Christine O’Donnell is not a witch . . . She’s you

O’Donnell’s latest campaign video is bizarre, terrifying and utterly enthralling.

Christine O'Donnell has released her latest campaign advert. Staring into the camera with doe eyes and a grin like burning phosphorus, O'Donnell lays out her pitch for the Senate.

It starts bizarrely, with O'Donnell stating: "I am not a witch." On balance, this is a good thing. Witchcraft might have its advantages ("I'll make the deficit disappear -- IN A PUFF OF SMOKE!") but when your base is the Christian right, I suppose the occult is a liability.

As far as reassuring electoral slogans go, however, "I'm not a witch" ranks up there with "I'm not a drunk" or "I don't hit my wife". If Barack Obama had plumped for "I'm not a wizard" rather than "Yes we can", he would probably -- actually, scratch that -- hopefully still be stuck in the Senate.

The advert takes a metaphysical twist when O'Donnell adds cryptically: "I'm nothing you've heard. I'm you." (Unless of course, you happen be a witch. In which case she definitely isn't you. She's not a witch. She really wants to make that clear.) Apparently there is a little bit of Christine in all of us. This means that, via the wonders of democracy, you too could join the Senate, with O'Donnell as your avatar.

O'Donnell has turned herself into the vanguard of the anti-intelligence movement. "I'll go to Washington and I'd do what you would do." No need for the avatar; O'Donnell is your average Joe. After all, she points out: "None of us are perfect." So why not elect me? Heck, anyone else would probably make a hash of it, too, so give me a crack.

Will Bunch sums up the thinking eloquently.

I'm reminded of a famous line from the back at the dawn of the age of resentment back in 1970 when a GOP senator named Roman Hruska argued for a lame Richard Nixon Supreme Court nominee by saying: "There are a lot of mediocre judges and people and lawyers. They are entitled to a little representation, aren't they?"

Scarily, according to Bunch, playing the anti-intelligence card could be a rather good idea:

"I'm you" is pitch perfect for this throw-the-eggheads-out election. It probably won't work for O'Donnell, not in the politically hen-blue state of Delaware, but it may work for a generation of pols from Nevada to Kentucky who will govern at least like they think that "you" would -- with very serious consequences for America for many, many years to come.

The advert lasts barely 30 seconds but it stays with you. Her grin, her eyes, her words all wash over you as a tinkling lullaby plays in the background. It's almost hypnotic. It's certainly terrifying. Watch it.

 

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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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