Photo by sumrow via Flickr

As the debate over U.S. health care reform degenerated into a battle over partisan positioning, Democrats found themselves struggling to inject some kind of legacy into their foundered effort. This meant that — sans Public Option, post-abortion compromise — Senators Harry Reid, Max Baucus, Tom Harkin, and the rest of their aristocratic and anachronistic cronies were, for their respective pre-victory self-congratulations and predictions of economic armeggedon, forced to turn away from the bill for inspiration. Reid found himself destroying baseball history. Senator Christopher Dodd tried to tack his party’s slackened reform onto FDR’s four freedoms. Their colleagues invoked the bible and George Washington.

Sigh.

We here at Unfit value nothing more than a creative cut-and-paste job. Still, such a desperately wide array of historical snipping seems to betray a certain lack of … focus. So, in advance of what will surely be meant as an epoch-defining moment, we offer President Obama’s speech writers the following wholly-borrowed concise message. After these last few weeks of total bullshit, the least our failed leadership can do is grant us all the simple honesty of uniform plagiarism.

The Gospel According to Franklin Delano Washington, or The Full Senate at the Bat

Good evening sports fans.

This is a day of national consecration. And I am certain that on this day my fellow Americans expect that on my induction into the Presidency the occasion of my signing the policy on which I have so clearly staked my Presidency, I will address them with a candor and a decision which the present situation of our people impels.

[Let me start by saying:] Do not be wise in your own eyes fear the LORD abstract concepts of socialism and shun evil a clear, comprehensive system of health care coverage. This will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones. Honor the LORD Aetna with your wealth, with the first fruits of all your crops; Say to him it: ’Long life to you! Good health to you and your household! And good health to all that is yours!

The period for a new election of a citizen, to administer the executive government of the United States, being not [too] far distant, and the time actually arrived [in like 18 months], when your thoughts must be employed designating the person, who is to be clothed with that important trust, it appears to me proper, especially as it may conduce to a more distinct expression of the public voice, that I should now apprize you of the resolution I have formed, to decline being considered among the number of those out of whom a choice is to be made sign this hulking abortion of reform, and thus attempt to preserve for myself a chance at the Presidency in 2012.

However combinations or associations of the above description may now and then answer popular ends, they are likely, in the course of time and things, to become potent engines, by which cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power of the people, and to usurp for themselves the reins of government; destroying afterwards the very engines, which have lifted them to unjust dominion.

[Look duders, like Harkin said, this shit is just a starter health care bill.]

[Besides, this was SO HARD.] I mean, I was like: Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel [of health care reform] shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, the idea that it’s okay to be flexible, if you need to preserve your career, be told for a memorial of her to democracy. [But] [t]hen one of the twelve Senators, called Judas Iscariot Joseph Lieberman, went unto the chief priests Aetna, And said unto them, What will ye give me, and I will deliver him untoward profits unto you? And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver.

[So we had a choice. And we decided to call] together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

The Outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine Muddied bill that day:
The score stood four to two Fifty-nine to Forty-one, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney Kennedy died at first, and Barrows Byrd [nearly] did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey the full senate could get but a whack at that -
We’d put up even money, now, with Casey the full Senate at the bat.

But Flynn Lieberman preceded Casey the full Senate, as did also Jimmy Blake Ben Nelson,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey’s the full Senate’s getting to the bat.

[So we compromised. For now. Look, like Harkin said, this shit is just a starter health care bill.]

[L]et me [now] assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life, a leadership of frankness and of vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory. [And for that, you might have to wait like six years. Like Harkin said, this shit is just a starter health care bill.]

Photo by hyku via Flickr

For those of us who prefer to spend our “working” afternoons in pursuit of player transaction gossip, Major League Baseball’s winter meetings are the highlight of the season. For a few days each December, the front office honchos from every MLB team, the agents who represent the millionaires who play for them, and the media whose job it is to report it all (and we mean all) gather in the lobby of some hotel room and try to swindle each other. In the process, general managers do their best to end up on the post-trade Frank Robinson/Babe Ruth side of things, agents do their best to have their players end up on the Kevin Brown side of things, and sports writers do their best to not end up on the Rob Neyer (scroll down) side of things. With so much action — and the scoop-hungry masses who are tasked to cover it — concentrated in one place, the winter meetings turn into something of a perfect storm for rumor-making.

Until this year, the worst to come out of all this might have been the hurt feelings of a player or two. But that was before the combination of Twitter and what one Winter Meeting press attendee characterized as the “mom’s basement contingent” conspired to make a mess of things in a manner that can only lead us observers to conclude that this whole new media democracy set-up is actually capable of policing itself.

On Monday at 3:00 p.m., Rotoworld senior baseball editor Aaron Gleeman tweeted that he and his colleagues were “going to learn a lot about everyone’s quality/standards of reporting this week” and that “[s]ome people aren’t gonna look so good.” Presumably, this was a reference to the same mom’s basement contingent that his fellow baseball rumor monger Jason Rosenberg had implied was polluting the proverbial well. Gleeman followed that up six minutes later with a response to a tweet from MLB Trade Rumors‘ Tim Dierkes (who’d taunted the rest of us with promises of a “spreadsheet that I will never share, with the major reports that were wildly wrong”) where he claimed that he wasn’t “going to go nuts ‘outing’ anyone,” but that it would “be tough not to remember what’s going on.”

We here at Unfit tried to get a hold of Gleeman so that he might enlighten us as to what was going on. But since we don’t seem to have the clout of, say, Peter Gammons, we got no response. So here’s a guess: Mom’s basement reporter-type hears some crazy rumor. Mom’s-basement reporter-type prints said rumor without so much as vetting it with any sources. Report gets tweeted, retweeted, and kind of becomes news. Until, that is, a not-so-mom’s-basement-reporter-type susses out the truth, sinking mom’s-basement-guy’s rumor and maybe his or her (well, we’ll guess his) fledgling career.

‘Course, without the ability to so quickly and widely publish his rumor, mom’s-basement guy is left with an audience of exactly his mom. A fact which should bring the whole Twitter thing home to those of us who are totally stoked about being able to receive news in real time. That’s nothing new. But that the mom’s-basement joker(s) got so jumped on serves as proof that not all media types are so blinded by the relative shiny newness of social media that they can’t police themselves. And that’s encouraging — even if the end result is that those of us who crave instant updates have to wait just a bit longer.

Not tonight!

Me: Thank you for having me over for dinner.

Them: Of course.

Me: I brought wine.

Them: Thank you. How thoughtful of you.

Me: It’s the least I could do. So, what are we eating? It smells delicious.

Them: We’re having Indian Curry Chicken Tikka.

Me: Wow. That sounds amazing. I love chicken.

Them: It’s a recipe we heard about on  _____ Chef.

Me: Great. I’ve never really watched too many of those cooking shows. I’m not much of a chef myself. I could ruin cereal, you know? (laughs)

Them: On the show, the announcer said that this dish was first served at the court of Hindu Rajput King Maha Rana Pratap of Mewar in the 14th century.

Me: That is amazing. Well, this wine was once served out of a paper bag and sipped through a straw by King Charlemagne, so … (laughs)

Them: The chicken is seasoned with garlic, ginger, cinnamon sticks, bay leaves, cardamom pods, cloves, and hot pepper flakes.

Me: Sounds good to me. This is a great house. How long have you guys lived here?

Them: We are also having balsamic roasted vegetables – zucchini, yellow squash, bell peppers, onions, and eggplant. The zucchini is from a local community garden. The key to a good roasted zucchini is to pick it just before it’s ripe and then to leave it in a marinade for three days or so. That way it doesn’t require too much roasting, but is rather braised, to preserve its natural flavor while getting rid of some of the peatiness.

Me: Well, I look forward to eating it. Did you guys see what Obama said today about unemployment, about how he wants to pass another stimulus package with government money for bridge-building and tax breaks for small businesses? He’s claiming that …

Them: Here’s a sampling of fresh, soft ripened, wash rind, semi-soft, firm and hard cheeses to enjoy as an appetizer. We went with some friends to a cheese-tasting party last week. We tried Bergenost, Colby, Lieserkranz, Provel, Herve, Limberger, Maredsous, Passendale, Rochfort, this Bulgarian cheese called Sirene, three different cheeses from Denmark called Tilsit, Esrom, and Danso, and then of course some Weislacher and Hirtenkase and Tilsit. And we topped the afternoon off with a little White Stilton and Winsleydale for dessert. These are just some simple Dorset Blue Vinneys, but we kind of planned this dinner at the last minute.

Me: That’s fine.

Them: Mmm, these vegetables are going to be perfect. Here, taste the eggplant; it’s just at that peak of succulence before it gets too ripe or too overcooked and takes on a sort of meaty, peaty, gamy texture around the edges.

Me: Mmm. No, it’s very good. You know, I went to a restaurant last week called ____. Have you been there? I really enjoyed their steak. It was delicious. Very juicy.

Them: The chef there puts the most amazing Bernaise sauce on his cauliflower – the flavor lingers just so on the back left-hand corner of your tongue. But their broccoli – I couldn’t quite put my finger on it; it was like it had been lightly dipped in caper butter and left out to dry in the summer sun just two or three days longer than was necessary and everything got infused with a saffron tartness.

Me: Really? I didn’t try that, I guess.

Them: Of course, the most important thing to remember when you’re honey-glazing a thinly-sliced bouillabaisse, especially when the eggs come from grass-fed chickens, is to go easy on the sour cream at first, because that tempers the natural oakey flavor of the venison. What we do is take a pinch of aniseed myrtle and mix it with just a shake of Cumin and a dollop of Lesser Galangol (or at least Indonesian Bay Leaf), and we put it all in the freezer over night. That way the lamb is singed, not calcified, the morel reduction is more like a pâté than diced parsley, and the portobellos are allowed to breathe, which is the key to a good bacon yogurt.

Me: Ahhh, bacon.

Exeuent Omnes

A Tiger divided against himself ...

The rumor goes something like this, give or take a few sordid details:

The Great Athlete, flush with success and fame, sees a beautiful woman from across the room at a swanky party. The woman, who recognizes the Great Athlete, is flustered and nervous. But the Great Athlete is confident and full of brass. He approaches, she waits – What will he say? What will she say? He arrives, looks her in the eye, and asks, “What are your hopes? What are your dreams?” The woman is surprised by this line, even finds it ridiculous, but after all this is a Great Athlete and she’s always wanted to meet him – to bed him – and so she indulges the conversation. After 20 minutes, the Great Athlete gives her a card with a number on it, the number that when called will summon his driver. And with that, the Great Athlete disappears. After the party, she calls the number, and sure enough a driver comes and picks her up and takes her to an apartment building, where she takes the private elevator to the penthouse suite, where on a bed lies the Great Athlete, shirtless. He politely but firmly informs the woman that they are going to have sex, and they do. Quick, business-like sex, the woman will report later: functional and to the point. The next morning the Great Athlete has his driver take the woman back to her home. Tryst complete.

Punchline:

Several months later that same woman is at another party and sees the Great Athlete from across the room and he sees her and walks over with that same confidence and brass, and she smiles this time, less nervous, ready to reminisce about the evening they spent together, ready to rekindle. And what does the Great Athlete say when he arrives? “What are your hopes? What are your dreams?” The woman is surprised but decides to play along; surely he is just being coy. But wouldn’t you know it, after 20 minutes of conversation, the Great Athlete is handing her a card with a number to call that will summon his driver, who, sure enough, at the end of the evening takes the young woman to that same building with that same private elevator that leads to that same penthouse, where – sure as you’re born – the Great Athlete is lying on his bed shirtless. They proceed to make quick, business-like love, and in the morning, the Great Athlete’s driver takes the woman home. At no point does the Great Athlete give any indication that he has any idea the two of them have ever met, much less done this peculiar mating dance – step for step – once before.

Ladies and gentleman, that great athlete: Derek Jeter.

That’s right: The captain of the world champion New York Yankees, the Sports Illustrated 2009 Sportsman of the Year, the man who’s honor and decorum the likes of Michael Jordan and 60 Minutes‘ Ed Bradley have lined up to celebrate. Hell, even  legendary writer Gay Talese once wrote, “[i]n this era of boorish athletes, obnoxious fans, greedy owners and shattered myths, here’s a hero who’s actually polite, and that has to have come from good parenting. You can’t compare him to Joe DiMaggio, for DiMaggio didn’t have bad manners — he had no manners. Where have you gone, man with manners? Here you are, Derek Jeter.”

But then look at the stream of self-affirming moralist rhetoric that was spun in the direction of Tiger Woods this week, post-automobile incident. Those same sportswriters and society pundits who for years have been falling all over themselves to praise Woods’ playing and his work ethic and his character turned on him with the fanaticism of the newly converted when they learned he had cheated on his wife, peppering him with the condemnation, luxuriating in their disappointment, and waiting patiently for the inevitable public apology.

And that might be the lesson that we should take from all of this: Woods and Jeter are both sports starts of gigantic proportions — men being supermen, larger than life, yet excelling at an activity that, in its basic form, extends back to humanity’s primitive days in the caves and that speaks directly to the most basic breeding instincts at the center of our reproductive process. The difference? Tiger tried to deny his place in the world and settle for family life … and the eventual (and perhaps inevitable) fall from grace that so many public alphas have had to endure. Jeter, on the other hand, inoculated himself against the ethical quibbling and criticisms of the mortal chattering class — in this case, the sportsfan blogosphere and celebrity gossipmongers — by simply being that thing that they would all hope to be had they been born with his … talents.

We love Derek Jeter because he acknowledges who he is (a superstar) and what he is (a philanderer) and acts accordingly (Hopes, anyone? Dreams?), while we resent Woods for desiring normality, breaking vows he probably never should have taken in the first place, and apologizing to millions of people he’s never even met, much less wronged, when he got caught. The same way we loved the lecherous, hard-drinking, cocaine-using politician Charlie Wilson and hate mealy-mouthed family man Governor Mark Sanford. The same way we celebrate George Clooney for brazenly taking 52 models a year to his seaside Italian villa and attack Jude Law for furtively cheating on his fiancee with only one nanny. We like our stars brazen and brave, convinced that society’s conventions don’t apply to them and celebrating the fact that they are beyond the need for explanation or apology.

Otherwise, they’d be just like us.

The holy day

Excerpts from The First Year: A Pilgrim’s Notebook

I. Our harvest being gotten in, our governor declared a day of thanksgiving and sent five men on fowling that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruits of our labor. And though the governor did ask me to go with the men, seeing, as he put it, I had nothing better to do, I assured him that I was deep in pensive thought on the issue of the upcoming winter and the state of our stocks of cod and corn and waterfowl and that I always did my best thinking with my eyes closed while lying upon my stomach. The governor then shrugged and walked away and so four men did go on their expedition for fowl while I stayed in the village with the women. They four men in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week, which is fine, but I did find the reception they received a bit much and mocked it when they weren’t around. “I could have done that,” I told a few people.

II. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms with the throwing of balls and the grappling of bodies, many of the indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, and I tried to tell them that I don’t like deer, that I was fine with chicken, but they did not listen and filled my plate anyway, and so I did feed it to my dog when the indians were looking the other way.

III. We sat around the great fires with the indians for many long hours, our governor having decided that the best course of action in relation to them was one of Christian cheer and mutual respect, the better to ensure our survival during the coming winter. One indian, named Ossagua, wore a great headdress and a stern countenance at all times; I gathered he was a kind of medicine man or spiritual guide. His face was painted garishly with animal’s blood and he wore a necklace of wolves’ teeth. I would have been fascinated by him, perhaps even terrified, if he had ever gone away long enough to give me the chance. Instead, he never left my side throughout the feast. He described in great detail how he spent his days in their village from the time he woke until the time he bedded down for the evening. He sat his children in my lap. He gave me some kind of locket to wear that, as far as I could understand, consecrated our new friendship for eternity. He told me at least ten times that his favorite thing to do was fishing. Over and over again, he leapt to his feet and flopped his hand around and grunted, “Fish, fish.” “Yes,” I assured him. “You like to fish. I understand. How fascinating.”

IV. Ninety indians, fifty pilgrims, and no one thought to make brownies. I’m beginning to regret coming to this new world.

V. On the third day of solemnity, Edward Winslow declared that, before feasting, it would be meet that we all in turn name those things that we were thankful for, the better to enumerate before all, including our new indian friends, that which God had done for us and extol His glory. All assembled agreed this would be a fine and noble gesture. Many did thank the Lord for our safe passage across the ocean; others thanked him for the bounty of the harvest and the joy of religious freedom. When it got around to me, I began coughing theatrically and rose from the table while pointing at my throat, as if I were choking and off to search for water. I did wander around for five minutes thus, and by the time I returned to the feasting table, they were already five people down the line and I was quite off the hook.

Photo by Vicki's Pics via Flickr

Last month, book publishing giant Simon & Schuster made headlines by blindly leaping into the future and presenting the world with its first ever “innovation in reading” – the “vook.” A vook, the clever conjunction of video and book, is a new type of media intended to combine the exhaustive detail of the written word with the fast-action of cinema (i.e., explosions) into one seamless entertainment experience. You read some, you watch some. A perfect balance for the changing world.

Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly a new idea (perhaps you’ve seen something similar on this place called the Internet?), but there’s something notable, even praiseworthy, about Simon & Schuster’s new tech venture. Which is to say: No one’s going to buy the veteran publishing house is revolutionizing the noble diversion of reading (because they aren’t), but, even so, they’ve managed to establish themselves as the first in a confused and petrified industry to ignore their base nature and take a risk on electronic-only content. That’s right, the vook has no printed counterpart and can only be readwatched with an e-reader, an iPhone, or a good ol’-fashioned personal computer. And this is not insignificant because writing — one of the most conservative of all world art forms — and book publishing — a business more than a little infatuated with its own tradition — haven’t really had to face major changes in, oh, the last 500 years or so.

And now somebody’s gone and thrown logic out the window.

So of course some of Simon and Schuster’s peers have derided the vook as pure silliness while others have commended their ingenuity. But is anyone surprised at the gambit? Not hardly. Though no one’s coming out and admitting it, business analysts for book publishers around the globe will be peeking through their fingers in trepidation during the coming months, readying themselves to pounce on the vook trend if it looks like there might be a payoff at the end.

Who can blame them: Purveyors of the written word live in a terrifying new world. Having watched their comrades-in-arms at newspapers and magazines all but collapse at the hands of bloggers and internet ‘zines (you know who you are), bookmakers and sellers tend toward doom and gloom when it comes to their future. But this is despite the fact – or more likely because of the fact – that no one in book publishing knows anything about how they’re being affected by the 21st century. Clearly, sales are down, and it’s already cliché to lament how no one reads anymore. But at the same time, one could argue that people are reading now more than ever, or at least that young people now are reading more than the generation before them. Just in text message format. So the question for book publishers is: How do we reach out to a broader, and mostly disinterested, audience? And they haven’t got a clue, so now the experiments start and …

In stumbles the vook.

Somehow, though, the idea of adding video content to a book seems to be missing the point. I mean, really, who’s the audience for this? (And don’t say ‘book buyers.’ They’re as set in their ways as bookmakers are.) Though the plan is clearly to lure in a crop of tech-savvy teens, the e-reader has already proven itself to be the least cool invention of the 21st century (excepting maybe the Comfort Wipe); “not sexy” is the phrase most commonly batted around e-readers — no doubt kids will be lining up at their local Best Buy once they hear that “not sexy” now comes with bonus video content. (Side note: A friend recently explained to me that in order to sell books, publishers should make them more like video games, and then get rid of the book part …)

But maybe we’re being a bit unfair. From a pure functionality standpoint, the vook is not without its charms. Of the four Simon & Schuster releases, two are self-help titles, one being an all-natural skin-care guide called Return to Beauty and the other an exercise guide called The 90 Second Fitness Solution. And that’s perfect because who – wanting help – wouldn’t grab the most they can get for their money? Surely, a description of how to make sunscreen out of discarded lemon peels (I’m guessing) isn’t as thoroughly enlightening as that same written description coupled with a video of the author showing precisely how one would take a lemon peel and grind it into her pores. And the same would go for a cookbook, or a book on carpentry, or really any other sort of how-to book. The more illustrative the instructions, the more the reader stands to gain.

The bigger wall of doubt comes when we consider the vook with regards to the novel. Or with regards to popular biography and history. Or even science. Anything that we typically think of as “literary” is at issue because these are the guys that define what a book is to so many people. (Not to mention, these guys are the industry’s bread and butter.) And now we’re going to make them more universal? More modern? Or simply in some way better?

According to the vook’s fiercest champions – yes. And here’s why: Suppose Mark Twain or J.R.R. Tolkien or (giggle) Socrates had the means to extend their imaginings off the page and plant them more firmly in our minds through the use of sound, color, and movement. Wouldn’t their stories be altogether more compelling, more fully realized?

Or how about this: what if your favorite author – let’s just say Simon & Schuster’s own workhorse, Stephen King – is given a camera when he renews his contract and is told to go wild with it: Make a mini-movie in your living room. Give video commentary to every paragraph in your new book. Film your cat wearing a tube top. Do whatever you want. It won’t matter because you’re Stephen King and people will buy the shit out of it. Wouldn’t people – well – buy the shit out of it?

As for the first argument, sure. If you can convince me that any of the old masters or really anyone who aspires to wordsmithing as a trade is as good with a camera as with a pen, then yes. I’ll take ten of ’em right now. The problem is that most modern writers, novelists or otherwise, aren’t directors. Sure, some of them write for the screen, but very few of them would know what to do behind a camera. Otherwise they’d be in Hollywood already (casting themselves in sex scenes with unreasonably hot partners). So hire an outside studio? Part of the point of the vook – because digital video production can now be done so cheaply – is to create something special for little or no money. But this is book publishers we’re talking about. If they had enough money for actors and directors and special effects, they wouldn’t be in this frantic mess to begin with.

And the Stephen King free-form montage? Now we’re just talking about add-ons. Admittedly, we’re a society obsessed with details and information and excesses, and we treat our authors, even the less popular ones, like celebrities. We devour them. But don’t we already have book Web sites to give us the story behind the story, and author Web sites to tell us what their dogs’ names are, and book blogs to tell us what they like to listen to while writing (see: LargeHeartedBoy.com, or even the New York Times’ “Paper Cuts”)? Of course, there’s always room for more extraneous data, but people tend to draw the line when that data isn’t given up for free. When was the last time you bought a DVD for its special features? Or better yet, when was the last time you bought a DVD in a new, unfamiliar format just for the special features?

Undoubtedly, someone, somewhere, at some point is going to do something great with this, and we’re all going to stare at this media Jesus’ creation and say, Damn, it’s so obvious. Why didn’t I do it first? It’s only a matter of time. But the thing is, when this happens, it won’t come from the book publishers, and we won’t have to call it a vook (or anything else that reeks of such boardroom cleverness). It will be organic and will choose its own name because that’s the way innovation works. Bookmakers will try to jump on board and make a mess of it, but that’s okay. They survived radio and movies and TV (and Nazi Germany), so there’s no reason why they won’t survive this, the ADD-Internet age. That is, as long as they can keep themselves away from their own revolutionary ideas.

Photo by judhudson via Flickr

This morning, the New York Times reported that “Republican leaders are circulating a resolution listing 10 positions Republican candidates should support to demonstrate that they ‘espouse conservative principles and public policies’ that are in opposition to ‘Obama’s socialist agenda.’” What’s more, reported Adam Nagourney, anyone found to be in disagreement with anymore than two of these principles “would be penalized by being denied party funds or the party endorsement.”

Now why, exactly, would any self-respecting intransigent apparatchik want to be associated with a colleague who could pass their purity test by a margin of only 80 percent?

‘Cause Ronald Reagan said so, of course.

Quoth Nagourney: “The resolution invokes Ronald Reagan, and noted that Mr. Reagan had said the Republican Party should be devoted to conservative principles but also be open to diverse views. President Reagan believed, the resolution notes, ‘that someone who agreed with him 8 out of 10 times was his friend, not his opponent.’” In other words, these principles are the Ten Commandments according to the Gipper — except that, in these tough times, eight, apparently, is enough.

So here you go, young conservatives (again, courtesy of Nagourney and the Times). Remember, you can only ignore two:

(1) We support smaller government, smaller national debt, lower deficits and lower taxes by opposing bills like Obama’s “stimulus” bill;

(2) We support market-based health care reform and oppose Obama-style government run health care;

(3) We support market-based energy reforms by opposing cap and trade legislation;

(4) We support workers’ right to secret ballot by opposing card check;

(5) We support legal immigration and assimilation into American society by opposing amnesty for illegal immigrants;

(6) We support victory in Iraq and Afghanistan by supporting military-recommended troop surges;

(7) We support containment of Iran and North Korea, particularly effective action to eliminate their nuclear weapons threat;

(8) We support retention of the Defense of Marriage Act;

(9) We support protecting the lives of vulnerable persons by opposing health care rationing and denial of health care and government funding of abortion; and

(10) We support the right to keep and bear arms by opposing government restrictions on gun ownership.

None of the items on the list is surprising in itself, but the intent here did catch us more than a little off guard. After all, Chairman Mao sent his red guards against any citizen deemed to have suspect or wavering beliefs.  Josef Stalin engaged in regular violent purgings designed to purify the so-deigned disbelieving sections of his communist party. More recently, the government of the Islamic Republic of Iran has engaged in a wave of purifying executions, which, when viewed in context with this past summer’s civil unrest, can be seen as a sort of come-to-god-moment for any stray opposition members. The Saudis still execute homosexuals in what looks like an attempt to keep the race pure; in ancient Israel, the punishment for improper speech was isolation, etc., etc.

So, looked at historically, this brand-new G.O.P. purity effort could be seen as nothing out of the ordinary for a strong central power looking to consolidate its interests — but that’s something that should be completely anathema to any true Republican.

Of course the real issue for Republicans may just be who to worship. There may not be any specific mention on the purity list about the need to be Christian, but everybody knows you’ve got to be one to get anywhere in the party. But, at the same time, you also have to be a devout Reaganist. The G.O.P. has become the servant of two masters, the follower of two different sets of 10 commandments. You don’t just have to say you support the Reagan approach to Republican policy, you have to believe in the man himself.

After all, his off-the-cuff comments are now being sanctified and hammered into stone tablets, just like hundreds of religious figures before him; his aside hath become dogma. But it’s a wishy-washy kind of dogma, one that goes easy on sinners and fallen acolytes. What can one say about an ideology that allows even its would-be apostles to subvert its ideology 20% of the time?

And that begs the question: Why have a purity test at all? Why not just let anyone in? Sure, Jesus said, “blessed are the meek” and “blessed are the poor,” but didn’t he also say that “the meek aren’t necessarily blessed given such circumstances that  the legitimacy of one’s meekness has been called into question and public opinion finds that peacemakers and the pure at heart are more in favor currently and should therefore be granted easier access to blessedness, vis a vis those who hunger and thirst after righteousness or are weeping, who, it has been decided by this committee, are no longer eligible to receive blessings”?

4000 years ago, Moses came down from Sinai with 10 Commandments, and now the Republicans have come up with 10 of their own. Only difference is, Moses expected you to follow all of his, whereas the GOP is fine with 80%.

Maybe it’s time for a new spin on the old spiritual: “If it’s good enough for Reagan, then it’s good enough for me.”

Photo by bikesnotscott via Flickr

Sports fans have been inundated this week with speculation — scientific and otherwise (all at the same time!) — about Bill Belichick’s decision to try to convert on fourth down, deep in his Patriots’ own territory, with very little time left in the game. And sure, it might have been a stupid call — or it might have been a brilliant call — but, his players failed to execute, his opponents got the ball back, and the rest is recent history. (Cue insanity all over sports talk radio.) For NFL pundits who’ve been itching to rip apart Belichick for his supposed arrogance, it was July 4 — all fireworks, picnics, and celebration. And though the event was certainly worthy of notice, what’s been lost in all of the gleeful post-game Belichick hate is that New England is still 6-3. Still in first place in the AFC East. And still — barring total collapse — playoff-bound, a status that has, let’s remember, been awfully kind to the franchise since 2001. Which is to say that the gutsy, brilliant, but ultimately failed effort from this past Sunday is illustrative of one thing only: That Bill Belichick is still the only reason to watch football.

If the past decade of sports history has taught Boston sports fans a single lesson it should be this: In the course of a game — or a series of games — there is no true predictable outcome. Oh sure, we can ogle the crap out of stats; use them, for example to vindicate superficially poor decisions, say — or explain why solid play from what might have seemed like an unlikely source, wasn’t really all that unlikely after all. But the truth, the real truth that belies even statistical analysis, is that we just don’t know what’s going to happen until it actually does. This is, as they say, why they play the game — and it’s why we watch it. Frankly, there’s a reason that only the most diehard fans can sit through a blow-out. I mean, who cares if the thing is over — the outcome predetermined — before halftime.

Early on Sunday night, the Patriots got off to a strong 24-7 lead. By the fourth quarter, it been extended to 31-14, and the game looked, at least from the comfort of my couch, as if they were in the bag. (Eff you, Colts — what’s the Manning face for crap, there goes my undefeated season?) Then it was 31-21, and then 31-28. 4th and 2. Go for it. Turn it over on downs. Bring on the Manning face for hey, thanks for helping out.

And now we’re supposed to believe that the air of infallibility that surrounds the Belichick name has been befouled. Maybe. But frankly we don’t give a fuck. After all, this is entertainment. And though the hooded genius may have received some kind of cosmic comeuppance, or dealt his team a Greek tragedy of a loss, he did so in the process of entertaining me and you. For that, he retains the must-watch title.

At least until he goes back to dealing in blow-outs.

If only Fatty were alive today

This past Sunday, Michael Richards and Larry David illustrated just how far the world of modern celebrity is from the one the rest of us are living in. On the latest episode of David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm, Richards, playing himself, is about to use the n-word in public when he realizes he’s surrounded by onlookers with video phones. This is, of course, a reference to Richards’ much-YouTubed 2006 on-stage rant that led to the total collapse of the previously beloved cultural icon.

Now, if you or I had done what Richards did, our only hope for expiation would have been something along the lines of a 12-step racism-expungement program — which, for the record, Richards did have to go through (let’s not forget Letterman, and those three years spent wondering in the outer darkness of industry indifference), but that’s where the similarities end. Richards also has the option to go on HBO, turn his sins into a performance piece, and move on, burden removed. Which is to say that the rise of self-referential comedies combined with the continued (and ever-deepening) obsession with celebrity gossip now allows for this kind of paid, (sort of) scripted absolution. After all, why apologize on Letterman when you can go on Extras or SNL and get yourself some laughs for playing the guy you should be apologizing for being in the first place?

This kind of ironic performative mea-culpa is both new (Fatty Arbuckle never made any one-reelers about sodomizing women to death) and available only to celebrities (if you get caught cheating on your wife, you don’t have the luxury of being able to extricate yourself from the situation by performing a one-act about a guy who cheats on his wife), and it raises an interesting issue: Are there still crimes so heinous that not even this approach will make up for them? Or, to put it into more self-reflective terms: Are we willing to let a celebrity off the hook for anything, provided he or she is clever enough to make us laugh about it?

What, for example, would Chris Brown have to do on camera to get us to forgive him for abusing Rihanna? Would it be enough for him to go on Saturday Night Live and play a kooky R&B singer who beats up any woman who makes him angry — a back-up dancer who misses a step, a back-up singer who misses a note, a waitress who brings him his eggs scrambled rather than fried, Sonia Santomayor, Hilary Clinton, Michelle Obama, Mother Earth, his mother, your mother, and so on and so on, ad infinitum, SNL-style,  until the stage is covered in female cast members? Would we forgive him then?

Or how ’bout Michael Vick? What if he went on Conan and electrocuted Triumph the Insult Comic Dog until the puppet was ready to take a chunk out of Andy Richter? Might that be enough to get the former star quarterback a fresh multimillion dollar contact? And could Roman Polanski find redemption for both himself and Woody Allen by playing a lecherous old film director in Allen’s latest, most personal, film? If Allen could make Polanski funny, in other words, would it be enough to wipe away his sins?

Sure, art needs to imitate life — otherwise David, Richards, and everyone else connected with Seinfeld would still be working the stand-up circuit — but when art is employed as a purgative for egregious personal missteps, it forces the offendees (namely, society as a whole) into the role of unwilling, if amused, accomplices. And who needs that from television?

Elephant

This Week in Republican In-Fighting

- At a Tea Party rally in Phoenix, Arizona, organized by an anti-illegal-immigrant group called American Citizens United, a scuffle broke out between organizers and two members of the National Socialist Movement. Apparently, one of the organizers became enraged when the Neo-Nazis unfurled an Adolf Hitler flag after being told that displays of racism weren’t welcome. But, Nazis will be Nazis, and so the man with the flag, JT Ready, responded to the protester’s concerns by shoving him to the ground.

- The conservative Club for Growth announced their endorsement of former Florida House Speaker Marco Rubio over Gov. Charlie Crist in next year’s Florida Senate race. Crist, once considered by many to be the future of the Republican party (not to mention a potential running mate for John McCain in 2008) has come under fire by conservative groups for his support of Barack Obama’s stimulus plan and his recent backpedaling of that support. Rubio, who hates taxes, Castro, and socialized medicine, is now considered by many on the far right to be the future of the Republican Party.

- Venerable three-term Utah senator and conservative Robert F. Bennett announced that, despite his staunch opposition to higher taxes, bigger government, and financial regulations, and despite the fact that he has supported precisely none of President Obama’s initiatives, he has already had to spend $500,000 and air TV ads (after airing none in 2004) to fend off primary challenges from hard-line conservatives. The Club for Growth has come out against Bennett, criticizing him for his support of the 2008 Wall Street bailout and for daring to communicate with Democrats about health care reform. The also don’t like that he has criticized their use of the word “socialism” as a “buzzword” and a distraction.

- South Carolina Republican Representative Bob Inglis told the Greenville News that the old-school Reagan coalition (of fiscal conservatives, social conservatives, and moderate Democrats) is now “running on fumes” and faces extinction in the face of anti-incumbent pressure from hard-liners and Tea Party agitators. Claiming that these hard-liners are indifferent to abortion and other social issues and would let people without health insurance “die on the steps of the hospital” to make a point about the dangers of socialized medicine, Inglis called on the man from Galilee to draw the distinction between this new breed of conservative ideologues and the breed of conservative ideologues he favors: “I’m thinking there was a guy named Jesus who had some things to say about these kinds of concepts,” he said. “And I don’t want to live in a society that lets a few test cases die on the steps of the hospital.” Inglis is facing a primary challenge from no fewer than three members of his party.

- Finally, Sarah Palin’s biography, Going Rogue: An American Life, was released today and has already being touted as little more than a settling of scores with John McCain’s campaign team, primarily chief strategist Steve Schmidt. She characterizes the campaign as defeatist and poorly managed and Schmidt as an vindictive bully. In response, members of the McCain team have called the book a “fiction” and have reiterated claims that Palin was woefully unqualified for the nomination and refused to prepare for her interview with Katie Couric. Jumping into the fray, conservative columnist David Brooks called Palin “a joke” and said, “I mean, I just can’t take her seriously. We have got serious problems in the country. Barack Obama is trying to handle a war. We just had a guy elected Virginia governor who is probably the model for the future of the Republican Party, Bob McDonnell: Pretty serious guy, pragmatic, calm, kind of boring. The idea that this potential talk show host is considered seriously for the Republican nomination … believe me, it will never happen. Republican primary voters are just not going to elect a talk show host.”

Tune in next week.