In the end, it doesn’t really matter if it was a bribe, a strong-arm or a good old-fashioned threat. What happened recently to a Michigan congressman was enough to make you give up on politics — if you haven’t already.
Nick Smith, from south-central Michigan, is not a majordomo in Congress. He isn’t a media lightning rod like Tom DeLay or Nancy Pelosi. But he counts. One district, one vote.
The mark of a gentleman is that he behaves like one even when he doesn’t feel like it, and Lloyd Carr didn’t feel like it as he ran off at halftime of the Michigan-Ohio State game. For a moment, in ungentlemanly fashion, he let mood dictate behavior. An ABC reporter fired a question about why Michigan had just run out the clock when it had three time-outs left.
Carr glared at him.
“Why would you ask a dumb question like that?” he said.
When the reporter tried again, Carr ignored him and walked away, shaking his head as if the guy were an idiot.
Sometime in the future . . .
“Grandpa, who’s that man in the book?”
“His name is Michael Jackson. He was a famous singer.”
“Why is he in handcuffs?”
“He was accused of doing bad things to children.”
“And who’s that?”
“That’s Phil Spector. He was a famous music producer.”
“Why is he in handcuffs?”
“He was charged with murder.”
“Who’s that? The man with the white hair?”
“That’s Robert Blake. He was once a famous actor. When he was small like you, he was in the ‘Little Rascals.’ “
“Why is he in jail?”
The judge called it “the most unusual request I’ve ever had.”
The defense attorney said, “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
Even the crook admits he never tried anything this brazen.
Then again, it is Michigan-Ohio State weekend.
“The first thing he wanted me to do,” said defense attorney Tully Rogers, “was to get him out on bond so he could watch the game. He promised to come right back. I said, ‘I don’t think the judge is gonna go for that. Maybe we can come up with something else.’ “
SEATTLE — So I guess the winning streak is over?
Then again, we saw that coming, as soon as we saw the plane on the runway. Football, coaches yell, is 60 minutes of war. Unless you are the Lions on the road, in which case, you start raising the white flag during the national anthem.
What if Terri could talk?
What if, for five minutes, Terri Schiavo came out of the vegetative state she has lived in for 13 years, and said what she was thinking, not what others were thinking for her?
Would she smile at her husband, Michael, and say, “Thank you for defending my wish to die. Let me go. It’s what I want.”
Or would she scowl and say, “How could you? I’m your wife. You’d let me die? What if they find a cure?”
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