On New Year’s Eve: Mitchie At The Bat
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Cliff-ville nine that day:
Time had been a-wasting, with but hours more to play.
And when John’s B plan died of fright, and Grover’s did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
The House’s bankrupt brigands rose to leave, all in deep despair.
The rest prayed for the sacred tax cuts that seemed only fair;
They’d thought, if only Mittens was in charge, they’d have a shot
He’d show those Dems, he’d make them pay, sequestering or not.
But Big O dispatched Romney, as Ryan’s song fell flat,
And Akin turned a lulu and Mourdock a maddened hat
So the team had not the votes, grim faces all foretold,
No Senate, no Prez; no way to slash the old.
Unfair, they cried, our vision was to be much prized,
Big O’s a Kenyan Socialist, and very much despised;
But when the dust had lifted, and Rove had thrown a fit,
Obama, mean Obama, had vanquished good old Mitt.
So what to do when all seemed lost the job-creators quaked;
O Tempora, O Mores where’s pity for goodness sake?
But hope springs eternal, cash flowed this way and that,
For Mitchie, mighty Mitchie, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Mitch’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Mitch’s bearing, a happy scowl upon his face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
Grey hair and steely glasses, no doubt twas Mitchie at the bat.
Ten thousand Red-State eyes beheld him as he settled in the dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he spit ‘baccy on his shirt.
Then whilst greedy Dems demanded tribute from the wallet at his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Mitch’s eye, a sneer curled Mitch’s lip.
And now the first proposal came hurtling through the air,
And Mitchie stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Too much tax and too much spend, the pitch unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Mitchie. "Strike one," the timekeeper said.
From the Foxes, Rush and Bill, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on Benghazi’s distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the time-keeper!" shouted a Cato man from the stand;
And it’s likely they'd a-killed him had not Mitchie raised his hand.
A smile of secret pleasure on great Mitchie’s visage shone;
He had an ace, he didn’t care; he bade the game go on;
He nodded to the hurler, a new pitch towards him flew;
But Mitchie still ignored it, the time-keep said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, “let’s get our guns”;
But one sly look from Mitchie and the audience was stunned.
They saw his lips turn up to grin, his cell phone at the ready,
Was it filibuster, or just say no, that made him seem so steady?
The sneer is gone from Mitch’s lips, he beams and makes the call;
He chits and chats, and slaps the back, looks for Biden after all.
Joe, Oh No! He’s a buffoon and clown, don’t make us feel the pain.
Joe’s a dealmaker, he’ll cave, says Mitchie with disdain.
Joe does cave, but sure enough it doesn’t make the grade.
To compromise seems so wrong, why should a deal be made?
Far more fun to keep the pledge and scrap for every penny.
Because it’s not enough for some, and way too much for many.
Ah, so you thought there would be happy ending, with sun shining bright?
Barbeques and ice cream, all friends with hearts so light,
Where somewhere folk are laughing, and somewhere there’s no goat;
But there is no joy in Cliff-ville – The House refused to vote.