The Life in My Years

The exhale was palpable, as if the very earth beneath America’s feet had physically billowed. A massive sweeping sigh of relief as the news broke.

Does it make me a bad American that I had to find out from my friend Eden in Toronto? High noon. I’d just returned home from the local coffee joint where my phone was silenced and my head was buried in a travel book.

A three word text sent at 10:57.

“Biden is out.”

“Fuck yes.” I responded (Before you get on your high horse, Eden and I have a sort of informal contest to see who has the pottier mouth).

I turned on the television to catch up. Open and shut relief on MSNBC and CNN after twenty-four days of tension since the June 27th debate debacle.

The look on Rachel Maddow’s face? You’d have thought she’d just had a gargantuan movement after three solid weeks of solid constipation. After coming out of the bathroom, newspaper in hand and a big smile on his face, dad would often say, “There’s nothing like a good crap.” Yep. That and the sudden resurrection of a presidential campaign that had been left on the side of the road for the buzzards to feed on. Right, Rachel?

I spent the rest of the afternoon switching between the news and watching the Giants baby faced rookie pitcher Hayden Birdsong throw an absolute gem against the Colorado Rockies, hoping that bad defense and anemic hitting wouldn’t rob the kid of a win. (Yeah I get it, CNN and MSNBC are not really news stations)

By the time I was grilling a salmon for dinner, it had already become clear that Kamala Harris would be replacing Biden on the Democratic ticket and there would be little resistance within the party. I’d already jumped on the bandwagon and donated $25 dollars to the campaign. It wasn’t so much a matter of the money but one of helping fuel a campaign that needed some momentum.

Hell, didn’t need my money to inject some life. An ebbing campaign had just been stabbed in the thigh with a heavy dose of epinephrin.

***

I was out early the next morning, before sunrise, taking Lexi for our morning walk. Afterwards I stopped at Safeway for a newspaper. I don’t typically read print news. The morning newspaper has become a sad, emaciated waif, so I only buy those skinny little tykes when there’s been an event of some note. Then I put the paper in a box with other magazines and papers. It’s a sort of time capsule started by my mother that I’ve added to over the decades.

When I set two newspapers on the checkstand it became apparent that I wasn’t as late to the party as others. The clerk looked at one of the headlines and, in a questioning tone, muttered, “Biden bows out?” As I unloaded a few groceries she skimmed the article. I wondered if the clerk, an Indian woman, took note, and took heart, that Biden’s replacement on the ticket is of Indian descent (since Harris has become the head of the ticket, the Republican birthers have already come out from under the wet rocks).

***

While I share the relief of a nation, the reality is that it didn’t have to be this way.

The protracted angst and the scramble over the coming 100 days could have been avoided had President Biden listened to the voice of nearly three quarters of the electorate that has, for over two years, been screaming its belief that Biden would be too old to run and serve another term.

We wouldn’t have had to listen to the fascist, Stephen Miller’s recent whiny bleating about fourteen million disenfranchised voters – as if he’s ever cared about equity and fairness.

And yet, as much as I hate to admit it, it isn’t as if he doesn’t have a point.

I’d held my nose and voted for Biden back on March 5th, in what seems like dog years ago. The vote that I cast, seven years ago according to my dog, has been nullified and it didn’t have to be. And yes, I understand that Harris was on that ticket. But who votes for the vice-president? That’s the person who, unless it’s Hannibal Lecter (are you listening 45?), becomes insignificant on inauguration day.

Had there been a real primary, with real challengers instead of a thumbed scale, tradition bound coronation of the incumbent we most likely would have seen an energetic candidate tear Trump a new asshole on June 27th instead of the debacle that left anyone outside of MAGA world aghast and panicked.

The world shouldn’t have had to watch the Democratic Party go through an angst ridden division pitting Biden fanboys against people who think it might be a good idea that the President of the United States doesn’t confuse his Black Secretary of Defense with the Black Supreme Court Justice he appointed (as Biden did in a recent interview).

It didn’t have to be that I did a literal quadruple take last week when I read an email from a friend of mine in which he hinted that we were wasting time worrying about the president’s acuity. The president’s acuity? Well duh. I guess in some sense, he was right. One assumes that an Olympic sprinter can, you know, actually run fast. So by the same token shouldn’t we take for granted that acuity isn’t a matter that’s up for debate when it comes to hiring a president? And yet, that’s been the primary subject of debate for the past two years. Debating the presidents acuity. That’s now become a problem that the Republican Party will have to deal with. And yet – they won’t. They think they’re guy was sent by God. Right. Normalcy hasn’t yet been achieved.

In the end, Biden, who had reportedly not been shown the fatal polls (political malpractice if true), or was simply ignoring them, had to be talked, down by Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer. It never should have gotten to this point.

***

The behavior of Biden and the DNC over the past two years and particularly since the June 27th massacre finally pushed me into leaving the party to register as an independent (link to post here). Late Sunday afternoon, I was asked if my mind had been changed about leaving the party. Would I return? Fuck no. I’m waiting to see some evidence that the party has actually learned a lesson from this shit show. My sense is that the wait will be a long one.

***

It’s two days later.

Since Biden stepped aside, the plaudits have been pouring in. “Hero,” “selfless,” “patriot,” “nation above self.” Historian Jon Meacham went so far as to compare Biden to both Washington and Lincoln. While Meacham’s bona fides far eclipse this dumb old bastard’s, I think maybe he ought to pump the brakes on that.

Point being, before we put Biden on Mount Rushmore, let’s keep in mind that it was his stubborn two year insistence that he was the one and only who could beat Trump, along with his eleventh hour decision to step aside, that can still result in putting an angry lunatic back in the White House. That damning legacy is not off the table.

Yeah that’s me, the sour contrarian old bastard who isn’t buying it. Chuck Schumer said that Biden’s decision was a difficult one. Yeah, leaving what you’ve done all your life can be a tough thing. I’ve watched countless athletes weep during their retirement speech. That’s a quarterback saying goodbye to the comaraderie of the team and the adrenalin rush of competition. But hanging up the cletes isn’t world changing (unless you’re a super fan I guess).

The presidency? That’s world changing. When it comes to the fate of a nation and the world, the decision to retire should be an easy one.

Let me be clear. I’m not a fanboy. I’m pragmatic. I lean unabashadely towards the philosophy of Realpolitik. Politics is serious, lives in the balance, shit., so I’ll have to reserve the right to hold off on the canonization.

***

And so here we are.

World Series. Game seven. Two outs. Bottom of the ninth. Down by three runs. Bases loaded. After conferring with bench coach Schumer, Manager Pelosi calls out, “Biden, you’re on the bench. Harris, grab a bat.” Let’s hope she turns on that fastball.