When Democrats gavel their convention into session tomorrow, there will be nothing left to decide. Primary and caucus voters chose Sen. Barack Obama, and he picked Sen. Joe Biden -- done.
It's a climate that begs for acclamation, if not outright coronation. This convention has every reason to be an unrestrained show of unity, a week-long party the likes of which Denver hasn't seen since John Elway's helicopter.
Ah, but a pooper lurks behind the punch bowl, and it goes by the name of PUMA -- Party Unity My Ass.PUMA and its partners-in-denial are devoted to delusion, committed to ensuring that "Hillary Clinton gets the nomination of the Democratic Party at the Denver Convention." Consequences be damned, of course.
Even Sen. Clinton herself, along with surrogates like Pennsylvania Gov. Ed Rendell, is promoting the "catharsis" that will be enjoyed by her supporters when her name is placed into nomination.
Apparently this is supposed to be an enormous psychotherapy session, not a political convention, intended to knit the deep emotional wounds inflicted by backing a candidate who didn't get enough votes to secure the nomination of her party.
My first reaction to this sort of orchestrated tantrum is, "Just stop it!" -- when you're dead, as the saying goes, you should have the decency to fall down. I've had it up to here with the whiny indignation of Lanny Davis, Harold Ickes and Kiki McLean. Get over it, already.
And then I come to my senses.First of all, the more contentious the Democrats' convention, the more damaged the Obama-Biden ticket, and the less likely we are to see four years (or eight) of entitlements-on-steroids and the trampling of our Second Amendment rights.
Never mind the issues, though -- just the sheer entertainment potential of an estrogen-charged revolt in Denver is tantalizing. Will there be a walkout? Will there be a second ballot? Will former Pres. Bill Clinton's faint praise for Sen. Obama damn the nominee to defeat? Will every delegate get a "Participant" ribbon?
The mind reels.
As embarrassing as it'd be to see thousands of adults behaving like a bunch of incorrigible three-year-olds, I enthusiastically endorse a furiously raucous Democratic Party convention. Melodrama would be ideal; drama will suffice.
Short of all-out fistfights, I'd be satisfied if the party spends the next seven days planting big, wet, sloppy kisses on Sen. Clinton's ass -- I mean, how else will her poor, suffering supporters be able to begin the healing process?
Catharsis -- catch it!
