The Plight of the Era

"Come, sit down on my couch," the psychiatrist might say to me. "Tell me what troubles you." Out of my mouth would pour terrible confessions of longing, obsession, and desire. Cringing, the psychiatrist would pass me on to another doctor. "He's very sick," she might whisper. "Be careful."

This is the plight of a fan; an obsessee; an addict. It is time I proclaimed to the world that I suffer from a case of madness. I am a fan of the United States Senate. I am a groupie of the "greatest deliberative body in the world."

I've suspected as much for quite a while, but it was not truly confirmed in my mind till after two incidents. The first was the most entertaining and inconsequential political event of the year, which took place on Nov. 12. The occasion was the Senate Republican-sponsored backyard barbeque at President Bush's Crawford Ranch compound--wait, I'm being corrected, the occasion was not a barbeque; it was in fact a sleepover on the Senate floor. Ooh, I love sleepovers! Hot chocolate, PJs, and sleeping bags!

It really was a sleepover--one where no one slept. The Senate Republicans, fed up with their inability to push through the confirmation of conservative judges, decided to protest the Democrats' use of the filibuster--the procedure by a minority to block a vote on the Senate floor--by hosting, get this, a filibuster to protest the filibusters. It was an anti-filibuster filibuster.

Dubbed "The Big Filibuster" by The Washington Post, the 40-hour exercise in self-righteousness produced no results, with Republicans still unable to break the filibusters on their judicial nominees. But it did allow political junkies--yes, I've tried to get help before, but AA says I'm out of their league--to follow along as 100 of the most powerful men and women in America bickered like snotty-nosed little kids. Actually, most of the senators skipped the event. Sen. Tom Harkin (D-IA) started the night by letting people know that he was going home. He summed up his intentions on a big white sign: "I'm Going Home To Watch The Bachelor."

The best reporting was done by Peter Carlson of the Post. In his Nov. 14 article, subtitled "The Greatest Deliberative Body Shows What It Does Best: Talk Itself Silly," Carlson chronicled the happenings of the Senate over the first 13 hours of the filibuster. The actions of the senators are pricelessly entertaining, but his article is capped by the closing quote from a Capitol Hill police officer, who commented, "They should get a life."

They should get a life, indeed. While that seems to be the sentiments of many Americans, I beg to differ. What does a Cubs fan do when his team continually misses the playoffs? What does a fan of the Columbia Lions (a breed staging a miraculous comeback) do when his team blows a fourth-quarter lead? He doesn't give up on his team. He buckles down for the long haul and finds enjoyment in his team's quirks and foibles. Captain John Paul Jones (of either Led Zeppelin or American Revolution fame) put it best when he shouted at the British, "I have not yet begun to cheer!"

The "Big Filibuster" of Nov. 13-15 featured everything a fan could ask for: Sen. Orrin Hatch (R-UT), heroically battling laryngitis so that he could proclaim to the world the evils of Democrats, and Sen. Chuck Schumer (D-NY), shouting gibberish like, "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" Though I missed most of the TV coverage, just reading Carlson's account of the first evening had me swooning. I could have sworn those senators were trying to seduce me with their rhetoric and partisan platitudes.

The second incident was my encounter with Nick Hornby's memoir Fever Pitch, which actually served to calm my frail nerves. I would be much more worried about my condition if I hadn't just read Hornby's incisive analysis of his obsession with the widely-hated Arsenal football team (that's soccer to you Yanks). His book is most helpful in that it allows a fan of basically anything to put his feelings into words--Hornby's words, that is. Hornby ponders, "Why has this affinity managed to survive my periodic feelings of indifference, sorrow, and real hatred?"

I can associate with Hornby's conflicted feelings--sometimes the game of politics offends me so much that I ignore it for a week at a time, convinced that I'm losing my interest in it--but then I invariably find myself drawn back to the latest happenings in Washington. Fans are really nothing more than smokers in disguise. Hornby even goes as far as to link his smoking habit with his football obsession. If a smoker like Hornby ever asked me why I love politics so much, I could just point to that crumpled packet in his pocket, and we would enjoy a moment of silent understanding.

The "Big Filibuster" served as a reminder to me that I am completely and hopelessly addicted to all forms of politics. I now realize that I will come back, week-after-week, to continue my love-hate relationship with them.

I think I've finally come to terms with my obsession. I have accepted that I can never enjoy a life free of petty politics and partisan wrangling. I'm going to stop seeing the shrink and instead head to the local watering hole, where I will raise a beer high and offer a toast to the fan, to the junkie, to the addict.