I love the monkey wrench.
I watched the tail end of the Super Bowl this weekend, just enough to see sports-talk nation dumped on its ear. For weeks, all we’ve heard was how unbeatable New England was (never mind their division included the 1-15 Dolphins and 4-12 Jets), how brilliant their coach was (never mind the cheating), and how totally awesome Tom Brady was (never mind the All-Pro line he played behind). This was to be the greatest football team of all time, ever, throughout perpetuity, in both the known and unknown universes, forever. Yeah, baby, break out the champagne and confetti and clear a parade route!!
And then they actually played the game and Patriots lost. Tom Brady was on the turf so much they made him an honorary member of the grounds crew. Conventional wisdom took it on the chin, and all those hosts who preached the Patriots last week have to find another bandwagon to ride to work.
Gotta love the monkey wrench.
I’m rooting for a similar mess in the run up to our presidential elections as well. I’m more than a little resentful that we were told LAST October who our candidates will be THIS November. Nothing against the man, but I liked watching Rudy pack it in last week. Hillary cries crocodile tears in New Hampshire and I giggle in my living room. Not because she’s crying, but because nothing went as planned.
Can the black guy pull it off? Does Huckabee’s church and state fair campaign really have a chance? Will I vote for John McCain? Do I know any of those answers? Not really, but isn’t it fun to watch Mormon Mitt, the wax candidate, lose his fucking mind?
Pundits be dammed. I want the games to be played. I want the unexpected. Victory is earned, not earmarked.
So root for the monkey wrench, my friends, that delightful dance of dissonance. I know I do, and I love every single gut-churning second of it.