A Necessary Review

( photo: http://www.dusa.dundee.ac.uk/udasa/presidential_seal.gif )



OK, let’s review what we learned last time. Today’s subject … as usual, is politics. And after our last two abysmal performances as an electoral class, CLEARLY some homework is in order.

We’re about to embark on another campaign season. I know, I know … it already feels like this one has been going on forever, and the election is STILL almost two years away, but based on our recent history, apparently somebody needs to start banging the gong early to get our test scores up.

This isn’t about Democrats or Republicans. I’m already intentionally on record as hating both political parties, and supporting Barack Obama this campaign season. This is about America, so please remove your partisan hats for the rest of the lecture.

I COULDN’T CARE LESS WHO YOU VOTE FOR.

I know who I’m going to vote for as of this moment, and I tell you here and now that it could change any number of times between now and when I enter the voting booth at the elementary school up the street next November to play my little computer game.

Those things said, I am strongly FOR the America I’ve always read about and still believe might exist if we quit fucking up this particular test. I volunteered to serve in the military because I was an idealist, among other things, and believed then, as I do now, that the concept of America is worth defending.

But that defense doesn’t ONLY happen by picking up a rifle, aiming it, and putting a bullet center mass in some poor schmuck who was unlucky enough to meet us on the battlefield, in defense of some OTHER idea of what’s right and what’s wrong.

Sometimes, it happens by picking up a pen, or opening up a word processor, and saying some shit that needs to be said. So here we go.

We, all of us, the masses, HAVE to believe what we see this campaign cycle.

Unfortunately, the job of President doesn’t get advertised in the newspaper classifieds. There’s no formal list of requirements and qualifications. We don’t get to individually interview the prospects, there’s not much sensible recruiting happening, and we don’t have the luxury of leaving the position open until the ideal Joe comes along.

What we have is a grueling, and unfair process that lasts a looooong time to give us a chance to see how a candidate deals with adversity.

But that process actually works. For as long as I have been watching politics, which is about 25 years now, thanks to Danny B, we have ALWAYS gotten exactly what we thought we were getting.

How a man or woman deals with that process has ALWAYS given us enough information to know how they will deal with the job. The process is grueling and unfair because the JOB is grueling and unfair.

But, to its credit, the process has always given us enough information about the people in contention, for us to KNOW what we’re getting for our lever-pull.

We’re knowingly elected adulters, morons, liars, cheaters, and the corrupt. And never, not ONCE, can we honestly say we didn’t know what we were getting.

So here’s what we should be looking for this time.

1. Integrity. We’ve more than filled our quota of lies from the Oval Office. It’s time for a man or woman who does the right thing when nobody’s looking, and will be honest about what they’ve done when the situation starts to unravel. Nobody expects a full-term to pass without any mistakes being made. We are a forgiving people, but enough of the lies.

2. Moral Standing. Character matters, and we can afford to count it in the considerations. Webster brought a word to our language specifically for this sentence. UNIMPEACHABLE. We require that word to apply to your word, your honor, and your character. If you have a habit of deferring to either your genitals or your personal pocketbook when its time to make a decision that will affect a large group of people, you’re not right for the job.

3. Intellect. I’m not sold on education as the highest measure of intellect, particularly since there has been at least one idiot in every class I’ve ever taken, and that idiot usually got a decent grade, BUT … if you don’t have a working knowledge of how the world works, AND who works it, you’re not right for the job.

4. Compassion. The candidate is running for controlling interest behind the wheel of a nation of PEOPLE. If you don’t care about people, even the least of them, you’re not right for the job.

5. Balance. In addition to those people, we are a nation of Corporations. Those entities are the method we’ve chosen to provide for ourselves. We expect you to create an EXCELLENT climate for them to succeed. But never forget WHY the corporation must succeed, it is the means to an end, namely provision for “we the people.” ALL OF US. We are both a spritual and religious nation. But we serve a wide variety of higher powers, and for the most part, we have good hearts. We need you to keep it safe for ALL of us, whether we’ve chosen to believe in Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, Mother Earth, the Almighty Dollar, the Virgin Mary, Buddha, Hare Crishna, Lucifer, all or none of the above. Our nation is not just our religion, or our military, our companies, our disagreements, or our money. Our nation is all of these things. If you can’t hear the words that are coming out of my mouth because you don’t agree with me, you’re not right for the job.

6. Competence. We’ve lost thousands of citizens of late, due to simple-ass incompetence. We’ll work with you, we’ll support you, we’ll fund you, we’ll cheer for you, we’ll pray for you, we’ll defend you, we’ll fight for you, we’ll die for you, we’ll kill for you. Make us regret it, and we’ll turn on you. If you’re not capable of actually doing the work that’s required to earn that sort of love, you’re not right for the job.

7. COURAGE. We’re tired of people whose courage only applies to the opinion they already had. We’re looking for someone who has not only the courage of his or her OWN convictions, we’re interested in a leader who has the courage of OUR convictions. Because polls be damned, there ARE things we believe in. And if you’re not courageous enough to meet us to talk, and then act on what we believe, you’re not right for the job.

Being the President IS NOT about that moment standing in one of America's great arenas with the red, white, and blue confetti falling from the rafters. It's about being the people's gladiator in the arenas of policy, and international diplomacy, and during national disasters, and moments of sorrow.

This isn’t a “pick three” list. We need ALL of these things, and a few more. As this campaign season kicks off, WATCH these candidates. BELIEVE what you see. As the ineffably wise De La Soul have told us, “Stakes is high.”

Peace,
--Stew.

Extra Credit: What would you add to the list?

The People Are Coming

photo: (http://www.americanidol.com/contestants/season6/sanjaya_malakar/)


I truly believe that more people in America wonder why Sanjaya is still on American Idol, than worry about post-war health care at Walter Reed Army hospital. I’m ok with that, because life is an important thing to be observed, and in our democracy you’re allowed to pursue just about anything you suspect might make you happy—even a nationwide karaoke/beauty contest.

There’s been a lot written about how a perfectly good show is being ruined by miscreants, who’ve apparently decided in places like http://www.votefortheworst.com and http://www.howardstern.com that a vote for Sanjaya is a funny thing to do, as it capitalizes on the idea of “voting” as a method of screwing up a process.

I’m a huge fan of AI. I’ve been watching since season one with Tamyra Gray, Christina Christian (my all-time favorite crush), and Justin Guarini got broke off by young, big-bootied Texan Kelly Clarkson. I was watching the night Fantasia knelt and belted out “Summertime” from Porgy and Bess, in what I still consider the best AI performance of all time. And I was as shocked Chris appeared to be, the night the Daughtry machine stopped revolving.

I very rarely vote on contestants, although I have called twice to keep on performers that I thought deserved to move past a single bad performance. I liked Clay better than Reuben in their final showdown, even though I thought Frenchie would’ve been better than either of them, had she not had the misfortunate combination of being a big woman, AND not being opposed to participating in a bit of soft porn (even though the porn thing didn’t seem to hurt Antonella at all).

But the Sanjaya thing, in that way that some court cases or phrases in some political speeches catch my interest, intrigues me. In a lot of ways it’s a watershed moment, like Barack raising $25,000,000 in three months. Specifically, it’s the SAME moment, viewed from opposite sides of a tunnel.

(For those of you who have no idea who Sanjaya is, he’s a young man from Washington state who was just talented and beautiful enough to get through the fairly rigorous American Idol elimination process before anyone discovered that he wasn’t a ‘great’ singer. Now that he’s on the actual show, he has ‘somehow’ managed to not just avoid elimination, but actually garner a LOT of votes. His obvious lack of head-to-head singing ability has turned this season into a bit of a joke, to the purists. Now you’re caught up.)

I’m starting to realize that I watch my America through different spectacles than a lot of other people. And those spectacles suggest to me, that THIS is the evidence of the REAL birth of the digital age.

An age isn’t born when a technology is invented. It ACTUALLY comes into existence when the masses:
a) get access
b) learn to use the new capability.

Every new age is a puzzle, with the pieces being created as the assembly is happening. When the puzzle is complete, there is a new cycle to how life is lived.

The invention of the car meant nothing until there were roads that went everywhere a driver might want to go, gas stations to make the trip possible, and assembly lines to make the new machine affordable to every driver who wanted one. Once all those pieces were in place, the age of the automobile exploded. Today, everybody has a car, or at least enough access to get behind a steering wheel when the need arises.

The dot-com boom of the early 90s was supposed to signal the birth of a new era. New generations of billionaires were birthed in the creation of cool computer ideas, while investing in those creations destroyed part of an old generation of millionaires.

Nobody ever talks about the fact that the entire dot-com bubble burst before anyone even HAD high-speed internet, which in many ways is integral to the online system being useful in any tangible way.

The technology had been invented, but very few people had either the access, or the know-how to make it part of their lives.

News still came from the big five networks, and three publishing companies. Music came on compact discs and from the radio, and HBO was arguably the only real edge in mass entertainment in the 90s.

But in the interim, the “masses” have become increasingly comfortable with the new technology at our disposal. The internet started to become a real alternate universe of information.

Online shopping took over mall revenues at Christmastime, and people got used to providing that sacred collection of digits … the credit card number … to an anonymous screen. The definition of privacy changed, as the young started to live two simultaneous lives; one in person, the other online—complete with diaries, friends, and photos just risqué enough to keep them from getting their first high-profile job.

The ipod was born, the blog and podcast became Webster words, and today virtually anyone can create and broadcast their ramblings on every topic under the sun – and we can all participate. The telephone went cellular, then replaced the camcorder as the most convenient way to record our lives for posterity. Combined with youtube compression/sharing technology the video cell-phone has placed very real electronic newsgathering possible for absolutely anyone.

The digital universe is slowly strangling ALL of the old communication norms; radio, the old music distribution and sales models, network news, and the morning/evening editions of the newspaper.

And Howard Dean appeared from nowhere to make a credible run for President by raising money *gasp … on the internet.

Like every other new life cycle, the cyberworld is BOUND to eventually make its presence known in our political processes. There was time before television, and candidates had to raise money then, too. But that age is virtually antediluvian to us today, because a candidate’s money now goes to buying advertising time.

But people, at least American people, don’t just start fucking with the electoral system on a whim. We practice first.

Even after the 1960 election fiasco, and the 2000 election fiasco, we’ll test the new system with a toe first.

Which brings us back to a pretty little boy who’s in over his head on a television show that 30,000,000 Americans watch every week. Sanjaya’s got spunk, and even though I hope he doesn’t win, he’s a much more important cultural and political figure than most of us are going to realize immediately.

Sanjaya is the first real test BY THE PEOPLE of our ability to genuinely affect an honest voting system.

For the record, I’ve said privately for years that the smartest way to vote would be a national election using ATM cards and the existent financial network infrastructure. But that’s a different discussion for a different day. Today, hear this …

The people are coming.

Peace,
--Stew.

Hating Republican

(Photo: http://www.allhatnocattle.net)



I cherish MANY of the lessons I’ve learned from Danny B. Over the years, he has intentionally, and on occasion perhaps accidentally, taught me the basics of virtually everything I know.

Among my favorite lessons is his somewhat idiomatic insistence that it is perfectly acceptable to “know” something. You are well within your rights to BE right about a thing, particularly a thing about which there is dispute. As a human, your opinion is absolutely as viable as any other – even when the opposition comes from an “expert.”

The trick, my old man explained, is to never form an opinion on the fly. Never be afraid to think long and hard about what you think, to consider what’s already been said and written about a topic before you make up your mind. And most importantly—read a book when you have a question. The answers to every theoretical question are already locked in your mind, but the keys to those answers have already been written down somewhere by another person pondering the same dilemma you are facing.

I have since learned on my own that once you settle on that answer, you must accept its rightness as an article of faith. Should legitimate proof arrive that disproves it, you must weigh that evidence as thoroughly as you did the original information that led to YOUR conclusion, and adjust your own opinion to reflect the new knowledge. To ignore new truth is immoral, and silly.

In one of my many college restarts, I found myself sitting in a Humanities class in a Central Florida community college.

The instructor was an older woman; smart, well traveled, and very set in her ways. At her age, she’d earned it. She had more life experience in the smallest section of her little finger than I did at the time, but she was still wrong.

The topic was the origin of the ankh (♀), and I still remember most of that particular lecture as if it were yesterday.

Her discussion was on ancient religions, and she spent more than a few minutes extolling the virtues of this Celtic symbol and its ties to certain theories about Stonehenge, and some of the early Pagan and Pan-Pagan traditions.

I raised my hand. “Excuse me ma’am, but isn’t the ankh Egyptian in origin?”

She actually got a bit angry.

(In her defense, part of that anger might have been a residual of reading my previous paper, which went to great lengths to pillage the very IDEA of ‘missionaries’ as one of the most culturally destructive movements of history. I got a “C” on it, although I believe she would’ve given me an “F” if she thought she could’ve. I stand by the accuracy of both that idea, and the context I presented it in at the time. But she was the professor, and I was the student.)

Her: “No, Mr. Stewart. The Celts were the first to use the ankh, blahblahblah …”

Me: “But, wasn’t the ankh a … hieroglyphic symbol of infinity, symbolizing a marriage of life and death, or something like that?”

Her: “No, Mr. Stewart. I think you have your histories confused. In fact, I’ve been to Egypt, and can assure you that while there may be some ankhs in more modern Egyptian lore, it was the Celts who first brought this particular symbol to civilization. ”

Me: “Oops. My bad. Sorry.”

It bugged me, because I wasn’t guessing. I was right. It wasn’t a question of “knowing” I was right, or needing to “prove” I was right. I was just right. There wasn’t even a debate to be had. This isn’t even a controversial position. It is quite simply, a fact.

I learned a lot from her in that course. She was a very good professor in many ways. She was always well prepared, and did a fantastic job of bringing in objects from her travels to illustrate various parts of history and the advance of civilization from various parts of the world (South America and Asia excluded, of course).

Which brought us some months later to one of the last class activities. As a treat, she was bringing a full-fledged slide show of photos from her trips to Paris, Egypt, and the Holy Land. I like slide shows.

And holy shit if slide 195 wasn’t a close up from an antiquities museum of some sort in Cairo of an artifact from shortly after the reunion of Upper and Lower Egypt. And dammit if she didn’t have a CLOSE UP of an ankh carved out of sandstone or something, which was 6000 years old, if it was a day.

Because I’m a jackass, I didn’t just let it slide.

Me: “Ummm….ma’am?”

(Months had gone by, we’d made our peace, sort of … and I’m sure she’d forgotten all about her dismissive comments earlier in the semester)

Her: “Mr. Stewart. Do you have a question?”

Me: “Of course, ma’am … (engage best attempt at charming, disarming smile…) how’d the Celts sneak one of their ankhs into that Egyptian hieroglyph?”

She actually turned red on me.

Her: “That’s all the time we have. Class dismissed.”

Important notes:
--It was HER slideshow
--It was HER opinion that the Celts originated use of the symbol
--She was in charge

THIS … is why I hate the Republicans.

Real People

Sometimes I forget that “we” are very real people.

I met her at a restaurant near my house. We’d chatted back and forth on yahoo for a few months. She was from the South, and fun to chat with. Online, our conversations traveled that familiar path just about every online friendship I’ve developed has meandered.

They start with a comment somewhere. Her saying “I like the way you write,” or me leaving a “wow, you’re sexy,” and her asking “what’s fun to do in D.C?”

It progressed to us comparing notes about online communities we remembered, or had participated in--blackplanet, old-school yahoo back in the chat room days, hi5, AFF, the same ones YOU still have profiles languishing in.

We traded pics and smiles, and thousands and thousands of words. I’m sure I still have her telephone number on a scrap of paper somewhere. We may have spoken there a few times, but our preference was to talk here, in little yellow boxes

We talked about those parts of marriage that suck, how mine crumbled, and the challenges hers seemed to be facing. From what I gathered it was in one of those weird stages somewhere between unhappiness, separation and divorce.

I never really prodded, and we eventually moved away from that particular serious topic.

She worked with, and loved kids. I was struggling to find the most effective way to incorporate my son into my life. She gave me some very good advice that I’ve used, and had great success with.

And we chatted.

And then one day she was sitting in a restaurant near my house. And she called.

I was working a big project that day, so I was late.

That’s not unusual, I work on a completely different method of time than the rest of the world. I rarely focus on what time something “is…” just where it fits into my priorities at a given moment. There is a moment when that thing is the most important thing I am aware of that requires my presence, and at THAT moment … I do it.

So, I was late.

But I called, and explained the situation, and she waited.

I eventually arrived. She was there with a couple. One was her friend, the other a chat buddy her friend was meeting for the first time.

I had a beer, she had a fruity drink, and we talked.

Here’s what I’ve learned about meeting good chat buddies in real life. When it works, those first conversations are sheer joy. You already “know” the person on a much different level, and there’s a LOT less bullshit to go around. This was one of those conversations.

The other couple was in their own little world.

And we talked.

We laughed a bit, cleared up a couple of misunderstandings.

And we talked.

There were discussions about future meetings, nothing concrete, nothing that I would’ve been ashamed of, or regretted on any level. Nothing my mother couldn’t have listened to, minus a couple of details.

Just conversation about us creating another chance to talk.

The visit ended.

There was a hug, a smile, and a moment where we both silently considered saying the words that would make the visit longer. Neither did.

I went home.

She went home.

The chats continued. Good ones.

And then one day, her light didn’t come on. Then it was a week, and a month.

I just didn’t see her around anymore.

That’s not unusual, maybe her relationship healed, maybe she’d moved on to other things, maybe I’d said something to offend her.

When you live your life as Stew, all of those things are possibilities.

I occasionally thought of her when the boy Prince and I were doing something together, encouraged at least in part by her words of wisdom.

I saw her … in the online sense, once again. Surfing through 360, I ran across a page titled with the name she always used. Same hometown, same age, and a line that could have only come from her.

I left a comment.

And heard nothing.

Until last night.

Returning home from a week away on business, I had a few messages to go through. One was from a woman I didn’t recognize … at first.

I opened it, and she reintroduced herself as the friend who’d been at the restaurant, and asked if I remembered her.

I most certainly do.

The purpose of her message was to tell me that my chat buddy died in a car accident some time ago.

What a strange place for the sadness to creep in.

Peaceful journey

… my friend.

Sometimes I forget that “we” are very real people.


Peace,

--Stew.

Hating Democrat

So your football team drafts a new linebacker. Son of a famous ex-player in your city, he graduated from his father’s alma mater. It’s a small school in an out of the way conference, so no one’s actually seen him play very much.

Dad played in the league for years, and earned a reputation as a solid lineman who could be counted on in the trenches. He didn’t go to the hall, but the city loves him still, even though he moved away after his career, and nobody’s really talked about him since he lost his battle with cancer back in the 80s.

The good news is that on paper at least, his progeny’s a BEAST! At 6’5, he’s a lean, muscular 245. Runs the 40-yard dash like flames drinking gasoline fumes.

At the combine, a nagging injury supposedly prevents him from fully strutting his stuff. But he stands in front of the microphones one afternoon, and in articulate and humorous language speaks of his love for his dad, the history of the game, and his excitement to be following in his father’s footsteps and is honored to be even considered for the draft.

And your team eats it up. Bites it hook, line, and sinker. “We” take him midway through the first round, ahead of one or two more prominent players with no pedigree, but proven skills at non-bowl contending teams. The future is NOW.

He signs a deal that makes him an overnight multi-millionaire, gets a couple of out-of-the-box endorsements, and starts showing up on local TV commercials, peddling products and services you’ve never heard of, but might be willing to try … he’s likable.

Fan appreciation day, he kisses every baby, shakes every hand, and stays late to sign every kid’s football. He’s in every picture. He’s a winner, this one.

Schedule gets announced, YOUR team has the first televised preseason game. It’ll be all eyes on YOUR city.

The sports writers are aflutter with the season’s possibilities for the squad. News teams have ravaged the archives, digging up old footage of the rookie’s dad; making hits, blocking passes on the line, and even one incredibly lucky play where he chases the quarterback, gets knocked down, gets up and starts chasing the quarterback again. In the highlight of that week, he eventually catches the unlucky bastard, hits him like he stole something, and forces a fumble, which he recovers, and waddles into the end zone for the only touchdown of his career.

The unspoken fantasy for the city is that baby boy is cut from the same cloth.

The team opens training camp up to the public. For a small fee, you can come watch the start of the new season. You take the afternoon off work for the event, pony up an hour’s salary to park your car in an empty field, purchase a ticket, splurge on an overpriced, off-season hot dog and a plastic cup of stale beer, and climb into the stands to watch what you HOPE will be history. You’re a real fan!

You’re wearing the home jersey,

He’s on the field. He looks even MORE impressive standing on the sideline in shorts and shoulder pads, helmet in hand. Has a ferocious game face, and EVERYTHING! He’s been working out to rehab the “injury,” and if muscles alone signal football ability, it’s going to be a GOOD year for the home team.

The coaches know where their bread is buttered, so after warm-ups and a few offensive drills, they whistle the defense on the field. Our rookie hits the tackling dummy like a locomotive, knocking veteran coaches flat on their backs with impeccable technique and world-class power.

It appears he’s been studying his playbook, too. He’s EVERYWHERE—knocking down passes, reading plays, and showing up in the right place at the right time to tap offensive jerseys with both hands, the way you do in practice with limited pads.

Don’t want to get too excited too soon, you think … but this young man looks like THE TRUTH!

You phone, e-mail, and IM your buddies about how good the rook looked in day one drills. They’re as excited as you are.

A few weeks go by, and you don’t go back to watch him again. You’ve seen what you needed to see. But after a week or so, you notice that the coaches aren’t saying much about him. He’s not getting as many headlines, and the sportswriters aren’t putting him in as many columns.

You’re a bit concerned, as a fan … but not really worried, because you’ve seen him with your OWN EYES.

Game day comes, and it’s party time! You’ve got a rec room full of football friends. Everybody’s jerseyed up, there’s plenty of pizza and beer, and that beautiful anticipation of watching the games where EVERY team is still a Superbowl contender.

The game gets underway, and the rookie is nowhere to be found on the field. You catch a couple of glimpses of him standing on the sidelines, still muscular and game-faced, but not getting any playing time.

That seems odd.

And apparently, the overseas crowd is wondering the same thing you are. His commercials have been playing in THEIR markets too. WHY ISN’T HE ON THE FING FIELD?

Third quarter starts … and ends.

Fourth quarter starts, and the natives are getting restless. Somebody starts chanting his name in one of the upper decks … and it catches on with speed … HIS kind of speed, like flames licking gasoline fumes, and pretty soon the entire stadium is screaming his name!

The camera pans to a close-up of the head coach, who’s obviously a bit flustered. One of his assistants is talking to him, and they’re face to face. You can’t quite read his lips, but his vigorous head-shaking suggests that he doesn’t give a shit what the crowd thinks, he’s not in favor of putting the rookie in.

Or he could just be saying no to a particular scheme, or play. But there’s something … unusual about his expression. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he didn’t … for some reason … LIKE the rookie.

The conversation ends with coach throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. The assistant motions to another assistant, and the shot switches to a view of the rook putting on his helmet and trotting onto the field.

And the crowd goes wild! They’re FINALLY getting what they paid for—a LOOK at the ROOK.

He trots into the huddle, and the crowd goes deathly silent. You can clearly hear 11 men handclap a defensive play, and watch them take their positions.

Pre-snap, he looks like a natural. He’s waving his arms, and calling out observations to his teammates. He shifts a little to the left, and forward to cover what might develop into a crease between the tackle and guard. The offensive set looks like a run from YOUR vantage point, and he appears to be thinking the same thing.

A good sign.

The QB calls our his pre-snap sequence, making what sound like a couple of adjustments to the play, and the center snaps the pigskin …

Yep, it’s a run … off tackle right. The crease shows up right where its supposed to by YOUR reckoning, AND the rook’s. The lineman is effectively screened out of the play, and the tailback is preparing to hit the hole … and face the rook.

The rook is right where he’s supposed to be.

Let’s pause.

The rook has theoretically prepared his entire life for this moment.

He is a specimen of health. He has the genetic makeup to be positioned for a career as a hitter of men. He has been drafted into the most exclusive club in the world for men who excel at the sport of football.

He has been paid, transported, lodged, massaged, taped, padded, dressed, and put in the game.

Once on the field, he is part of yet ANOTHER exclusive group … the men who have seen the playbook. He knows where all ten of his teammates are SUPPOSED to be, and reason to assume they are, in fact, there.

They have had a luxury that exists in very few other occupations … the luxury of practicing THIS moment over and over and over and over again, until it has had every opportunity to become second nature.

His entire life has come down to this rehearsed moment, where his intellect, physical attributes, and position put him at the center of the universe, in some ways.

Unpause.

The tailback hits the hole square, and jukes a bit to the left. Two steps, and he’s in the space being occupied by the rook … who reaches out …

... to tap the tailback’s jersey with both hands, the way you do in practice with limited pads.

The runner bounces off, spins left and accelerates for another 11 yards before getting hauled down by an out-of-position cornerback.

The coach is FURIOUS! He KNEW this was the most likely outcome. And WHY did he know this?

Because he’s discovered that the rook doesn’t LIKE the actual GAME of football. He’s a bit of a pacifist. He doesn’t actually like to hit PEOPLE! He likes the money, and the prestige, and the drills, and the uniforms, and the locker rooms, and even the history of the sport. But he doesn’t have the love of the game. He doesn’t want to play the game, he just wants to PREPARE to play the game.

And it’s too late to stop him from being on the team, or representing the city, or spending this years bonus because he’s ON the team. He has a contract. And after the coach finishes his post-game tirade on tape, you realize that you are headed for a big disappointment.

Some of you will realize that we just went all the way around the barn to get to the point. That’s basically because I like to write, not because the metaphor NEEDED this much description.

Others will think this is a pro-war piece, and that I’m suggesting that someone is afraid to fight the war. It isn’t. The GAME is full-contact politics, NOT the war.

Some of you will just shake your head in bewilderment, thinking that there IS no point.

But some of you, maybe even most of you … will read between the lines, and realize that I said precisely what I intended to say, namely …

THIS IS WHY I HATE THE DEMOCRATS. Every fing season, they suck me in with big promise of hard-hitting play. And they let me down just about EVERY time. I hate Republicans too, but I admit this much ... Republicans LOVE the GAME of politics. They’re just WRONG about stuff. The DEMS think the tackle is automatic, because they’re “right.” And that’s just not how the game is played.

Thanks for reading this far, lol.

Peace,
--Stew.

Troy Day

I need a break from my book, but I feel like writing, so I’m stopping here for a minute. Hope everybody’s good.

* * * * *

I’ve written a lot about holidays I don’t like, seemed like a good day to tell you about my FAVORITE non-traditional holiday. It’s Troy Day, and unless you were in a VERY specific place, at a VERY specific time, you’ve never heard of it, but you’re welcome to celebrate it with me. It comes in handy from time to time.

Troy Day started in one of my earlier lives, the one where I was an Air Force radio/television broadcaster in the Pacific.

At the time, I was half of a morning drive-time radio show in Tokyo (whaddup Jakey!!!!!!!). Over the weeks/months/years that the show existed, we’d built up a fair amount of popularity and a VERY sizable audience across the Kanto Plain; mostly because we’d dumped the rule book pretty early on, and just had the most fun we could without going to jail.

(That’s a pretty ironic sentence if you know the whole story. I’ll have to remember that sentence later. Sorry readers, that’s an inside joke. I’ll try to keep those to a minimum)

Anywayanyway … shortly after 6am every morning, we used to get the first wave of music requests. Two groups of people called at this time, most mornings. Group A, was the school kids at different bases who were getting ready to go to class, and wanted a shout out, or to hear their favorite top 40 song first thing in the morning. The Jake&Stew show was all about playing whatever somebody specific wanted to hear because … well, it sucks enough to be away from home, and this was the pre-Ipod period of history, and a radio request seemed like a simple enough thing to give somebody when you are sitting in a roomful of music with a gigantic transmitter outside.

Group B was the Japanese chics who liked our voices, and wanted us to come party with them. Also a very fun group, but they have nothing to do with Troy Day.

One morning, during this early time, Troy called.

Most live radio jocks that actually get to TALK to listeners will tell you that they have their favorites. No matter how big your audience is there are ALWAYS people who listen faithfully, and call frequently, that you come to think of as “regulars.” Some “get it,” and only call periodically for something specific. You talk to them, and over time get to know them because … well, you talk to them on the phone all the time. Those are the “good” regulars.

Others call too often, request the same thing over and over, and basically annoy the shit out of you. You’ll usually take their calls, but after awhile they get to be somewhat like stalkers, very scary people who you can feel in the room before you even pick up the phone. You hate those people, because they’re unnerving first thing in the morning.

Troy was my all-time favorite caller. He only called twice ... two days in a row. He was an elementary school kid who wanted to hear a particular song. Nothing wrong with that, BUT … he stood out because he was incredibly polite, very articulate, and obviously bothered by something.

I wrote down his request, and asked him a couple of questions; generic stuff like how old he was, what base he was calling from, and what grade he was in. He politely answered, but called for his mom when I asked what school he went to.

I heard her pause, then yell the name of his school from another room, which seemed a bit strange. I teased him a little bit about being in the sixth grade and not knowing his school name.

He took my teasing good-naturedly, and then explained that this was his first week. His family had just moved to Japan from a base in Europe, and he was still the “new kid.” Something about how he seemed to take it all in stride really stayed with me. He’d been the new kid before, as most military kids have, and he understood his place in the world. He knew that he’d be the new kid for a while, and then somebody else would take the baton and he’d eventually make new friends, and figure out where he’d fit in.

He then explained that his dad was deployed with “the Ship,” and his mom hadn’t finished unpacking all the boxes and stuff, so he was going to come home and help her out after class that day. Really sweet kid.

Things in MY life sucked at that moment. I was in the middle of listening to my marriage break up a little more every evening, I was drinking too much, working too hard at my other job, and pretty much wasting oxygen that some more worthy human could have done more effective things with. I asked him how much time he had before he needed to leave to catch his bus. He said awhile; so I asked him to hold on, while the on-air song ended, so Jakey and I could talk to him live on the air. He seemed pretty excited about that, so he held.

Jakey was just potting our mics up to talk awhile before we started the next song, so I cut him off to tell him about the caller on-hold. I slid the note with Troy’s request to an intern to go pull the song, while I told Tokyo about this very cool young man who’d called in with the request for our next song. Jakey put the call through, and for the next ten minutes, one of the world’s largest cities was introduced to my new friend Troy.

We asked him about his class, his teacher, his favorite subjects, and if there were any cute girls he liked.

The kid was born to talk on the radio.

He was witty, and charming, and a lot of fun. Jakey and I both shared anecdotes about being the new guy, and he asked us questions back … GOOD ones.

We laughed and talked for a bit, and then I asked him to introduce the song he’d asked for. He was flawless. We wished him good luck at school, and told him that if he ever needed anything, he’d made two VERY powerful friends on the radio, and he could call back anytime. I declared it Troy Day, and said that anyone who met Troy at school had to ask him something about himself, and do whatever they could to make him feel at home. We started his song, thanked him for his request, and disconnected the call.

AND EVERY PHONE LINE LIT UP.

The first call came from one of our dear friends, a public affairs officer at Troy’s base, asking if there was anything SHE could do to make Troy day a success …

One of the teachers called from the school, she’d been listening in the lounge, and was now late for class because she didn’t want to leave before the segment was over, and suddenly the day’s show was about being the new guy. Everybody had a story, and they were in a sharing mood.

Geralyn, the PA officer, took on the challenge of getting some special stuff for Troy’s class that day. The teacher arranged for Troy’s teacher to call us, and Troy Day started taking shape.

On air, we talked about Troy Day, and being the new guy with caller after caller after caller. Suddenly, people were greeting us with “Happy Troy Day,” and sharing their stories. After about an hour, Geralyn called to tell us that the bakery had donated cake with a Troy-themed message, and ice cream for all the sixth grade classes. The fire department was chipping in a ride on their new fire truck, and the entire base … everyone not deployed with “the Ship,” was getting into the mood of an unplanned holiday.

Near the end of the show, we got a live call from Troy’s classroom. A full-fledged Troy Day party was underway, which I’m not sure, but I think replaced a spelling test of some sort, and Troy had almost instantly gone from “the new guy” to being “big man on campus!”

That night, at the NCO club, I was starting my traditional binge for the evening, and heard a group at a table nearby toast “to Troy day, and being the new guy.” I felt good.

Troy called the next day.

“Hey guys, I don’t want a request or anything, I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday.”

I’m a Scrooge at Christmas, and pass on most of the other tinsel and drivel-filled forced fun days. But every now and then, when shit just … WON’T go right, and I’m fucking up everything I should be navigating ever so smoothly (like writing this book) … I grab a handy beverage, hold it up for just a second, and silently give a toast …

… to Troy Day.

Peace,
--Stew.

My Funny Valentine

I like art, even though I don't understand it and can't create it very well. Today's picture is a piece called "broken heart."

I'm not a fan of Valentine's day. It reminds me of ... well, stuff I'd rather forget. But for reasons I fully understand, THIS song got stuck in my head yesterday. For all my ranting about technology, I love youtube. It actually improves my universe. Luther, fat/skinny ... I miss you, bruh.



Hope your day is nice.

Peace,
--Stew.

The Experiment

I’ve written this blog over about 25 times now. I’m still not happy with it, because there’s a LOT to say and I’m not sure I picked the right way to say it.

I toyed with the notion of using hurdles as a metaphor. That one was actually kinda funny, it might come in handy again, someday.

I tried sarcasm, cynicism, an appeal to common sense, humor, seriousness, a historical tact; some of which even made the cut, and I even wrote a page or two that was pretty militant.

None of them really got to the heart of expressing MY thoughts on the significance of having two black coaches in the Superbowl.

At the core of my thoughts is this idea: The NFL’s product has suffered because of a corporate stereotype that has existed about the ability of black men to coach the modern game.

When the NFL reintegrated in 1946, I contend that talent became the single biggest factor in who made it to the league.

In the 61 years since, the league has become roughly 70% black.

I’m not sure what the single biggest factor is in becoming a head coach. I don’t know what it used to be, I don’t know what is now, and I don’t know how it will trend in the future.

I DO know that it took a very long time for the first black guy to get a shot.

Ultimately, championship rings are the gold standard for assessing the quality of an individual man’s ability to coach at every level.

If you don’t get to coach, there is no chance that you’ll ever earn a super bowl ring for coaching the championship team.

Until this year, to ME ... as a fan of the professional game, the idea of black men coaching has felt like an experiment.

Since 1989, when Al Davis put Art Shell at the helm of the Raiders, it has felt to ME like if one of these men didn’t prove himself capable of winning the big one, the experiment might end, or worse … be judged a failure.

I could be overstating it. The FACT is that black coaches are becoming MORE common in the NFL.

But that’s the way it felt to ME, as a guy who watches football because of the game, itself.

So when Mr. Smith won in Chicago, I was proud of him not just because he’s a nice guy, or because he showed more fortitude than I am in possession of by sticking with Rex, I was proud of him because his accomplishment INSTANTLY put the experiment on a different level.

Then my cynicism kicked in. Lovie's team had some weaknesses. The AFC is statistically much better than the NFC, and it wasn't a stretch to think this year's Bears could have lost to either team in the AFC championship.

That COULD HAVE been very bad for me, as a fan.

Here’s how the cynic in me works. I’m one of those people who believe “almost succeeding” after breaking a barrier actually does more harm than good.

The moment right before you actually BREAK a barrier, is when your argument is at its strongest. There's usually no evidence for or against what you're trying to do, there's only opinion and belief.

If you fall on your face right after you break the barrier, your opponents have cause to redouble their efforts against you. Your failure provides the opposition with evidence that they were right all along. Not proof, mind you ... but evidence.

For example, in 1995, when Shannon Faulkner became the first woman accepted to the Citadel, a military academy in South Carolina, then dropped out a week later because it was too hard … I think she actually provided ammunition to the naysayers who believed a woman had no place at their venerable institution.

That experiment didn’t succeed until Nancy Mace GRADUATED in 1999.

More optimistic people will “correctly” argue that without Miss Faulkner, there could BE no Miss Mace. They’re probably right in some academic sense, but there’s a grand canyon of perception between academia and real life.

So when Mr. Dungy won in Indianapolis, I actually breathed a sigh of relief because it guaranteed that the experiment would succeed.

In the time since the Super bowl, I’ve actually done a LOT of research on race and the NFL. I’m a nerd, that’s the kind of stuff I do.

It was fascinating, in a lot of ways that I discussed in some of the 25 drafts that didn’t make it.

But I’ve settled on this … it took 18 years to prove that a black guy could be a “successful” coach in the NFL.

There are tons of bonus points, because both men in the guarantee round are standup guys who have earned the respect of their teams, their opponents, and the game, along the way to proving their worth.

If you’re interested in some of the history, I’d love to chat about it sometime. It’s REALLY fascinating.

In the meantime, I couldn’t be prouder of the way the experiment turned out.

Congratulations.

Great

Sunday’s Superbowl was an historic event for me on many levels. Later this week, I’ll get back to the significance of the day for me as a black guy. First, honor requires that I take care of another piece of business.

I owe Peyton Manning a public acknowledgement. I’m one of those naysayers who doubted his greatness.

There’s something of a shoulder chip that goes with being a Nebraska fan. Although we were favored by 13 ½ points going into the 1998 Orange bowl against Tennessee, an admittedly lucky win vs. Missouri earlier in the season had most of the nation’s premiere sportswriters rationalizing that Peyton Manning’s pedigree and knowledge of the game would be the deciding factor against my “overhyped” Huskers. Never mind that WE were undefeated and had one of the fastest and strongest defensive lines in the country, if not of all time. Never mind that it would be the final game for one of the greatest coaches to ever step on the field, Tom Osborne. Never mind that we’d faced similar talk two years earlier against the up and coming Florida Gators, PEYTON was going to be the factor that would keep us from the National Championship.

HA!

In our half of the 1997-98 NCAA Championship, my Nebraska Cornhuskers pounded the poor chap on our way to a 42 – 17 drubbing. Led by virtual unknown Scott Frost at QB; one of the best combo quarterbacks in Husker history, and joined by Grant Wistrom, and Ahman Green plus a cast of role players, my Cornboys out hustled, outthought, and outplayed Archie’s son.

I decided then and there I didn’t like him. Press clippings and pedigree be damned—win or shut up.

He seemed nice enough, but I’ve never had any respect for the guys who choke in the big one.

In fairness, Peyton’s numbers were still impressive. When we trounced him, he held a total of nine SEC/NCAA records. He was a four-year quarterback who’d just missed out on the Heisman trophy, and he’d rolled through the SEC to get to a game with National Championship implications.

But I have no love for also-rans.

If you are not a champion, you cannot be the greatest. Period.

That’s a Stew rule.

Its why Elway (my arch-opponent), Aikman, and Bradshaw are always ahead of Marino on my list of greats … even though I’ve never had a ton of love for two out of the three.

Its why Barkley’s “just” a big-mouth, instead of being the greatest forward of all time to me.

It’s why I love the Chiefs, but don’t pretend it’s because of their greatness. You MUST win the big ones to be “a Great.”

So as Peyton stumbled against the Pats, and still managed to put up record-breaking seasons year after year, he’s “just” been OK to me.

Until Sunday.

The other truism of my sports philosophy is that once you win … you ARE a champion. No excuses, no stats, no personality conflicts, no doubt.

And even though the entire Colts organization, ESPECIALLY Mr. Dungy get my respect for their performance against ‘da Bears …

Peyton Manning, the Great … gets a photo.

Congratulations Peyton,

Welcome to Greatness.

Peace,

--Stew.

34.

34.

Sweetness.

Growing up in Kansas City, I absolutely fell in love with my Chiefs. It was the early 80s, and they were the home team. I still love them in the way a man ONLY loves his football teams.

SOME women don’t understand that a football team has typically been in a man’s life since his childhood. (I'm always stoked to run into those that DO!) As companions, if they’re lucky, they’ve been through good AND bad times together.

Together, they’ve experienced good girlfriends/great coordinators, bad girlfriends/horrible head coaches, and personal tragedies/god-awful seasons. And they’ve been there for each other like best friends are supposed to be. It’s a very interdependent relationships. A football team NEEDS great fans. That collection of men feeds off our energy; not just in the stadium, but in the newspaper, and the local clubs, and in the traditions, and in the way an entire city wears their colors during a streak. And we fans live vicariously through their great hits, and suffer through their agonizing defeats. Without it, a team cannot succeed … even if it wins. It’s one reason Los Angeles has never been able to hold on to a team of its own.

There is NOTHING like the way a city that loves its football team FEELS the day after an important loss. Everything is gray, even when the sun is shining. There are fewer smiles to go around, and people are a bit more abrupt than the norm.

Even in small town America, where your team might represent a high school, or a college, that team carries the soul of its fans onto the field; underneath the pads and paint, between the cleats on each shoe, and between every rep in practice, or the weight room.

But sometimes, we men look across the room, and something about a team that DOESN’T belong to us, catches our eye.

For me … it was Sweetness. #34. Mr. Walter Payton.

Later today, the great, great, great, grandkids of the most exciting football team to ever grace a field will step under the Superbowl spotlights to revive a legacy that cannot be matched.

The 1985 Superbowl Shuffling Bears.

You will hear from Mr. Mike Singletary, conscience of the greatest defense of all time. He will speak about his comrades—Dent, Wilson, Hampton, Marshall. There’ll be words about, if not FROM McMahon, Perry, Gault, the whole gang …

But I want to take a moment, to remember Sweetness. Ran too pretty, died too soon.

I’m pulling for the Bears today, but more than anything I’m happy for the coaches. I’ll love the game, but it’s not my Chiefs.

But for Sweetness …

Nothing but Love.

Why I am an American

Growing up, I discovered the teachings and writings of the Honorable Prophet Elijah Mohammed, peace be upon him, and Malcolm X. Like most teachings, I didn’t believe everything these men had to say—but there was enough to keep me studying. There are many things about Islam that don’t appeal to me.

I am not a Muslim, although I have a great deal of respect for their teachings, and particularly the application of those teachings as demonstrated by some of the specific successes of the Nation of Islam.

Over the years, I’ve developed my own set of beliefs about patriotism, and nationalism, and the concept of being an American.

They’ve become part of who I am, but not something I necessarily talk a lot about. But several recent conversations about illegal immigration, and how to handle it, have driven me back to these foundational beliefs (for me) and redrawn me to those thoughts and ideas from long ago.

In one of those discussions with a friend, here at my home, the question of “what is an American” was a topic of the moment. Patrick Buchanan, a man I consider a radical right winger, but whose thoughts and ideas I both respect, and on certain levels can appreciate, has written a book called State of Emergency.

His basic premise is that America is being “invaded” by Latin America, and our nation itself risks destruction from within. He further contends that as we acquiesce to the language demands of Spanish-speakers, we destroy one of the elements that make us a nation—namely, our common language.

I see his point, and it drives me immediately to a moment 30 years ago this week, when my father, mother, and I sat down in front of a 12” black and white television to watch “Roots.”

One scene that has stuck in my mind for the subsequent three decades is the brutal moment in which newly kidnapped and brutalized African Kunte Kinte is whipped to a bloody pulp until he accepts that his “name” is now Toby. Here is the rubber meets the road moment that for me defines “how” to guarantee your nation is monolinguistic.





If I were to accept that adoption of a single language is, in fact, part of the truest path to building a nation, I would have to concede Mr. Buchanan’s point and see this moment not as the brutal thing that it is, but rather an important step on the path to creating an “American.”

I’m not with Mr. Buchanan on this one.

I oppose illegal immigration for reasons COMPLETELY different from his, but my disagreement could leave me with the question “what DOES make a person an American?”

It doesn’t.

He repeatedly asks this question in his book, and my answer takes me back to the Prophet, and Malcolm, and the thoughts of my youth.

I am an American because I choose to be, and because I have the geographic standing to make the claim publicly.

I further happen to believe I earned my status as an “American” by volunteering to pick up a rifle, and joining the military in defense of this country.

I am one of the fortunate ones who served, but never saw combat. But in my opinion, it is my service to this country that cements my claim that I am in fact indisputably an American.

I don’t believe anyone else has to serve if they don’t want to, and I allow for an infinite list of acceptable reasons that some other descendant of slaves can choose to call him or herself an American.

This is mine.

But in this “black history month,” it’s a question that I pose to others. I have told you why I believe I am an American.

You may not be willing to take on such a question for yourself. I respect your privacy. But if you’re comfortable enough to tackle the question, I put it to you….

What makes YOU an American?

On Black History Month

Every year, I struggle with the concept of Black History Month.

Intellectually, I understand the need for it. It is true that in THIS country, a lot of the accomplishments of the descendants of slaves (my preferred term) have been underrepresented in some of the traditional oral and written histories of how the country came to be.

Functionally, I’m not sure that donating a month to a very poorly defined concept of ANY sort of history is the best way to get those accomplishments added to the tradition.

In theory, it would seem that the “point” of black history month should be to further the inclusion of those accomplishments into mainstream history.

But somehow, the month has come to be something entirely different.

In my experience, it’s always turned into a rehash of the same few stories as a detached alternate griot-styled retelling of a few key events. This has managed to turn into an exercise that has become both counterproductive, and unfortunately, in MY opinion, actually detrimental to any sort of improvement in the inevitable daily interaction between the descendants of slaves and “everybody else” who lives in America.

WHAT THE UNITED STATES NEEDS MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE TO IMPROVE RACE RELATIONS IS A CONVERSATION.

There are some VERY legitimate questions, AND answers from BOTH SIDES that can only come from one of the knock-down, drag-out discussions where you leave bloody, but hugging.

The whole thing reminds me of those days in a relationship where you both know it’s close to being “over,” but nobody wants to put the issues on the table. There obviously ARE issues. That’s why you can’t sleep at night.

But facing an issue usually means that someone is going to lose face. And nobody wants to be the one. And one day, you get fed up enough to either propose marriage, or propose divorce.

Sadly, as two groups—people with black skins who live in America, and people with white skins who live in America ARE married, and have been fucking … in the sense that our futures are inextricably linked … for centuries now.

We are tied together culturally, economically, socially, religiously, linguistically, politically, psychologically, ecologically, nationally, legally, and increasingly internationally.

If that’s not a marriage, I don’t know what is.

At some point in my life, I became “the black guy.”

Even in a room with more than the usual quota of dark-skinned people, I seem to be the one that white people with race questions feel comfortable enough to ask. It’s a mantle that has never bothered me.

I grew up in the Midwest, and have always spent a significant part of my life in integrated environments, even if I was the element that earned them that definition.

I don’t have an individual chip on my shoulder about my ethnicity. I believe that I am associated with a collective of people that have virtually equal amounts of excellence and repulsiveness in our midst. Further, I believe that in America, most descendents of African slaves are pretty firmly planted in the middle.

I DO believe that ignorance, hate, racism, and discrimination exist. I believe that they sometimes live together, but can accept that often they are exclusive of each other.

I do NOT believe that every person who doesn’t like ME, dislikes me because of the color of my skin. Some do, and its ok … I don’t like everybody, either.

So here’s what I say to you, black AND white, as another “Black History Month” begins … ask your question. Get an answer. Meet. Talk. Decide. Find "the black guy/chic" or "the white guy/chic" in YOUR world, and engage them in a conversation that matters.

If there's no one in your universe that will field your question---bring it here. I believe EVERY question has SOME legitimate response.

I’ve quoted George Santayana in this space before. His comment is one of the most versatile and important sentences ever uttered…

“Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

I’m a history buff. I BELIEVE in looking at history for clues to tell me what will happen next.

Here’s what I see, from fairly RECENT history about the possibilities for US.

1. Shiites and Sunnis
2. Serbs and Croats
3. Hutus and Tutsis

All are/were “separate” groups that lived in the same space. In each case, their co-existence was something held together for long periods of time by external forces, sometimes national ones. And when that external force was removed, the VERY FIRST MATCH lit a fire that destroyed, or seriously incapacitated their societies.

I don’t want that for ANY of us.

We have a complicated past, and a potentially stellar future. One won’t change, the other … could.

Peace,
--Stew.

Final Handicap

OK, that’s enough drivel about shoes and the like. Back to more important things … as in handicapping Presidential candidates. There are now something like 16 people who have officially taken SOME steps to enter the race. I don’t really plan to blog about all of them, because face it … some of them have less than a camel’s chance through the eye of a needle at getting their party nomination, PLUS they aren’t any fun.

But there are a few of these people that are fun, and could sneak away with it. I’m going to mention a couple of them, just because I find them interesting. On the other hand if there IS a particular candidate you see mentioned somewhere, that I DON’T get around to, but you’d like handicapped, drop me a comment, or message, or something and I’ll be glad to add them to the list that I handicap and keep track of. Like I said, I’m a nerd for this stuff, so it wouldn’t add or subtract anything from MY day to follow a candidate for you.


Newt Gingrich:

Summary:
Mr. Gingrich isn’t a has-been. He’s got plenty of government experience, and a solid grasp of the issues. He is an eloquent speaker, when you can stop hating the thought of him long enough to listen to what he has to say. Truthfully, he ALWAYS has interesting ideas. Big, grandiose, sweeping, well thought out, intriguing ideas. That’s the good news. The bad news is …

…He’s a real asshole.

I mean, REALLY.

This is the man that turned President Clinton into a superstar. Why? Funny you ask, here’s the answer: Basically because a man cannot be a superhero without a villain. Newt was the Mr. Freeze of the ‘90s. He managed to single-handedly shut down the federal government.

Analysis:
His politics aren’t NEARLY as radical as you think. But he’d be as bad a President as you suspect. He’s ten times more arrogant and bullheaded than President George ‘dubya Bush.

Which brings us to HOW Newt would get into the race. How’s THIS for arrogant: his publicly stated position is that he’s going to wait to see if the race “needs” him. If he determines that it does, he’ll get in VERY late.

The fucking gall.

Rather than come out swinging and making his case—he’s gonna wait until the hard part is over, and sneak in the back door hoping to STEAL America’s heart.

Won’t bother to get into his infidelity, the crappy way he treated his cancer-ridden wife at the time, or the fact that the very team he led into Congress mutinied on his ass and booted him out of his position of power. There’s no need. The numbers will tell you everything you need to know.

ODDS:

Newt Gingrich gets in the race— 30/1. Ironically, like most of his ideas, there’s a grain of undeniable truth to his approach. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the cajones to bring it from the start, and the country doesn’t actually … “like” him.

Newt Gingrich wins the GOP primary—65/1
If he gets in, it means there really IS an opening. The odds swing in his favor at the instant he publicly announces.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam Brownback:

Summary:
There’s a good chance you’ve never heard of the good Senator from Kansas. There’s a reason. He’s from Kansas. Don’t get me wrong, I’m from Nebraska and have a love for the Midwest. I even have love for Kansas, having spent a lot of time wandering its roads with my pop as a child. My favorite college basketball team hails from the Sunflower state ( Rawk, Shawk, Jayhawks!) He’s been in the Senate since 1996, hails from the Christian conservative, evangelical feather of the right wing,

Analysis:
Brownback’s role in the race is to appeal to the pro-life vote. Sure, he’ll talk about the war (he’s for it), the right of privacy (although he questions the legality of the wiretapping campaigns), and the economy (he’ll toe the party line about taxes and balancing the budget), but make NO mistake. He’s all about teaching Creation in public schools, and ending abortion. If that’s your thing---this is your guy.

ODDS:
Odds Brownback wins the GOP nomination—40/1
The Christian right is STILL a force to be reckoned with. Without this candidate, the GOP race would be ENTIRELY about the war. He’s going to make sure the “radical right” doesn’t lose the ground they’ve gained over the past few years for lack of exposure.

* * * * * * * * * *

Chuck Hagel:

Summary:
Here’s where the Republican race gets downright interesting. YEP, he’s from Nebraska. And as a matter of full disclosure, I voted for him when he first ran for the Senate. So far, I have NEVER regretted it. He’s a Nebraskan through and through. He’s loud and passionate, even when it means isolating his party. He’s the one you hear bitching about the war, FROM THE REPUBLICAN SIDE OF THE AISLE.

Don’t get it twisted, Hagel IS a conservative. Small government, low taxes, personal responsibility, the whole nine. BUT … second to McCain, he’s going to have the strongest voice on military issues, earned from tours as a ground pounder in Vietnam.

Analysis:
Senator Hagel would get into the race just to piss off the conservative right wing, and the warmongers. He’d represent the traditional Republican party--the George Bush I conservatives. They are the practical, logical, cunning ones that I find myself agreeing with about some issues. The ones that keep me from being a Democrat, as much as the Jesus freaks keep me from being a Republican. Here’s the thing, he has the Lieberman problem. He’d do MUCH better in the general election than he’ll ever do in the primary. And here’s a piece of analysis you’re not going to get anywhere else: I haven’t really talked about the race, or gender cards that are SURE to be a factor in a race where the two big candidates on the donkey side are a cold white chic, and a black guy who’s middle name is Osama--Hagel can steal the white, male, on the fence vote that leaves the Democratic party if either of those two win the nod. He’s a threat.

ODDS:
Hagel gets into the race—12/1
Hagel wins the GOP nomination—35/1
There are still a LOT of disgruntled Republicans who’d jump at the chance to vote for a secular candidate. If he can generate the money to get his message out—which shouldn’t be hard for an anti-Iraq war Republican—Senator Hagel can make quite a splash.

* * * * * * * * * *

Bill Richardson:

Summary:
On the Democratic side, THIS is the candidate with the most experience. He’s been a Congressman, UN Ambassador, Secretary of Energy, negotiator with North Korea, Chairman of the DNC, President of the Governor’s association, and obviously … Governor of New Mexico. He’s smart. Really smart, and funny, and articulate, and he comes across as genuine. He’s got plenty of seemingly good ideas, but he’s broke by this year’s standards. He’s a GOVERNOR … which equates to a head-start in Presidential politics. “Ye olde public” doesn’t really look to the Senate when its time to elect a President. We tend to prefer people who have actually “run” a government before. But still, a campaign year that looks like its going to cost $500M to win the election---isn’t a year to be experiencing a cash flow problem.

Analysis:
Politically, Gov. Richardson will be a handful. He’s not a typical ‘liberal.’ He’s pro-gun, among other “western Democratic” principles. He’s a VERY worthy debater, and could make a LOT of headway in the early debates. He won’t do very well in Iowa, but could be a surprise in Nevada. That could give him a big boost going into some of the Southern primaries. There aren’t really a ton of Western candidates going South to compare him to. But some of the values are similar, so it should be VERY interesting. He’s Hispanic, which will create some interesting primary splits in the electorate.

ODDS:

Bill Richardson wins the Democratic nomination—20/1
This might seem really short, BUT governors do pretty well. I’m not sure how he overcomes the money thing, but his resume will play well. He’s a very non-threatening minority, which could ALSO play in his favor stacked up against Hill and Barack.

* * * * * * * * * *


Dennis Kucinich:

Summary:
It actually aggravates my carpal tunnel syndrome to type long blogs like this—a sacrifice I’m willing to make to express reasonable thoughts. Discussing Kucinich isn’t a useful risk. He’s below Al Sharpton on the list of probables. But he’s in the race.

Analysis:
Dennis Kucinich is too weird to win.

ODDS:
Dennis Kucinich wins the Democratic nomination—500/1

* * * * * * * * * *

THE DARK HORSE

Mike Huckabee:

Summary:
He’s a Baptist minister, governor of Arkansas, and lost a TON of weight to make the point that America needs to be healthier. He’s from Hope, like Slick Willie, and he’s smooooth with it. I’ve read his platforms extensively, listened to him speak on about four occasions, and read most of his book. I don’t agree with a fucking thing he says he stands for, BUT I Really like this guy. He comes across as sincere, even when he’s saying something I think is complete and utter bullshit. That’s a gift, and it apparently comes from nursing on formula made with Hope, Arkansas water. He has the increasingly rare gift of coming across as non-condescending.

Analysis:
Policy-wise, this guy is pretty far right. But he’s got the silver tongue that makes it come out sounding a LOT less conservative than it is. Think---Dubya’s ideas spoken by Clinton.

He’s from the South which gives him a HUGE base. He’s a governor, who by ALL accounts did an outstanding job ( not hard to do when you’re #49 in most categories, but that’s not going to be in the stump speech) and the public likes successful governors. He’s conservative, but manages to not SOUND preachy, even though he has the legitimate pedigree to stand in a pulpit.

That’s going to play well with the religious right, and THAT group is going to need a counter-candidate to the heathen Guiliani, and the secular McCain.

He’ll do respectably in Iowa, not well in Nevada, won’t finish dead last in New Hampshire, and start to pick up a bit of steam in South Carolina. He’ll do well on Super Tuesday, and generally well in the South.

He won’t do terribly well in the Western States, BUT could fashion a well received message that resonates in the upper Middle States like Indiana, Ohio, and Illinois.

Entering the convention, he’ll have a stack of delegates to bargain with. If the nomination is truly out of reach, he’s a viable VP candidate because he brings the South with him. I expect him to make one of the better speeches at the GOP convention, and to end up at the very LEAST with a good Cabinet level position.


ODDS:
Huckabee wins the GOP nomination—(DARK HORSE BET) 17/1

* * * * * * * * * *

OK, that’s it for this episode. The election is a loooooong way off. There’ll be more to say some other time. Enjoy the game.

Peace,
--Stew.

The Extendeds

(This picture isn't even "most" of us. It's just those who happened to be at 611 at that moment.)



I rarely think about my family as extending beyond my mother/father/sister. I’m wrong for this because there are some fantastically wonderful people beyond this little collective. I’m one of those people who has an extremely big extended family. My father is the second oldest of 11, and my mother has 9 brothers and sisters. Many of my aunts and uncles have five or six children, and I’m at the age where most of my cousins are parents. My favorite cousin is a grandfather at 41. I’m not sure, but I don’t think he’s alone.

Of the two sides … hmmm, how do I say this (?) … I’m much “closer” to my father’s half of the family. They’re centered in Philly, get along for the most part, and have a lot of characters that are an absolute joy to sit down and have a conversation with. As a group, his brothers and sisters have been through just about every scenario you can imagine. And collectively, they’re Invictus. (If you’re new to this blog, that’s a bit of an inside joke, sorry. Maybe one day you’ll catch up. )

More importantly, their conquering souls have become unflappable. It doesn’t matter what problem, or issue, or situation you show up to Philly with, nobody blinks. They’ve seen everything.

EVERYTHING.

Got a new woman, not like the old one? Bring her. She can dredge chicken.

Old one still wanna hang out? Hell, she can come too. She can fry.

Got a new son, new daughter that you didn’t know you had? Bring him. He can jump on the bed with 15 cousins of varying ordinals, under the watchful eye of Uncle Randy, who’s seen this all before, and will just slide the bed closer to the wall so none of the littlest hit the floor and go back to half-reading his book.

Been fighting with drugs, alcohol, or some wacky addiction nobody’s ever heard of? No excuses---bring ya ass home from rehab. We don’t care about that shit. Think you’re the first one to puff, puff, pass? Doubt it.

Cops after you? It’s prolly not a good idea to hide around the children. They’re upstairs jumping on the bed. Want some chicken?

Want some advice? Ask the question out loud, somebody standing in THIS room has been there before, and if nothing else … they can tell you what NOT to do.

Doing good things on the straight and narrow? College going well?? Fantastic! Happy for you. Welcome Home! You might want to avoid the hide-out, and the downstairs rooms for awhile.

I didn’t appreciate this about the Pop side of the family fully, until the boy King “M" and I made our first visit.

This is no Huxtable bunch. These aren’t the Brady’s, or the Seavers, or even the Jeffersons.

This is the crowd that parties with the Evans clan. We know those other people, and some of them came from us.

You can visit them in the Hamptons or whatever, but when they come HOME … to West Philly, they come to dance in the living room at 611, drink in Uncle Carl’s kitchen, and eat Aunt Dallas’ fried chicken.

More importantly, THIS is a group that knows what love is. Over the years, they’ve had some real knockdown, drag-outs, but for the most part, they are ALL on cordial terms. They play cards together, drink whiskey together, dance together, talk together, visit each other, and LOVE each other.

I don’t visit West Philly as often as I should, but that’s completely MY fault. It hearkens back to the very first sentence of this blog, and as I get smarter, my visits will become more frequent. I ALWAYS have a good time when I go to Philly.

By contrast, my mom’s people are …

Hmmmm

different.

They’re from Daphne, a teeny, tiny town outside Mobile, Alabama. My grandfather was a farmer/builder/jack-of-all-trades. He died at the start of my ninth grade year. I miss him. He was a giant of a man, and for my money, he was the only thing that ever tied me to the place.

His children seem to migrate between Daphne and Ithaca, New York – a town I have no real desire to visit again.

To call his children, and my relatives “country” is simplistic and unkind. For those reasons, I won’t do it … although I think it would be the truest moniker. But I’m 34, and I don’t have ONE good memory to relay about that whole half of who I am.

The details aren’t important, except to say that we’re just not close. None of them has ever harmed, or attemped to harm me. I’m sure they are good people, and I credit them as such from afar.

I haven’t visited Daphne since … hmmm, my ninth grade year. My mother still has brothers and sisters I’ve never met. I presume they were in Ithaca when I was came down for the funeral. Or worse, we were in the same room, at the funeral, and no one bothered to point out who was family, and who was just a well-wisher. My life is cheapened for lack of that knowledge.

On Friday, one of my mother’s brothers died. He’s battled a long illness and the family had been expecting him to pass any day. I’m sorry for his loss. Truly.

And I’m going to drive to upstate New York to say hello to my mom, even though I no longer attend funerals. It will be my first visit with her side of the family since I was 13. I’m a bit nervous.

My Favorite Davinci's Notebook Song

OK,

Enough politics for awhile. I'll get back to handicapping the GOP sometime later this week.

Here's an acappella gem from one of my favorite comedy bands, called DaVinci's Notebook. You've probably heard the song before.

(THIS IS NOT A SUITABLE SONG TO PLAY IF THERE ARE CHILDREN NEARBY, OR IF YOU'RE LISTENING AT WORK ... UNLESS YOU'RE IN THE MOOD FOR AN "INTERESTING" CONVERSATION!!)



Have a great Saturday.

Peace,
--Stew.

GOP Handicap II

Let’s call this segment, “The Unlikelies.” There’s a group of potential candidates that conventional wisdom is wisely ignoring. But since I’m neither conventional nor wise, I’m going to handicap them because in certain unpredictable circumstances, the unlikely thing is where we gamblers make our money.


Dick Cheney:

Summary:
Whether you call him “Chaney” or “Cheeney” the sitting Vice President is the most experienced, eligible, potential candidate in the country. Period, bar none, without exception. In addition to his current spot, he’s held cabinet level positions, been a Presidential chief of staff, served in the House of Representatives, seen the White House up close in a series of devastating scandals, AND had a front row seat to the current Iraq war from philosophical debate, to planning stage, to execution, to setback, to revised plan, and to the current stage. Largely seen as the “grown-up” brought in to keep his former boss’s son out of trouble in the hot seat, he has seen his popularity plummet during the execution and aftermath of the Iraq War.

Analysis:
Of course, you’re wondering why I’m bothering to handicap him since he has said since BEFORE taking office that he has no desire to be POTUS. And you’re right, that’s been his position since 1999. But things have changed since then, and I want to start by explaining why I bother at all. Here’s a BIG compliment to Vice President Cheney. My cynicism and sarcasm aside, I think he, moreso than a LOT of the so-called neocons, truthfully, honestly, sincerely BELIEVES that the Iraq War was right, is right, and will be right until we win. IF THE NEW STRATEGY WORKS, he isn’t likely to want to stand idly by and watch it crumble because the Dems gain control of the executive branch he has worked so tirelessly to restore to power.

Experience aside, there is something VERY important to keep in mind about this brilliant politician. He never forgets. And he’s willing to walk a mile to address something he thinks is wrong. Two examples come to mind, and they are worth mentioning.

1. Dick Cheney was in the White House during Watergate, and watched the Executive branch, following that fiasco, appear to suffer a tremendous loss of influence, power, and capability to act decisively during the aftermath of that Constitutional crisis. Even though it took him almost 20 years, he not only REMEMBERED it, by most accounts, he has been the driving force behind the seeming mad power grab THIS administration has made to “reclaim” the power of the Presidency. That, my dear peoples … is called a “grudgefuck.”

2. Mister Cheney was the Defense Secretary during the first Gulf War. He had to swallow his pride and watch the promises to the Shiites go unfulfilled. Promises that had HIS word on them. The deal was SUPPOSED to be that if they rose up against Saddam Hussein, the U.S. would back them. But, the terms of the cease-fire resulted in a mass slaughter of Shiites as the U.S. was ‘retreating’ to the no-fly zones. Even the cynic in me realizes that this HAS to take a toll on a man.

But given that past, he’s not likely to want to sit idly by if there’s even a CHANCE he can rescue his peaceful sleep at night.

He’s in poor health, unpopular, he shot a man in the face, his reputation has taken some serious hits, and he couldn’t win … but let’s be real for a moment. Do you really, in your heart of hearts believe Dick Cheney is a man who is in any way daunted by poor odds? I mean really? For that reason, he deserves to be discussed.

Dick Cheney can’t win the Presidency. Period. See—that wasn’t so difficult for me, at all.

ODDS:
Dick Cheney gets in the race—55/1
A seriously unlikely chain of events would have to create this scenario … but strange shit happens all the time. Don’t count out the possibility.

Dick Cheney wins the Republican nomination—72/1
If that chain of events happens, Mr. Cheney will reinvent himself, revert back to the respectable politician he was in order to win back-to-back races as the second-in-command, and throw the convention into a tizzy.

Dick Cheney wins the Presidency—99/1
If he gets into the race, he won’t be coming alone. He’ll have a smart staff, doing smart things, and he’ll distance himself from the buffoonery that has been the mark of these past few years. He’s smart, experienced, Presidential-looking (although I think you’d be pretty hard-pressed to find an American who lusts after the style of President he’d be.)

AND … if he gets into the race, his lesbian daughter, and his new grandchild will be FRONT and CENTER. He’ll deflect that criticism by reminding us all about 9/11, and (hopefully) that there haven’t been any attacks since … and take full and absolute responsibility for the second fact. You … yes, EVEN YOU … will be swayed by the thought, and for a moment, you will forget how much drama Darth Vader has brought to our universe. You’ll forget about wiretapping, and Guantanamo, and library checkout checks, and snooping, and eavesdropping, and signing statements, and mistakes, and “greeted as liberators” and “mushroom clouds” and all the bad stuff and FOR AN INSTANT … you’ll almost consider giving him a vote.

But in the end, not you, and not ONE OTHER AMERICAN will be physically capable of pulling the lever for him.

But it will still make it to the Supreme Court, because Mr. Cheney has POWER, and doesn’t actually NEED anyone to VOTE for him, as long as his volunteers can control the count.

* * * * * * * * * *


Condoleeza Rice:

Summary:
OK, this IS called “The Unlikelies” … so bear with me. This one is going to be a bit harder to articulate. It has two parts.

First, Condie has four personal hurdles that she’d have to overcome, before EVER even getting to the real political issues.

1. She’s a woman. This was going to be a factor in her favor when it was just her and Hillary. She could’ve split the chic vote in half, and robbed a big piece of the black vote. But now that she’s one of the faces of the war, she loses the chic vote to the junior Senator from New York.
2. She’s black. Doesn’t matter as much for Barack, at THIS point, and the Republican party has CONSISTENTLY been more inclined to have blacks in high position, and to feature them prominently. But Barack is appealing to liberals, who actually WANT to vote for a minority, just not a stupid one. And she couldn’t have even beat Barack Obama in a beauty contest BEFORE the war, much LESS a tug of war for the black vote.
3. She’s single, and childless. Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA) took quite a bit of flak for bringing this up in a hearing earlier this week. But the marketing teams won’t care. They’ll hammer it home in very subtle ways that would turn the conservative right against her. Ironically, they’d think they were against her because she’s black, not realizing the power of advertising.
4. Did I mention she’s a major FACE of the war? This is a different fact than being one of its architects. There are lots of architects, but being SecState during this war, and not taking a stand against it would KILL a black woman’s chance to be seriously considered in THIS season. It would even hurt Powell, if he decided to run this season, although he’d still win the primary if he threw his hat in the ring today.


Analysis:
Ms. Rice is a brilliant political scientist. Unfortunately, she’s blown all of her capital on this misadventure. In time, she will be one of the most revered and respected political pundits/analysts/authors/experts. But that’s in time, it’s not now or soon. This season, she can’t win, won’t win, and probably won’t run … unless the GOP machine insists. She WILL do what she’s told. Even if she leaps those four hurdles, she’ll spend a year defending an ongoing war, and being poorly positioned to make the case that she’ll have a strong foreign policy.

There’s nothing like having to defend previous fuckups in the area you’re trying to prove your qualifications for to kill your chance at being the hero. She’s actually in a MUCH worse position than a Senator who just voted for authority to wage the war. Ironically, she’d be the woman with the most political experience in the race, BUT I don’t think there’s much a marketing team could do to make her an appealing figure in commercials to improve her public image.

Her lack of children would be noticeable, her lack of a husband would make her look odd at public events. Even a single man would have a problem getting elected. Even if you hate your wife, you need her on stage with you, holding your hand, and waving to the crowd for the “happy couple” images.

A girlfriend won’t do for a man, and since Conde’s straight, a girlfriend wouldn’t help her either. Having a stand-in guy would bring all sorts of weird sexual questions to the forefront, and this is a set of stereotypes that she’d have a HARD time overcoming.

There ARE a lot of powerful men who would be more than willing to stand in her corner, but that would just make her look like a puppet, exactly the WRONG image for the woman trying to smash both the color AND gender barriers in one swing for the fences.

Luckily, Conde’s not interested in being President. She wants to run the NFL, and based on what I’ve seen with instant replay this year, I’m one who hopes she gets the job.

For the record, I admire her accomplishments, and think she’s an amazing person.


ODDS:
Condoleeza Rice gets in the race—50/1
Condoleeza Rice wins the GOP primary—80/1

* * * * * * * * * *

Next time … NEWT, Brownback, and my dark horse pick for nominee.