Well folks, this has been an amazing game. Agnew was thrown out of the game earlier, and here in the final period, Nixon has handed the ball to Ford, and left the field in disgrace.
Ford’s got the ball! Ford stumbles, Ford fumbles! Carter picks up the ball and runs!
Wait, Carter stops to help someone on the sideline tie her shoe; folks I have never seen anything like this before! Carter has remained inbounds and resumes his move down the field. And here comes Kennedy, and Kennedy trips Carter! That’s right fans, Carter has been tripped by someone on his own team! I thought I’d seen it all! The refs do not stop play, but they are huddled behind the action, holding some sort of conference. And here comes some of Carter’s defensive line. And they knock down Carter and watch the ball dribble away.
And here comes Reagan, looking fresh, and strong, a man who is playing himself in an epic movie about himself. Reagan just picks up the ball, and is moving right. Atwater calls in a new play and Reagan, whose pants look just painted on, moves ahead as he waves and blows kisses to the adoring fans. How does he look so good? Reagan grinds ahead, powerfully destroying the turf as he moves. He seems to be promising that the damage will heal itself through magic. And he looks great as he passes the ball to Bush, who appears to be realizing the field needs fixing, and looking and sounding so much not like Reagan, he looses the ball to Clinton.
And Clinton moves down the middle of the field, but what’s this, it looks like Gingrich has driven Clinton’s team off the field, and now Gingrich is down and here comes Delay. Delay is hitting Clinton, and Clinton is taking some punishment but he’s still standing, and Delay is pestering Clinton like an annoying bug. You can feel this man’s pain. Clinton zigs and zags, and he tries to hand-off to Gore, but Gore can’t seem to bend his arms or legs, its as if his joints don’t work: he looks like one stiff man.
And the refs break out of their huddle and hand the ball to Bush. One of the refs has a copy of the rulebook, and he jots something in the margin, and shows it to Gore. Gore shrugs and walks off the field. The ref tears out the page he wrote on and throws the book into a pile of crumpled Gatorade cups on the sidelines. And Bush has the ball. And Bush looks like a scared little boy wearing his daddy’s gun to town for his first drink in a saloon.
Now it seems as if some fans in the Corporate Skyboxes have been attacked by hooligans from the box seats below. Cheney and Rumsfeld, back in the game after they had been forced off the field with Nixon, break off from giving Bush a pat on the ass and send vast numbers of children into the bleachers for what reason we cannot tell. Condi Rice is waving her pompoms with the other cheerleaders, and Colin Powell is picking up dirty towels. Who would have guessed Nixon’s playbook would be so dangerous in Rove’s hands?
