"Ein herr hat der buetel
Andere herr hat der gelt"
Lileks at Newhouse
Mary Katharine Ham
Steven Den Beste
Roger L. Simon
Cut On The Bias
Just One Minute
A Small Victory
Michael J. Totten
Little Tiny Hog On Ice
The American Thinker
Happy Fun Pundit
One Hand Clapping
Little Green Footballs
Eject! Eject! Eject!
Merde in France
On The Third Hand
Day by Day
John Cole Cartoons
The Mighty Nightie
Winds of Change
Tech Central Station
Verse from the Left
Kos & Co
Friday, August 02, 2002
This came together in the pain of the attack and the
heady days after the invasion. Though Casey At The Bat
is a great vehicle to tell this kind of story,
I have never really cared for the ending. It ain’t Gehrig or
Bob Feller, or any other o’ them fighters against the odds.
Dubya shines at that (after Ernest Lawrence Thayer)
Things looked extremely cocky for the terrorists that day;
Twin towers lay in ruins, bio-terror on the way.
For this, and dead in Lebanon, and Rangers dragged through streets;
For Olympic games at Munich, the dead all under sheets.
For shattered sailors on the Cole, the plane at Lockerbie,
Hezbollah, Hamas, and now Al Qaida romped with glee.
With Omar safe in Kandahar, bin Laden in his cave,
The fatwas issued thick and fast from mullahs on the rave.
“Kill them! kill America!” they shouted from the East,
And ‘twas likely they’d keep at it without steps to make them cease.
A pallor wreathed the features of some pundits you can name.
“We’ve said the Western march is done, and this is but the same.”
“It’s all our fault so give it up, we got what we deserved.”
Newsies and some talking heads kept cycling this pall
(‘Till Dubya, Rice, and Rumsfeld tore the cover off it all).
For three administrations now they’ve pushed us where they would.
Without a strong response from us, even though we could.
Old Bush and Willie Clinton made this policy mistake.
The former was a puddin’ and the latter was a fake.
If adults in foreign policy could get a whack at bat;
Ho! we'd put up even money now with leadership like that.
But on our stricken multitude a death-like silence reigns,
With pundits granting little chance of Dubya having brains.
There was ease though, in his manner as he rose into his place.
There was pride in Dubya’s bearing; determination on his face.
He picked the best advisors, he allied the West with East.
The cant of media pundits didn’t faze him in the least.
He called troops to attention in each plane and on each ship,
And said October seventh was the day we’d let ‘er rip.
While freezing up their assets, the bombs and missiles flew,
With a message for all terrorists; watch out, we’ll strike you too.
“Jihad!” cried the maddened mullahs but the echo came back nil,
What with Taliban too busy now, a runnin’ for the hills.
The bombing went on thirty days while North Alliance stopped,
Their chances better all the time, with every one that dropped.
From the media packed with pundits there rose a sullen roar;
“Quagmire! Quagmire!” shouted someone at the Post.
And they’d likely still be carping had not Rumsfeld made ‘em toast.
The North Alliance shortly rolled and took Mazar el Sharif,
While bringing in their wake humanitarian relief.
Kabul was quick to follow, for the Talibs wouldn’t stay.
Why Allah had abandoned them, alas they didn’t say.
Al Qaida scattered in the hills, their day was nearly done.
All--save Omar and some pundits, are quite certain freedom won.
Oh! mostly in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
Hands are helping everywhere, to tragic hearts make right.
And in Kabul the beards are gone, un-burqa’d women shout;
For Dubya and our allies have struck the bastards out.
posted by Stephen at 12:45 AM | Plink