Election, 2014: Of sheepdogs, duckwalkers, super-Stentors & puny, pandering politicos

& Well, the Dems have been pounded into pulp, the Republicans will have control of Congress for the next two years and Obama will have the veto pen.

At least the growing dysfunction in Washington will be simpler to understand — it’ll be Obama down at the White House against the Republicans on Capitol Hill. No finalists left standing in this war to define the American soul. Will it be one of enlightened progress or creepy conservatism? Will it once again blaze a fresh trail into the future, or be content to rest, fat as a croaking frog, on its molding lilypad of laurels?

Will Washington witness an exchange of howitzers for the next two years – or will this madness subside into a moderately meaningful dialog? Oh, what am I saying? Moderate? Meaningful? With Mitch McConnell sitting as super-Stentor of the Senate? With Ted Cruz and Rand Paul slinking around in the cloakrooms vying for leadership of the looney factions? With a President, who will lamely duckwalk  through his not-so-grand finale, valiantly but vainly trying to reason with these salivating fools? Moderate? Meaningful? Please!

It will be humorous, to say the least, to watch the continuing internecine warfare among the scrabbling youngsters of the Grand Old Party, which is neither grand in scope nor old in philosophy, and not a party but a concoction of staunchly encamped and differing tribes of savages, conspiring in different languages and whetting their knives for back-stabbing and other non-Sunday sports.  On one thing they will all agree: Whatever is wrong in the world – from Ebola to ISIS to Obamacare to missing Malaysian airplanes — is Hillary’s fault. On another, when they are explaining two years from now why nothing’s better – despite their control of Congress – they also will agree: It’s Hillary’s fault. And when the volcano erupts in Yellowstone, they also will agree: You guessed it. If not Hillary’s fault, then it’s her granddaughter’s.

Not to say the Democrats are any better. From a raucous faction of fist-pounding patriotic firebrands who historically forced their ideas and dreams and visions into the oft-reluctant American spirit, they have been cowed into a puny party pandering to the milquetoast minions of the politically correct. For leaders, they now offer us sheepdogs.

Are they embarrassed, I wonder, at yesterday’s pummeling at the polls? Are they disturbed by the thumping defeat handed to Colorado’s respected, responsible senator by a wingnut word-weasling-global-cooling-anti-science-anti-gay-super-ultra-pro lifer? There may be some solace to be taken in the fact that Colorado’s voters have always been a bit tetched in the head and the editorialists of what once was a newspaper are now equally tetched. But what about the soon-to-be-ex-senator, Mark Udall? How’d he manage to lose to this nincompoop?

Yr’s Truly no longer wanders about in Colorado’s political scrum, and cannot claim a whit of helpful insight into how or why Mark Udall lost to Cory Gardner. But, it does give rise to a suspicion, best described by one word: Lackluster. Make that a new word: Markluster. “He is not a self-promotor” wrote Gary Hart in a spirited argument against the Denver Post’s endorsement of Gardner. Hart — the former president-in-waiting who became foolishly and eternally branded as a bad boy because a pretty lady sat in his lap — once again, was correct.

Despite the best efforts of Hart and others to present Udall’s qualifications as being among the most valuable of U.S. senators, (gifted with “gravitas concerning the future of our nation that a partisan such as Mr. Gardner will never have in his lifetime,” Hart wrote), Udall apparently was content to quietly shadow, like a sheepdog, behind his flock of one-issue women’s rights banner bearers. That got him 45 percent of the vote.

There might be a message there for Democrats, at least those apparent few who are sincere about reinvigorating the lethargic American spirit. They might start thinking about getting out in front, barking loudly, and forcing the flock to follow their lead.

& Off to make amends with my border collie, I’m outta here.






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