By John Burtis
Sunday, November 19, 2006
There have been a number of notable Deans. But to see Howard before he disappears, you've gotta act quickly.
First there were the baseball Deans, Dizzy and Daffy.
Jerome Hanna "Dizzy” Dean was the Hall of Fame pitcher who threw for the St. Louis Cardinals from1930-37, the Chicago Cubs from 1938-1941, and the St. Louis Browns in 1947.
Dizzy received the National League MVP award in 1934, was selected for the Hall of Fame, went on to lucrative and highly distinctive broadcast career on Baseball's Game of the Week, and popularized words like "slud,” "slung” and the like.
Dizzy is famous for saying, "They x-rayed my head and found nothing.”
Then there was Paul Dee "Daffy” Dean, Dizzy's brother and fellow hurler, who played for the St. Louis Cardinals from 1934-39, the New York Giants in 1940-41, and the St. Louis Browns in 1943.
Daffy pitched a no-hitter at the age of twenty-one, a singular distinction, and was just the opposite of his outgoing and gregarious brother in character and didn't say much at all.
Of course we can't forget Gunga Din, Kipling's immortal character, who, despite being hounded for years by his supposed "betters”, gave his life to save his comrades with his offerings of water to British wounded.
"You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din,” wrote Kipling in homage.
Dizzy and daffy also apply to Howard Dean, the tenuous current holder of the Chairmanship of the Democratic National Committee, whose profligate catchpenny incumbency has incensed the strident charlatans so closely associated with the Clinton clan, especially the mater familias and her chief vocative lackey and remote controlled automaton, Mr. James Carville.
The former governor of the cthonian satrapy of Vermont, one time medical doctor with a fervid belief in socialized medicine, eye popping gagged up bawler of nonsense, part-time carnival barker, poster boy for blood pressure medication, and the stalwart defender of Ben & Jerry's right to choose flavors and color additives, has, at every turn, made full use of his national pulpit to make his views fully known to a shocked and chastened public, unused as they are to his sizzling fictive invectives and wild senseless attributions.
But few have alleged that Mr. Dean is a better man than they.
and along the twisted political trail of naked ambition which Mr. Dean has followed, he also picked up the nickname, Gunga Dean.
and having run for President, he garnered a few lines of poetic immortality from the pen of pessimist:
"Yes, Dean, Dean, Dean!and after a promising start with millions raised on the internet, which frightened the staid fogeys in his party half to death, to say nothing of the no nothings and the Clintons, Mr. Dean arrived in Iowa, his Heartbreak State.
"Not only are we going to New Hampshire … we're going to South Carolina and Oklahoma, and arizona and North Dakota and New Mexico, and we're going to California and Texas and New York! and we're going to South Dakota and Oregon and Washington and Michigan. and we're going to Washington, D.C. to take back the White House, Yeeeeeeaaaaarrggh…!” Mr. Dean screamed into those final microphones after the arrival of his sudden unforeseen debacle, in a timbre that has become his trademark.
But his presidential hopes were quickly over, crushed in the echoes of that preternatural howl, where he promised to fight on and on and on.
Dr. Dean was tripped up in the same Volunteer State where John Kerry was caught last summer shamelessly ogling a bevy of local beauties for a ready camera in a live shot shown round the internet.
Once he seized the bully pulpit of the DNC, following the horrendous job which poor old Terry Mcawful had done in losing election after election, and million after million, Mr. Dean could finally let fly with the zingers he held back while running for the nation's top office.
and it was while standing in front of the hypnotized crowds that Brother Dean began to emote like alec Baldwin, Tambora, and his boyhood communist hero, Fidel Castro, who could rant for five or six hours without a restroom break. and he began to spend money in places where the palace guard didn't want it spent, and the accusations began to fly.
Howard's days are numbered despite the recent electoral successes. The Clintons are hounding him like the G.B. Shaw's unspeakable in search of the uneatable. and now their noxious hounds, Mr. Carville, Rahm Immanuel, the Soros 527's, and those dreadful blogs, are braying for his removal.
Some morning soon, we'll awaken and Howard Dean will be gone. But, unlike Dizzy, Daffy, and Gunga, he'll be erased from our memories by the party organs controlled by the new Democratic Party and its present owners, Bill, Hillary and George Soros, and his name will be stricken from the Google search engine with a surprising totality.
and when you run a search for Howard Dean's name in 2008, you'll be directed to the movies and Howard's End, where you'll find Vanessa Redgrave and anthony Hopkins and the year 1992.
The sap from Vermont will be just a memory.
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