Decadent and Depraved: Hillary, Horse Racing and The Hills

It is a common, irritating and overused metaphor in the world of political reporting: The Horse Race. This is the numbers game, the poll-surfing and guessing that fuels the meaningless and mindless excitement behind tracking candidates’ progress numerically. The horse race sweeps fundamental issues aside in favor of days long conversations about, say, how the Reverend Wright controversy is tilting the numbers among white males over 50. It’s like the game at the carnival where you shoot the water in the clown’s mouth to blow up a balloon: sure, there’s a winner every time, but what the hell are we doing here?

This election season has exposed a flaw in the metaphor, too. Horse races are exciting because they are quick and decisive. There are no horse marathons. Four months after Super Tuesday, we are exhausted, disgusted and looking to places like Guam for salvation.

In fact, the same day that Chamorros cast their vote for Barack Obama, America’s attention was instead focused on the biggest day in thoroughbred horseracing: the famously “decadent and depraved” Kentucky Derby. If you missed it, let me offer a brief and heartless synopsis: the favorite horse won and the second place horse--Eight Belles--broke both of her ankles and was quickly euthanized, right there on the track.

It should be noted here that Eight Belles was a filly, a female horse. In 134 years of running the derby, a filly has won only three times. Because of this, Hillary asked her supporters to place bets on Eight Belles, saying, “I hope that everybody will go to the derby on Saturday and place just a little money on the filly for me”. Considering Eight Belles’ fate and the results of last night’s primaries, Ms. Clinton should be thankful that she doesn’t have a Mexican midget with a riding crop on her back.

Barack Obama swept to a startling victory in North Carolina and came within a couple points of Hillary in the Indiana contest. As early as midnight, the Huffington Post ran the headline “Presumptive Nominee” above a photo of Michelle and Barack Obama, waving to supporters, drenched in confetti.

A big night for Obama could not have come sooner. I spoke with a young Obama supporter before the polls closed who told me that if Hillary wins both states and the thing drags on, she’s “giving up”, adding, “I don’t care any more. It’s too much.”

Yes, the balloon of youthful optimism has been slowly deflating for weeks now. Negating the candidates themselves for a minute, I have to say the weeks since Pennsylvania have been particularly trying, if only because I can’t watch these two drink cheap beer alongside union guys in grimy bars with sawdust floors any more. It disgusting. If I knew drinking Budweiser in seedy places was a qualifying round for president, I would have tossed my hat in the ring years ago.

Obama’s overwhelming victory in North Carolina may have drawn this thing to a close in time to bring back the hopeful, the young, the optimistic, the people who climbed out of the cave of indifference back in January, only to be chased back in weeks later.

It’s a fitting place to mark that milestone, too. North Carolina is the home of many things: Newport cigarettes, obnoxious college basketball dynasties (Duke) and Andy Griffith. It is also where Pepsi Cola was first produced, way back in 1890. 100 years later, Pepsi famously crowned themselves “the choice for a new generation”. To follow the analogy, the current administration would be Coca Cola and Hillary Clinton would be, um . . . RC Cola? I’m not sure. Something irrelevant. (Would it be too much to call John McCain New Coke?)

To be fair, Hillary put up a fight and was rewarded with an anorexic (almost Florida-thin) victory in Indiana. It turns out petty, divisive rhetoric and pandering pays off. With a hair’s breadth victory in a medium sized state at the end of a losing run.

I’ll stop short of bidding adieu to the Clintons because I’ve learned from the recent past, but there is clearly not much gas left in that tank. And it is my hope that the close comes in time to reinsert some hope and optimism.

She doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, though. I’ve been asking myself for weeks now, “what is she still doing here?” It’s gotten to the point that watching her is like watching an episode of The Hills: mundane, maddeningly dull and ultimately meaningless. I find myself asking out loud, “Who watches this? Why is this so popular? In fact, it’s exactly like The Hills, only there’s a new episode every day and it’s broadcast 24 hours a day on three separate networks for months until you find yourself rolling around on the ground, groping desperately for meaning in the vacuum of vapidity that boring, rich blonde girls have created.

It is my opinion that her defeat was signaled by her endorsement of Eight Belles just before the derby. Sports analogies have been historically problematic for her. Weeks ago, campaigning in Philadelphia (a city she lost), she compared herself to Rocky, forgetting of course that in the film, Rocky was an over the hill contender who trained hard and fought valiantly, but was ultimately defeated by a charming black guy.

Confirming another one of my theories that her delusion is actually a mind-bending months-long mescaline trip, last night Hillary Clinton got onstage in Indiana and delivered a victory speech, in full defiance of reality. At one point, she raised her hand and addressed her supporters, saying, “thanks to you, it’s full speed to the white house!”

Sadly, you can’t run full speed with two broken ankles.