I am officially sick and tired of the Republican staffers, lobbyists and consultants in who have spent this week running in little circles, sobbing like a bunch of five-year-olds who just got off the class-trip school bus only to find out the pony is sick and there won't be any rides today.
Here's the wail: Woe to us. We had a gay guy in the Republican conference who was preying on pages. He's going to cause us to lose control of the House of Representatives. Whatever shall we do?
Here's what you do: You strap your helmet on your head; run onto the field; get into a three-point stance; and, at the snap of the ball, hit somebody. Hard.
And then, do it again. And again. And again. Until the final gun sounds.
You might lose the game, but not because, trailing 21-17 at the half, you took off your uniform and went home. If you lose, you should have to be dragged into the locker room; having left every ounce of energy and experience on the field.
You can never know in advance, how something like the Foley-page scandal is going to play. You don't know if, having lit the match, it will simply emit a bit of heat and light and then go out; or, that exactly right mixture of combustible gas and oxygen is available and the match creates an explosion such as we've seen this past week.
Not only that, but you can't know, until after it's over, how long the fire created by the explosion will burn and how much damage it will have done.
Anyone who believes they know what's going to happen on November 7 based upon the data they are seeing on October 6 is … full of it.
(To read the rest of his column cick on the title above for a link)
