If president Bush were a football player something tells me he'd be the type to celebrate his touchdowns before reaching the end-zone. He'd be high-stepping and grinning while unaware that a defender closed in to clobber him.
It is a painful thing to watch, this premature Mission Accomplished celebration. There is a moment where those in the stands, those commentating, those watching on T.V. anticipate the "teaching moment" and cringe.
As the defender's shoulder presses dancing flesh and the ball is stripped everyone watching feels the way I feel now when I see George W. Bush, knocked senseless perhaps, and convinced he's scored.
I am one of those reserved Yankees that can do without the end-zone dancing and strutting altogether. If you ask me it isn't team-spirited and only serves to embolden your opposition, since humiliation breeds resentment.
I can picture quite clearly coach Rove turning cartwheels on the sidelines while running-back Bush goose-steps prematurely, oblivious to the forthcoming whallop. Oblivious before it and after it and confused by the groans from the audience.
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