The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the GOP that day:
The score stood 1047 to 565, with but nine states more to play,
And then when Walker died at first, and Rubio did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the voters of the nation.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the GOP breast;
They thought, “If only Teddy could but get a whack at that—
We’d put up even money now, with Teddy at the bat.”
But Kasich preceded Teddy, as did also Carly Fi,
And the former was a liberal, while the latter an old Democrat;
So upon that stricken electorate grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Cruz getting to the bat.
But Karisch let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Carly, the much ignored, tore the cover off the wall;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Carly safe at second and John a-hugging third.
Then from five million throats and more there rose a half-hearted yell;
It grumbled through the mid-West, it rattled in the hell (of DC);
It whined on the mountain and pontificated upon the flat,
For Teddy, mighty Teddy, was advancing to the bat.
There was cluelessness in Teddy’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was elitism in Teddy’s bearing and an inhuman smile lit Teddy’s face.
And when, responding to the populist demands, he lightly doffed his ill fitting hat,
No stranger in the voting base could doubt (though they might wish otherwise) ‘twas Teddy at the bat.
Ten million eyes were on him as he rubbed his platform and promised;
Five million tongues applauded when he called for right to be abolished;
Then while the writhing fascist ground the vote into his hip,
Rebellion against a fiction establishment flashed in Teddy’s eye, a sneer of a Harvard grad curled Teddy’s lip.
And now the chad covered ballot came hurtling through the
And Teddy stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy populist the vote unheeded sped—
“That ain’t my style,” said Teddy. “Strike one!” the voters said.
From the benches, white with the sheets of Trump supporters, there went up a muffled
Like the beating of real conservatives on a stern and unheeded Congressional floor;
“Kill him! Kill the establishment!” shouted someone on the stand;
And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Teddy raised his Zodiac killer
With a smile of faux-Christian charity snide Teddy’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the voters, and once more the dung sphere flew;
But Teddy still ignored it and the voters said, “Strike two!”
“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered
But one scornful look from Teddy and his brainless followers were awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscle
And they knew that Teddy wouldn’t let that vote go by again.
The sneer is always there on Teddy’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel violence his platitudes upon the latest “gate”;
And now the fascists hold the vote, and now they let it go,
And now the air is undisturbed by the fraud of Teddy’s show.
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children
But there is no joy in America—mighty Teddy has struck out.
Some of Ted’s best moments