Dazzled by Liberal profundity
Try as I might, I couldn’t concentrate this past week on the final days of that bizarre and frightening election campaign to the south of us, the one you may have heard of — an effort by millions of cerebrally challenged and narrow-minded voters to make a real-life Archie Bunker the most powerful man on planet Earth.
That’s not to say I didn’t give the matter a thought or two; after all, if America’s version of Don Cherry had bullied his way into the West Wing on Pennsylvania Avenue, we might have entered global territory so brilliantly put to film by Stanley Kubrick in “Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.”
But damn it all, my mind was preoccupied with a more parochial matter, that of a certain political convention in Gander, the gathering of the Ball Believers, those loyal Liberals finally able to escape the closet of embarrassment after being locked away for over a decade by the Keys of the Tory Kingdom, hanging mostly from the belt of the Messiah Daniel.
And is it any wonder that I, and many others like me, were absolutely drawn to what was happening in Gander? It was obvious, right from the first media revelations, that events in the U.S. of A., or anywhere else for that matter, paled in comparative importance and significance to the profundity of Liberal party deliberations in the Crossroads of the World.
There was no doubt the Grits had their priorities straight.
The first resolution I saw publicized, a motion that made it apparent the Liberals had a solid grasp on what ails Newfoundland, called for — drum roll, please — a complete ban on plastic shopping bags. Now. You talk. People from Postville to Paradise, I’m sure, shouted with pure exultation and relief; finally, finally, their prayers for finan- cial relief had been answered.
And if the plastic bag promise wasn’t enough to give Newfoundlanders reason for optimism that the sun is rarin’ to rise on the economic horizon, there was the decision by the Liberal delegates in Gander to have its government provide some bucks for in vitro fertilization.
There is some needed context here, of course: after Newfoundland was suckered into joining Canada, the promised baby bonus was implemented, described by some at the time as “dicky dough” (I know I’ve mentioned this at least once in the past, but whenever the opportunity arises, I just can’t help myself); and Danny Williams, the before-mentioned Messiah, took time away from his legacycreating Muskrat Falls project (now looking as if it will replace Joey’s Upper Churchill contract as the most expensive Newfie joke in our history) to offer up his own version of “dicky dough” a few years back.
It was obvious that our masters wished to exploit our reputation, according to end- less polls taken through the decades, as the most amorous people in Canada, or — to put it more crudely, as is my wont — the horniest crowd in the country.
But the bonuses for procreation have fallen flat. We need more youngsters. In vitro fertilization, here we come! Thanks to the Liberals!
But plastic bags and twins and triplets were just the start of the countless illustrations recently of why it is the Liberals have captured the imagination and support of people in every nook and cranny of this smiling land of ours.
The delegates ventured boldly forth, those enlightened political descendants of Joey, and declared that 2019 will be — wait for it, now — the “Year of the Cod.” Yes sir, that should do the job. That should reverse everything that has happened in the beleaguered Newfoundland fishery. The resolution was titled “Celebrating Cod Culture.” I can see it now: even more cod-kissing and Screech-ins.
The “Year of the Cod” together with Ryan Cleary’s efforts to end his unemployment — the fishery is saved!
To cap off that fruitful weekend in Gander, there was also the image of Dwight Ball on the evening newscasts, bringing his followers to their feet with his charisma and breathless prose, his head bobbing around like one of those toy dogs in the rear of car windows as he attempted to read from multiple teleprompters. It was one of those walk-and-chewgum moments.
And working the rooms and stages throughout the convention was the answer to the Liberal prayers, their fairy godmother, Judy Foote.
“Without her, we’d be screwed,” one delegate was quoted as saying in a CBC story. Says it all. Still another reason why the Hillary and Donald show lost in my attention span ratings to the Liberal extravaganza in central Newfoundland.