“Well, I guess that’s it, it’s over,” said my back home pal Moon Dimple.
“Some context would help,” I said.
“You know. The election.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll bite. Why do you think an election that hasn’t taken place yet is over?”
“Because that’s what all the polls and experts say, dummy. Don’t you pay attention?”
I do pay attention, of course. And I am aware that the latest polls indicate that Trump is falling faster than a sack of rice off a bridge. The poll that’s gotten the most attention is the one by Gallup showing only 39 percent of Americans approving of Dear Leader’s job performance while 57 percent disapprove. (I always wonder about those tortured few – in this case 4 percent – who can’t manage to have an opinion. It must take them days to order in a restaurant.)
That poll resulted in a subsequent CNN analysis – an oxymoron if ever I’ve heard one – with the headline “History says Trump’s low approval rating is unlikely to move.”
And in Michigan, there was another poll indicating that voters in Michigan – which Trump won by a mere 10,000 votes in 2016, or about the size of a good-sized neighborhood in Detroit, Grand Rapids, Flint or any other sizable city – have soured on Trump big-time, resulting in this Detroit Free Press headline: “Joe Biden has doubled his lead over Donald Trump in Michigan, poll says.”
“See what I mean?” said Moon. “It’s over. Done. Finito. Over with. Biden is going to be president. There’s a million headlines saying so.”
“Oh, c’mon,” I said. “It’s not over by a long shot. Trump has been an utter disaster but his supporters don’t seem to notice or care. In fact, the worse he behaves, the more they seem to like him.”
“It’s the little brother syndrome,” he said. “If someone slugs your little brother, you defend him even if he probably deserved it.”
“True,” I said. “But let’s not forget that Hillary was way, way, way ahead in the polls at this point, too.”
“Yeah, but she’s Hillary, you know? She has a special talent for ticking people off. Besides, you know that the polls can’t be wrong twice. They’re scientific. It’s a proven fact.”
OK, I knew he was baiting me again. He wanted me to launch into my hand-waving, spit-flecked, red-face rant about how polls are ruining American elections by convincing the dimwitted that there’s no point in actually voting because the outcome is predetermined, which is how we ended up with a cruel, evil, Creamsicle-colored dolt as president who has made us the laughingstock of the world.
“Not gonna work, buddy,” I said. “I know you know my position on polls, just like I know you’re only pretending the election is over to get my goat.”
“Moi?” he said in mock horror. “I would never do such a thing. I just happen to believe that the polls are always right. Except when they’re not.”
“That might be the dumbest and yet most profound thing you’ve ever said.”
“Thank you very little.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I think I need a better class of friends.
Note: Please, for the love of Mike, vote in November. We can’t take another four years of this.