Restating the Obvious

Washouts

Although I have no interest in what goes on inside either of the national political conventions, I had hopes that a sideshow would break out outside. We Americans used to be a rambunctious people, with our eye out for an easy shinplaster and a hankerin' for a spree whenever we were away from the sanctimonious eyes of the neighbors for  a few days, whether for horse races, a revival, a state fair, a world's exposition -- or a political convention.

Whatever the organizers had on the program, you could count on the entrepreneurs, utopians, con men, scarlet sisters, hellfire-and-brimstone preachers and uplifters to bring on the dancing bears, hootchie-coochie girls,
 come-to-Jesus sermons, three-card monte games, petitions for world peace, dangerous drinks, gizmos to make  your car run on water and hot dogs.

Sadly, no more. The first big gathering I covered as cub  reporter was a convention of 10,000 Sunday school teachers from black Baptist churches. I was warned beforehand that they would come to town with a $10 bill and the Ten Commandments, and they wouldn't break either one. It made for dull copy.

I expected better of the Democrats. Unless the reporters on the scene were bemused by the politics, it didn't  happen. Some of the reporters tried to make something of it, but pickin's were slim.

There was a kerfuffle  over a sideshow tent that looked like, but wasn't, a mosque; a baffling attempt by the antiwar Code PINKOS to  break up a tea by the antiwar Nancy Pelosi; a rather flat gag about a petition against brid pr0N; and, most promising of all, police brutality against journalists at the Brown's Palace Hotel. But it turned out it was just a TV film crew being obnoxious. No news there.

My hopes turned to the Republicans in St. Paul. Along came Gustav. Tne party elect have been told by their would-be commander-in-chief to make themselves scarce and, for god's sake, don't let anyone see you looking like you're have fun. In St. Paul, shouldn't be a problem.