The Sports Gene

As I've often said, I'm missing the sports gene. I couldn't tell you with absolute certainty who won the World Series, the Superbowl, or the Stanley Cup last year, and if I made a lucky guess, I certainly wouldn't be able to tell you who they played or what the final score was.

Not so with politics. Just as some people can watch endless games and wannabe jocks dissecting plays and strategies, I'll watch talking heads pontificate about what it all means, and I'll even yell at the TV sometimes when someone says something particularly stupid. I love this time of the year in the election cycle. I read the NY Times and Washington Post online; have dozens of political blogs and polling sites bookmarked; and I get into heated political discussions, especially with the few right-wing-whackos I know.

Last night, the New Hampshire primary was like a quarter final game in the playoffs, with my team, Team Obama, heavily favored to win. I wanted to win too, but I didn't quite believe the odds. Then a few days before the Big Game, Team Clinton pulls out their secret weapon.....tears.....or at least the hint of tears and a cracking emotional voice. Even I thought that she sounded sincere, and for once I thought of her as a human being, not an automaton. (Nobody seemed to notice that as soon as she regained her composure, she launched into her Obama-bashing talking points.) I think half the women in New Hampshire immediately were reminded of all of the real and imagined gender slights that they had endured in their lifetimes, a bunch of them let their sympathetic emotions prevail, and they changed their votes from Obama to Clinton. Of course, they wouldn't tell pollsters that they were voting for Clinton just because she's a woman, just as people won't tell pollsters that they won't vote for Obama just because he's black. Hence the screwed up polls showing an Obama landslide just before the vote.


Rather than using a sports analogy, one could use a romantic one. (For the sake of this admittedly thin analogy and to avoid any homo-erotic overtones, I'll assume that both potential partners are female.) Imagine yourself trying to pick your next mate. You've got two women vying for your affection. You've known #1 for a long time, and she's been bugging you to go out with her. But in spite of the fact that she's got all the right credentials...she's smart, she's good enough looking, and she promises she'll be fun in bed....you think that she might be a bit of a controlling and humorless bitch, and deep down your're afraid that as soon as she gets you into the sack, she'll pull a Lorena Bobbit on you. But you haven't had a lover in a long time and maybe your fears are irrational. You tell yourself that she's not all that bad and try and look on the bright side. Then in walks #2. She's exotic and sexy, and omigod....can she ever dance. You've never been much of a dancer yourself, but you really want to dance with her. You've never seen anything like her, and don't know much about her, but you don't care, you're smitten. You find yourself feeling like you're in high school again, with a puppy-love crush and walking around with a perpetual hard-on. Then, realizing that you're not a fifteen-year-old anymore and that you're a mature adult, you figure you'll play it safe and go with #1.

I think that the voters of New Hampshire went with #1, but I think a lot of them are looking wistfully and longingly at #2. They're thinking that maybe for once in their lives, they should have risked it all and gone for it. They think they can go for #2 the next time around, but there might not be a next time. If there is another chance, it will be a logical and rational choice and not nearly as much fun as the sheer joy of giving in to the lust and passion of the moment.