Two weeks to go, and doubtless there are some on both sides honing their long knives, getting ready to stick them in after "their man" wins and the other guys lose.

Ah but I have a secret that makes me immune to the "Nyeah, nyeah! My guy won! At last! Now we'll see!" types.

Because, in the long run, I can't lose.

In the run-up to election day, as others poll hour after hour and gnash their teeth or exult over whether "their guy" is ahead or behind by 2 points or 5 points or double-digits, I keep my head down, and my own counsel.

I remember the run-up in 2000, and in 2004. I know "things" have changed in this century's federal elections, and the fluidity of the populace' dominant feelings is (to a 20th-century mind) shocking and a little frightening.

Come November 4, the election will take place. And — despite my desire to see a broader spectrum to choose from — I will vote for a candidate among the two or three I am seriously considering for POTUS, and either McCain or Obama will win the post, taking Palin or Biden along with them as shovel-toting, ceremony-attending VP.

And on November 5* the winner will become My President. Period and paragraph.

And in the years to come, if my man doesn't carry the day, some of my political allies will be bothered when I defend the POTUS against any unreasonable or — what's the word? "trivial?" — attacks.

"Back off," I'll say, politely. "The man is the president. Respect that."

And then I'll rib him about his verbal gaffes, or falling down stairs, or other stupid stuff. But in fun — and in the joy of living in a country where we get to skewer our leaders — and always in the same spirit I "boo" umpires at baseball games. **

And, should a reasonable disagreement arise between me and Mr. President? Fine. I've sure had my hands full of those with the last two fellers. But that doesn't mean I need to see the man as an Evil Overlord, or his henchmen as... henchmen.

For heaven's sake, people. No. Not for heaven's sake; for our sake. Get a grip on reality.

Those of us with our feet on the ground, we majority of citizens, better rise up and put the lunatics back in their places on the fringes on either side. To let those particular squeaky wheels (or, more appropriately, Squeaky Frommes) get the grease is to invite cataclysm.




* or, in 2000, some days later!

**Sadly, some jesters have gotten to the point where they poison their pens too liberally (that is not a pun; that is a well-chosen word) and their audiences, some gullible, have started to take them seriously. And then the jesters start to take themselves even more seriously. And then lather, rinse, repeat... they are, to me, like the people who "boo" an umpire at a baseball game and mean it. I have little patience for those fans, and greatly dislike sitting near them.

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