At almost exactly the same moment that Brian Dozier was crushing a walkorf homer served up by Dustbowl McGowan in the bottom of the eleventh in Minnesota, sending the Feesh plummeting 6-4 back towards the strange attractor at 30-28 and marking yet another implosion by the Feesh boolpen (which had already, in the person of David Phelps, coughed up a game tying dinger to Robbie Grossman in the bottom of the eighth), CNN and NBC News were projecting the demise of Bernie Sanders’ Quixotic campaign in California. Just like the odds on the Feesh-Tweenkies game, Bernie was supposed to be “neck and neck” with Hillary in the Brushfire State. Of course, Hillary pounded him there – seems like, you know, there were lots of people who didn’t buy Bernie’s snake oil – that the pundits had somehow failed to take into account. At the end of the day Hillary had a “rigged” three million seven hundred thousand vote lead overall. So unfair to Bernie! The math here would be obvious to a third grader but not to our Bernie:
Of course, many of the students in that room will pass through a “Bernie phase” en route to growing up, when they’ll really have to learn to count.
To be fair, Bernie did score another pair of victories in his White Belt stronghold, this time in North Dakota and someplace called Montana (like the dying submarine officer Vasili Borodin in The Hunt for Red October, Bernie would like to have seen it but was in California, where there were many more photographers). You remember that honorable tradition of calling the winner to congratulate him/her on their victory? Such niceties are not for Gentleman Bernie. Rather, much like his boorish slob factotums at the Nevada caucus, he preferred to hunker up (Bernie wouldn’t hunker down; that would make it too hard for the photographers to spot him). At a rally held at some nursery school in the bowels of California last night, Bernie raised his right fist (no doubt to distinguish himself from a Black activist) and, noting that the universe was circular, pledged to “fight to the end.”
And that’s not all: having ramped up his “demands” to the Democratic Party hierarchy with each loss (to recount: he “demanded” a reorganization of the primary process, then he “demanded” that the superdelegates be scrapped, then he “demanded” that the convention committee be reconfigured to his own advantage, and then he “demanded” that DNC chairperson Debbie Wasserman Schultz be replaced), last night, as the numbers piled up against him in a way that our roomful of third graders armed only with an abacus could have understood, he demanded a shrubbery.
We all exhaled.
Oh boy. Insisting that he can still swipe those superdelegates whose very existence he has reviled because he knows that in their hearts everyone loves a buffoon, the nothing-if-not-consistent Bernie keeps bellyaching that he still has a “narrow path to victory.” You see, in Bernie’s parallel universe Hillary hasn’t won anything. Fortunately for his blood pressure, Bernie remains blissfully oblivious to how totally he is being ignored as the press, in its “rush to judgement,” counts on its fingers and refers to her as the Democratic nominee. Bernie finds hisself treated more and more like the harlequin sideshow he really is. Well, he has called for a big rally in Washington (something akin to “Fan Appreciation Day,” I think) next week to celebrate the conclusive loss he refuses to acknowledge. It promises to be the most fun you could have at a funeral since Finnegan’s wake.
James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake, by the way, is ackcherley where physicists got the term “quark.” I don’t have any images of quarks handy but as the Rainbow Warriors find themselves perpetually unable to shake free of the gossamer reality waves of the strange attractor, and Bernie finds himself unable to shake free of reality in general, here, in the spirit of quantum entanglement, is what they’re dealing with today: