0
0
First I binged on the Olympics, and now I’ve just finished watching the Democratic National Convention. Both were really fun—full of gold medal performances and reasons for celebration. And as I watched French President Macron, I had a wonderful vision of the future. In my crystal ball, I could see the national leader of the host 2028 Olympics basking in the glory of the great pageant as she completes the first term of her highly successful Presidency. She looks to be in full control, already favored heavily to win a second term over the best that the highly divided Republican Party could put forward after you-know-who.
My cup runneth over with good feelings, in the hope that 2024 will be the year that the wicked-witch-of-the-west has an electoral house fall on him. My, how things have changed in little over a month, but the Democratic Nation Convention has me brimming with all sorts of good feelings. And I’m amazed that those people who ran it know how to put on a show. How could I have guessed that the Democrats could wave the flag so wildly and make patriotism feel at home among those whom the Trumpster wants to label as Socialists and Communists. And wasn’t there a little for everyone, from very old to very young , some casting their first Presidential ballots, some recalling that they helped elect JFK.
Watching Obama & Obama, that famous vaudeville comedy team, was fun. You see, Donald doesn’t like being mocked and Barak’s hand-gesture when discussing Trump’s obsession with the size of his… crowds… must have had the old man boiling. Let’s remember that unlike every recent President, Trump never attended the annual White House Correspondent’s Dinner, modeled after the old Friar’s roasts and brimming with cutting humor. Why? Not simply because he hates the free press. Not simply because he has no sense of humor. Simply, because Donald doesn’t like being mocked. He can mock others, mercilessly and without humor or humanity. But this is a man who doesn’t like being on the other side.
Then on consecutive nights, we got the dancing duo of Doug Imhoff and Tim Walz. Imhoff, being oh so self-effacing, told us about Mamala-Kamala’s passion and compassion. And wasn’t it great theatre to see the now middle-aged state championship football players of Mankato West High come on stage, and to hear Coach Walz bring out his locker room best. “Our underdog team may be down by a field goal, but we’re driving for the winning touchdown and I know we can do it. GO TEAM, GO TEAM, GO TEAM!” Every male who’s ever played or had a kid on the local high school football team must have been up and yelling, “Give me the ball coach. I’ll punch it in.” Nice going, Tim. That’ll rack up at least a few white male votes in Texas and Pennsylvania.
Then came Kamala, and we were back in the Olympics. It’s one thing in gymnastics to run, jump, and twist brilliantly, but you’ve got to nail the finish. No hops, no bobbles. A brilliant dive is only good if you can end up going into the water without making a splash. But Kamala came through and sealed the deal. She was Simone Biles and pommel-horse-guy rolled into one. Powerful. Positive. Sincere. Relatable. She was 1) everything we could have hoped for but, not anticipated before she got the nomination, and 2) everything—totally– that the other guy is not.
So I told myself that this convention was so much better than the Republican Convention. Except—I didn’t watch a moment of the Republican Convention. After all, who wants to watch all those people you don’t particularly like or respect saying things you don’t agree with. And then remembered that if I, the liberal Democrat, couldn’t have been convinced to come over to the other side because I didn’t hear a word they said, then the same thing goes, in spades, for Republican voters. They weren’t swept off their feet and moved to vote for Kamala by the collective brilliance of the DNC speakers for one simple reason. They weren’t tuned in. The didn’t hear a word. So we’ve got to get the word out.
There are two debates on the horizon, Presidential and Vice Presidential, and we can be hopeful because both Democratic candidates seem articulate and quick on their feet. Still, one can only hope, one can never be sure. And then there’s the hard work, the work not done by the candidates, but by us. Besides tossing a few dollars to support the cause, let’s remember that there are people who were planning on sitting out this election—after all, who wants to vote for either of those old farts. But now we have to remind them that they have an attractive alternative. And, believe it or not, there are really people out there who have either not made up their minds (who are these people, for God’s sake???) or whose opinions can be swayed in the right direction. And as of today, in fact, there are even people who might have voted for the only Kennedy with an IQ under 30. These people need to be brought over to the light after lingering too long on the Dark Side. It’s our job to to convince everyone possible to vote, and to vote for Harris. Knocking on doors, writing postcards, whatever it takes. It’s so much in our hands at this point.
I can see it now.
Play by play announcer: Four seconds left on the clock and the Donkeys have it at the eight yard line of the Elephants. Quarterback Walz sprints out to the left, but Trump can’t catch up to him because of those old heel spurs. Walz eludes the rush and launches a fade to the back of the end zone. Not realizing that Harris is stronger and faster than the players in his cat-lady league, Vance is outjumped by Harris who comes down with the winning TD. Not surprisingly, Trump demands a recount, but the play stands even after review by the Supreme Court.
And the prophesy comes true: When we fight, we win!
Good one, Ed!