolding season of the New England Patriots demark a New American Way consistent with the the most ancient traditions of a city which always turned up its nose at common virtues like hard work, quiet accomplishment, and unassuming perseverance. In Boston, life comes down to the simple question of who's better than everyone else and who can send the strongest and most ineluctable message about that betterness to the hoi polloi.

That's why the new American Way is about sweeps. Win fast or don't play at all. Yes, you can toy with the real losers -- like anybody from Cleveland -- but there isn't anybody who doesn't know you were better than them before the competition even got started. When the chips are finally on the table, you've got to win, win, win, win or else the trogs will suspect you're not divine. Maybe not the trogs of the mass media, who always knew you were divine and rooted for you shamelessly throughout, but definitely the trogs who have been taught to quit as soon as their celebrity faves begin to sweat with something like effort.

They need the Sox to sweep and the Patriots to go undefeated. Because in the New American Way, what's most important is trusting the better ones to ride herd on the ordinary ones through a display of raw talent, the rawer the better. Raw talent always seems democratic, even when it's anything but. That's always been the Boston Way.. Thank goodness it's finally infiltrating the rest of the country.

The New American Hero. Slob Appeal.

Utopia has been achieved when the ordinary folk begin to believe they can identify with raw talent by imitating the raw part. We're there. Now that we have slob superheroes, you too can be a superhero simply by being a slob. The winning part is easy. That's why they call it a sweep. And if anyone can see you sweat, it's time to bug out and find a new venue better made for slobs.

Long live the Red Jax.

You knew her.
You really did.
(Unless you're not 50)

Big buttons, bad hair, and a worse attitude.

CAN WE TALK? It's not the prospect of a female president that's unacceptable. (I'd have voted for Jeane Kirkpatrick if she'd run.) It's the prospect of this female as president. Even women know there are nasty women who can't be trusted. Hillary isn't just an example of the nasty woman type, she's an archetype. They were absolutely everywhere in the sixties, and everyone knew who they were. Fortunately, there aren't as many of them around now. Which is both good and bad. The problem is, you have to be almost as as old as Hillary is to know who she really is. For example, this picture is meaningless or misleading to everyone under the age of 50:

She wasn't a rapscallion hippie rebel, full of fun and hormones. She was an arid Wellesley communist. She wore ugly shoes. She had no sense of humor. She was absolutely without charm. She smiled only because people expected it. She thought intelligence was about grades and board scores. She knew she was the smartest person she'd ever met. She didn't know that all the most charming and intelligent people avoided her. Except the ones who knew they could use her. She knew she was an ugly duckling, but she never connected that perception with behaviors and attitudes she could have changed. She was a bitch, whether you were male or female. When she didn't know she was being photographed, she looked like this:

The only guys who ever wanted to have sex with her were sick in the head. They wanted to rape her, to spew their contempt, hatred and rage deep inside her. She extrapolated from her experience of such men a view of the male sex that had nothing to do with reality. She learned to want the kind of power that can subjugate men and neutralize the charm of both men and women. She married the charm she most feared and hated, because she intended to use what she didn't have and work toward the personal victory of seeing her own obsession triumph over what she despised and envied most. No man has ever given her an orgasm. This is not because she lacks passion. It's because she won't give them the satisfaction of seeing her lose control.

But she's not a Lesbian either. In fact, she loathes women. Because they are so susceptible to the irrational feelings they experience in their breasts and cunts. She has those feelings, too, but she has learned to redirect them. Her only aphrodisiac is power. You'd think she'd be uncomfortable in photo opportunities like this, but she actually relishes them.

Using women makes her feel more like a man. She understands her husband's contempt for women because it mirrors her own. Not that she wants to be a man. She doesn't. Her ultimate ambition is to be without sex, as pure an expression of odorless power as Stalin, Hitler, Mao, or Ch'in. She has a reproduction of Hatshepsut, the only female pharaoh, in her living quarters. But she does want her daughter to regard her as a father. The psychological implications of this desire are almost infinite, but she doesn't think about them.

In short, if you're 50+, you know her. You met her in college, avoided her like the plague, and afterwards you pretended she didn't exist -- for your whole adult life. But she does exist. And she's even worse than the stereotype that dwells unexamined in your imagination.

Do you really want her as an American President?

What plans are you making?

[h/t to Michelle Malkin and Zombie for the pictures.]

A camisole would be appropriate, at the very least.

I don't. I'm getting ready. But my readiness plans are all about hiding for eight years. I don't hate her, but I'm pretty sure she hates me. I think it might be time to get scarce.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

YouTube Wednesday

SHORTER THAN THAT. True, we've never done a YouTube Wednesday before, and we may never do one again. But for today's edition we're focusing on extremes. Above, you can hear the world's most extreme bird song. Immediately below, you can take a ride in the world's most extreme automobile. The final clip offers the most extreme version of American Revolutionary history you've ever seen. All of them are safe for work.

The Bugatti Veyron

1776 -- "300" Style

Wasn't that fun?

Casting Call:

Shattered Glass, Part Deux
(SCOOP? The TNR Masthead at TNR.com is 404 via Google)

Scott Beauchamp played by Giovanni Ribisi

HOT HOT HOT. Via InstaPundit, NRO's Kathryn Jean Lopez is asking who will star in the sequel to Shattered Glass. We always try to oblige. The answers are a cinch. All you need is one over-the-top actor who specializes in creepy, one or two elite West Wing alums, and someone else to play the one who looks exactly like Matt Damon.

Peter Scoblic played by Oliver Platt

Peter Beinart played by Matt Damon

Franklin Foer played by Bradley Whitford

All they need now is someone to make up a script. That shouldn't be too hard. Everyone involved seems pretty darn good at making things up.

UPDATE. A bumptious commenter who styles himself as "Timmy" asks us, "Umm, isn't that Ricky Gervais in the Peter Scoblic photo?"

Faced with a crude and baseless accusation of this sort, our editor-in-chief ("His Magnificence") felt compelled to reply:

Umm Timmy,

I can assure you that our division of very well dressed fact-checkers obtained 100 percent confirmation before the photo was published that the Ricky Gervais-looking one was really truly for sure Peter Scoblic.

Nevertheless, since you have raised this absurd question, Instapunk.com has initiated -- consistent with our commitment to the very highest of contemporary journalistic standards -- a thorough investigation to reconfirm what we have already ascertained to be fact; namely, that the person in the disputed photo is Peter Scoblic. Or someone who looks so much like him that he could only be played by Ricky Gervais if the much suaver Oliver Platt weren't available.

I can further assure you that the results of our investigation will be published as soon as Google ceases its inexcusable stonewalling about the deceptive procedures it uses in ID'ing the photos which may come up in a 0.05-second image search. Please note that our dedication to thoroughness may require weeks of investigation or months. Decades aren't entirely out of the question. That's how professional we are.

In the meantime, I suggest that you conduct your own investigation of why this Scoblic person would go to such lengths to make himself look like Ricky Gervais. And why is it exactly that you know who this Ricky Gervais is? (Some lowdown dirty� leak?) We certainly don't. It's our considered opinion that you have a hidden agenda in all this. Be warned. Eventually -- perhaps very eventually -- Instapunk.com will uncover whatever sinister purpose drove you to impugn our good name.

Sincerely,
ED.

Ummm, on a more serious note, the TNR masthead seems to have disappeared from the TNR website. Via Google: Error 404, File Not Found. No text, no images. Anyone know anything about this?

UPDATE 2. A text-only masthead is still accessible by direct link at the TNR site though Google can no longer find it. A call to TNR resulted in a denial that Scoblic had been fired. His voicemail is still playing its recorded message.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

The Superior Conservative

OLD GUARD. One of the biggest fallacies in politics is that only the liberals-slash-progressives exhibit the above-it-all superiority of those who are to the manor born. Indeed, the haughtiness of power-elite liberals pales in comparison to the educated class who have never been taken in by such fads as Marxism, atheism, post-modernism, or even Reaganism. Such people are so aloof they tend to be invisible to pollsters and political campaigns of every stripe. If Hillary is to be prevented from capturing the White House, this community of the not-interested-enough-to-be-involved conservatives must be persuaded to vote in the next presidential election. I essayed a conversation with one of them not long ago. The results are not particularly promising. Here's a transcript.

Is there any particular Republican candidate who appeals to you? Refresh my memory. Who's running?

Mitt Romney, Rudy Giuliani, Fred Thompson, and John McCain. Oh, right.

What do you think of them? I didn't much care for George Romney. Too much slicked back salt-and-pepper hair. But at least he wasn't named after a baseball glove. I suppose that's called having a common touch. Just how common are politicans expected to be these days?

Giuliani? Thompson? McCain?� It's said that persistence is a virtue, but I've always found persistence more tedious than inspiring. Oh well. Giuliani. He's a mayor, isn't he? Why would anyone think a mayor is qualified to be president? Don't they spend most of their time making deals with labor unions? Rather low, don't you think? I've heard of the McCain fellow. Didn't he break under torture in Vietnam? Regrettable. One might think he'd be content to go home and stay there without seeking to excite any more attention. Under the circumstances, that would seem to be the tactful thing to do.

They say Thompson is somewhat reminiscent of Reagan. I never much cared for Reagan. His hair was rather peculiarly orange. He also signed gigantic budgets. And his funeral was -- how shall I put it? -- overdone.

Don't you care at all? What about the issues? What about the possibility that Hillary Clinton might be elected President? She probably will be. It might be amusing.� The Clintons are so hilariously, vulgarly corrupt they remind me of old-time big city mayors like LaGuardia, Curley, and Daley. Didn't you say a mayor was running against her? Should be fun. But her ankles are unfortunately thick. Not much breastage, either. Sad. The presidency will probably serve as some species of consolation for her.

Have you even heard of the Iraq War? Certainly. What a bungle. That Bush lad had the right idea, though it's never been a wise move to trust Andover boys with serious decisions. They're not up to it. Too bad he never learned to speak in public. But thumping Iraq was a creditable notion.� Best thing to do with those Arabs is shoot them all. They won't stop annoying everyone until we do that. But I never had any use for that Rumsfeld fellow. It's fine to economize on some things. Like Congress. If we made them all drive Fords, do you think they'd spend so much money on pure nonsense? But you can't economize on wars. When you send troops out to do a job, you send as many as you can find and you keep at it until the enemy is dead or begging for mercy. Low-budget wars are bad business. Pardon my candor.

Do you have an opinion about abortion? Yes. It's not done. But some women do it anyway. The law isn't going to change that. But people seem to like wrangling about it. I prefer raising coneflowers. And foxgloves. Poison is better when it's pretty.

Is God an issue with you? No. When he's had enough, he'll do what he has to do. I'll probably be dead by then. He's pretty patient in my experience. Too damned patient, in fact. Ask all my dead Celtic ancestors about that. They might have a bone to pick with God. Or two.

Aren't you afraid of socialism, Islamic fascism, rampant political corruption, Global Warming, and the increasing saber-rattling of Russia and China? Afraid? No. Life is a mess and if you're afraid of it, go ahead and kill yourself.� If you don't want to commit suicide, you adjust to it. Even to Democrats. They've been socialists since FDR. Thankfully, he died eventually. The usual fate of stupid do-gooders. Fascism is too crude to succeed. It has its moments in the early going, as a rule, like improved efficiency for mass transportation, but when people learn what else is involved they tend to object, strenuously. In the end, fascism flunks at everything but gaudy uniforms. Political corruption is something that's bound to happen when people who used to be mayors and senators and other ladies of the night get elected to high office and discover there's money to be had by selling their favors to the right people. I can't speak to the Global Warming thing. I never trusted scientists any more than I trusted politicians. As far as I'm concerned, summers have been more or less hot all my life. When winters get hot enough to require a gin and tonic before five o'clock, I'll let you know.

Russia? China? Now you're becoming a bore. Name a time when Russia and China weren't being childishly obnoxious about practically everything. Their whole idea of foreign policy is being infantile. If they step over the line the way they've been threatening continuously for the last five hundred years or so, we'll have to smack the presumption out of them. That's what they really want, anyway. It'll do them good. It's what children want. Counterintuitive? Yes. Counterproductive? No.

Do you make any attempt to keep up with what's going on in politics, like the stuff that's made a big deal of in The New York Times and on the network news? No. The lower classes -- especially journalists -- do have to amuse themselves as best they can. There's no point in obstructing their enthusiasms. Being well bred means not losing your temper just because the loudest among us insist on being silly.

So you don't even pay attention to the war? Not really. I know the journalists want us to lose it, so I don't read or watch their reports. If the politicians let us win it, we will. Now that the Princeton boy is out of the picture, I feel mostly more optimistic. I do feel bad for the families of soldiers and marines who died. Every generation of my family has had losses like that, so I -- what's the word? -- empathize. Beyond that, I just wait for them to kick the Arabs back to the seventh century. Nobody beats us when we're there to win. That part of it is bone simple. Or am I missing something? Don't mention the Democrats. I'm being ironic. It's my privilege as an old fart.

Are you going to vote? Yes. Of course.

For whom? Some Republican, I expect. Only most of them are crazy.

One last question: Did you do anything to prevent FDR from subverting the American Dream during the Great Depression? Of course not. I played tennis with him at Groton. Or my father did. Franklin thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I'd have hated to burst his bubble. He was paralyzed. Syphilis is a bitch.

Do you feel better? I know I don't.

Monday, October 22, 2007

Death of a Season

SAME OLD, SAME OLD. For those of you who missed it, Andy Reid's Philadelphia Eagles were leading 16-12 and had the pitiful Chicago Bear offense pinned to the 3 yard line with no timeouts and less than 1:45 on the clock. So the Bears marched 97 yards for a game-winning touchdown with 9 seconds to spare. Game over. At 2 and 4 in a division where every other team�has a winning record, season over.

Last year's incompetent coaching was miraculously rescued by substitute QB Jeff Garcia, who led the Eagles from ignominy to six straight wins and the playoffs. Naturally, that required Reid and company to dispose of Garcia, who is presently leading the Tampa Bay Buccaneers from ignominy to a dramatic turnaround season.

There will be no miracle comeback in 2007.� The Eagles offense can move the ball spectacularly between the 20 yard lines, but they can't score touhdowns. The Eagles defense can mostly stop opposing teams inside the 20 yard line but let them run free between the 20 yard lines (a quid pro quo in the name of brotherly love), which leads to a steady hemorrhage of field goals until the game is really, truly on the line, when Eagle defenders collapse like the French Army. And the Eagles special teams are only special in the way special education is: an ordinary result is so far beyond expectations it's treated as a triumph. Punt and kick returns earn a sigh of relief when they aren't muffed or fumbled. Punts and kickoffs are deemed successful if the opposing offense takes the field inside their own territory.

Fortunately, Eagle fans are endlessly resilient. Years ago, they came together to launch the tradition of the Philadelphia Wingbowl, a gross little festival the city could enjoy while other NFL burgs were celebrating the playoffs and the Super Bowl.

Today is therefore the official opening of the Wingbowl pre-season (h/t WIP Sports Talk). We can't wait for the big day to arrive.

P.S. It seemed like half the New York Giants squad (5-2) was in attendance when Rutgers (5-2) knocked off the No. 2 ranked South Florida Bulls Thursday night (see "Other Notes" at the link.). Actually, Philadelphia is closer to Piscataway than New York, but obviously every single Eagle had more important things to do than watch a gutty comeback perfomance in a game of football. I'm sure it means nothing.

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