Life in The War Zone: I Wanted A Chicken Fight

     And now that the last Presidential Debate of 2020 is over, I will admit it: I WANTED A CHICKEN FIGHT.

    Well, not a real chicken fight involving two roosters and a lot of feathers flying about. I cannot imagine setting up two animals to rip into each other for the purpose of human entertainment. 

What I wanted, what I hoped for, was some type of passionate exchange, in which ideals and ideas were revealed to the public.

In my view, what we got, what we saw, were two men who were laughing at each other, poking at each other and not doing much when it came to sharing their ideas, if they had any of their own and not from their political cabal.

It seemed as if both of them were playing a silly game of chicken. 

    The POTUS is simply one of the most important jobs anyone on earth will ever hold. There will only be so many in the course of history, just like there will only be so many Popes or Prime Ministers or Queens, Kings and lead singers like Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones. (Sorry, Beatles people, but I'm a Rolling Stoner.)

    Really. 

    I mean, what would John Adams say about this duo? What choice bon mots would erupt out of Benjamin Franklin's mouth were he present for the debate?

    Visualize Donald Trump or Joe Biden standing next to George Washington, Thomas Jefferson or Abraham Lincoln. What kind of expressions would be on their faces? Imagine their disdain and shock over the language used by two men vying for leading a country those historic figures fought to win.

    I wanted a chicken fight. But the two men who I expected it from were too chicken to participate.

    Wear the masks, people, wear the damn masks.