The tension in the
Chris Matthews, of course, was inconsolable.
This sad sack group of fanatics and supporters was going to need something quick, something transcendent, or else whoever was left would be reporting something bigger than Jonestown.
The buzz started in the far corner of the hall. He was coming. The press had become so attuned to his wants and needs that they could feel him making his way to the stage. But something had changed. They could all sense it. The magic was back. This was going to be big. Important. Groundbreaking. Unprecedented.
At the first sight of him, the WaPo staff blacked out. He was so... confident. So focused like a laser. He reached the podium and pivoted so hard you knew this election was already over. Mitt Who? was already the headline across Journo-list II. Obama stared intently across the audience, as if he was going to correct Hillary Clinton for the umpteenth time. Then the words came,
"My balls, people. Seriously, my balls."
He strode off stage, knowing that his presidential work had been
For a moment, the silence encompassed everything like an empty echo chamber. You could have heard an