The Only Good Thing about Election Night

Well, dear reader, the 2006 American midterm elections are officially over. Boy, that was one heck of a ride: If you waded through all the typical hand-wringing articles about how vicious the campaigns were, you’d likely see all the typical hand-wringing articles about “how much was at stake.”

The latter brand of column strikes us as even more obtuse than the usual journalistic blather: Have you ever read an article in the mainstream media that claimed that there was “very little at stake” in any national election? Not bloody likely, if you ask us.

Just about now, the “weblogosphere” is all abuzz with post-election post mortems, victory cries, and mournful lamentations. The “webloggers” who usually compose mindless propaganda in favor of their sides have temporarily jettisoned that task in favor of composing mindless election recaps that are unflinchingly favorable to their beloved ideologies.

Whilst left-wingers who aren’t related to Ned Lamont break open the chardonnay, our right-wing pals either pour forth their frustration or offer some ingenious spin that makes it seem as if losing both Houses of Congress is actually just peachy. Frankly, dear reader, you can color us unimpressed.

As far as we’re concerned, there’s only one thing to savor about election night—whether your candidate of choice becomes the next congressman from Wyoming’s 4th district or not. And it actually hasn’t got anything to do with the candidates.

No, election night offers only one delight: For those watching the returns on television, this evening presents the viewer with gaggles of televised mishaps. It’s a veritable cornucopia of bloopers. On this lovely night, ostentatious, self-impressed anchormen and anchor-ladies ineluctably make complete fools of themselves. And, gosh, we just can’t get enough.

One moment Wolf Blitzer is nervously bumping into Jeff Greenwald whilst attempting to relay the latest exit poll numbers from Missouri. The next moment Britt Hume unknowingly stares into the wrong camera as Mort Kondrake butchers yet another attempt at articulateness. And then—of course—Anderson Cooper is given ample time to prove what a no-nothing boob he is.

Ah, yes: These blown-dry nitwits don’t make it look so easy without the teleprompter, do they? And, next to Ned Lamont getting his posterior handed to him, it’s one of the few magical elements of election night.