But, as I did my usual morning surfing of the blogosphere I was awestruck at the rejoicing on the left for this "victory."
It seems that any arrow piercing the heart of the Bush team is a source for rejoicing. We got one. Hooray for our team!
And, in that limited sense, Bush was tragically correct in his short statement yesterday, "It's sad that we live in a time when a talented and honorable person like Alberto Gonzales is impeded from doing important work because his good name was dragged through the mud for political reasons."
Now lets face facts. Gonzales was in way over his head. His performance before Congress was an embarrassment. He needed to resign. In fact, Bush should have fired him.
On the other hand, the Democrats endless hearings on the perfectly legal replacement of the eight federal prosecutors was a sham from beginning to comic end. Gonzales should have hit that one out of the park. Instead he muffed the ball.
But, the absolute glee surrounding his departure is so absurd to be silly. You would think Kos had personally assassinated Attila the Hun. Or that Arianna Huffington had captured Osama Bin Laden using only ecologically friendly recycled paper clips.
I'm reminded of Garrison Keillor's brilliant parody of the (also very brilliant) Ernest Thayer's classic poem, written in 1888, Casey at the Bat. Keillor finally gave the opponents of the "Mudville Nine" a name, Dustburg. And he retold the story in biting satire from the opponents point of view.
To all too many of Bush's opponents this is simply a game. It's the ninth inning and Gonzales has struck out. And while Bush weeps in tiny Mudville for the lose of his team mate, there is great rejoicing throughout Dustburg.
And so I give you the final five stanza's of Keillor's great satire. You can read his entire poem here: Casey at the Bat (Road Trip Version).
|He swung so hard his hair fell off and he toppled in disgrace|
And the Dustburg catcher held the ball and the crowd tore up the place,
With Casey prostrate in the dirt amid the screams and jeers
We threw wieners down at him and other souvenirs.
We pounded on the dugout roof as they helped him to the bench,
Then we ran out to the parking lot and got a monkey wrench
And found the Mudville bus and took the lug nuts off the tires,
And attached some firecrackers to the alternator wires.
We rubbed the doors and windows with a special kind of cheese
That smells like something died from an intestinal disease.
Old Casey took his sweet time, but we were glad to wait
And we showered him with garbage as the team came out the gate.
So happy were the Dustburg fans that grand and glorious day,
It took a dozen cops to help poor Casey away,
But we grabbed hold of the bumpers and we rocked him to and fro
And he cursed us from inside the bus, and gosh, we loved it so!
Oh sometimes in America the sun is shining bright,
Life is joyful sometimes, and all the world seems right,
But there is no joy in Dustburg, no joy so pure and sweet
As when the mighty Casey fell, demolished, at our feet.