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How I Got Myself Tossed From a Bill Bradley Fundraiser

How I Got Myself Tossed From a Bill Bradley Fundraiser

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Published by Stephen Clermont
The best and funniest political article I have ever read and is hard to find. Matt Taibbi is the only journalist who nailed Bill Bradley and he was based in Russia
The best and funniest political article I have ever read and is hard to find. Matt Taibbi is the only journalist who nailed Bill Bradley and he was based in Russia

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Published by: Stephen Clermont on Nov 30, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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06/28/2012

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original

 
How
 
I
 
Got
 
Myself 
 
Tossed
 
From
 
a
 
Bill
 
Bradley
 
Fundraiser
 
By
 
Matt
 
Taibbi
 
"Eggheads
 
unite:
 
you
 
have
 
nothing
 
to
 
lose
 
but 
 
your 
 
yolks." 
 Adlai 
 
Stevenson
 
At
 
the
 
first
 
sight
 
of 
 
him,
 
my
 
shoulders
 
sagged
 
from
 
relief,
 
and
 
a
 
broad,
 
 joyful
 
smile
 
came
 
across
 
my
 
face.
 
He
 
was
 
all
 
the
 
evidence
 
I
 
ever
 
needed.
 
There
 
was
 
a
 
God
 
after
 
all!
 
I
 
first
 
saw
 
him
 
this
 
past
 
Sunday,
 
on
 
the
 
sixth
 
floor
 
of 
 
Madison
 
Square
 
Garden,
 
in
 
the
 
building's
 
grim
 
concrete
walled
 
security
 
office.
 
At
 
the
 
time
 
I
 
was
 
flanked
 
by
 
four
 
security
 
guards
 
in
 
maroon
 
sportcoats,
 
who
 
had
 
escorted
 
me
 
arm
 
in
 
arm
 
from
 
my
 
seat
 
in
 
the
 
stadium,
 
where
 
I
 
had
 
been
 
watching
 
that
 
day's
 
loathsome
 
Bill
 
Bradley
 
Presidential
 
Campaign
 
Fundraiser.
 
Security
 
had
 
been
 
called
 
in
 
to
 
my
 
rescue
 
after
 
a
 
crowd
 
of 
 
Bradley
 
supporters
 
 jumped
 
on
 
me
 
for
 
heckling
 
the
 
candidate.
 
I'd
 
let
 
my
 
body
 
go
 
limp
 
during
 
the
 
fracas,
 
and
 
the
 
poor
 
guards
 
had
 
to
 
drag
 
my
 
body
 
up
 
the
 
stadium
 
steps
 
and
 
out
 
like
 
a
 
sack
 
of 
 
potatoes,
 
with
 
me
 
screaming
 
and
 
gesticulating
 
the
 
whole
 
way.
 
In
 
the
 
rush
 
after
 
the
 
incident
 
I
 
was
 
hyperventilating,
 
glowering,
 
agitated,
 
confused,
 
eyes
 
snapped
 
wide
 
open
 
as
 
the
 
guards
 
led
 
me
 
downward
 
in
 
the
 
Garden
 
freight
 
elevator...
 
On
 
the
 
one
 
hand,
 
I
 
felt
 
triumphant:
 
I'd
 
developed
 
a
 
plan,
 
carried
 
it
 
out,
 
and
 
everything
 
had
 
seemingly
 
gone
 
well.
 
All
 
the
 
same,
 
I
 
was
 
desperate
 
for
 
some
 
empirical
 
evidence
 
of 
 
the
 
righteousness
 
of 
 
my
 
actions
‐‐
and
 
no
 
one
 
in
 
sight
 
was
 
offering
 
me
 
any.
 
Until
 
I
 
saw
 
him,
 
that
 
is.
 
He
 
was
 
a
 
man
 
in
 
a
 
chicken
 
suit,
 
hunched
 
over
 
on
 
a
 
plastic
 
chair
 
in
 
the
 
security
 
office
 
and
 
kneading
 
his
 
forehead
 
with
 
an
 
open
 
hand
 
while
 
two
 
New
 
York
 
City
 
cops
 
interrogated
 
him.
 
When
 
the
 
guards
 
pushed
 
me
 
into
 
the
 
room
 
I
 
heard
 
one
 
of 
 
the
 
cops
 
point
 
to
 
him
 
and
 
bark,
 
"He's
 
not
 
producing
 
a
 
ticket."
 
Then
 
one
 
of 
 
the
 
cops
 
pointed
 
at
 
me.
 
"Is
 
he
 
with
 
the
 
chicken
 
guy?"
 
"No,"
 
said
 
one
 
of 
 
the
 
guards.
 
"He's
 
alone."
 
The
 
hell
 
I
 
am,
 
I
 
thought.
 
I
 
am
 
one
 
with
 
the
 
international
 
fraternity
 
of 
 
losers.
 
This
 
man
 
in
 
the
 
chicken
 
suit,
 
I
 
felt
 
like
 
saying
‐‐
he
 
is
 
my
 
brother.
 
I
 
smiled
 
at
 
my
 
new
 
friend.
 
He
 
looked
 
up
 
at
 
me
 
with
 
a
 
weary
 
expression
 
and
 
sighed.
 
He
 
understood.
 
I
 
was
 
not
 
alone.
 
The
 
next
 
morning,
 
when
 
I
 
looked
 
through
 
the
 
newspapers
 
over
 
 juice
 
and
 
coffee
 
in
 
the
 
liberty
 
of 
 
my
 
New
 
York
 
home,
 
I
 
found
 
out
 
that
 
the
 
chicken
 
suit
 
man
 
was
 
not
 
my
 
brother
 
at
 
all.
 
According
 
to
 
the
 
Daily 
 
News
,
 
he
 
was
 
a
 
plant
 
by
 
the
 
Al
 
Gore
 
campaign,
 
sent
 
to
 
the
 
Bradley
 
event
 
on
 
a
 
tactical
 
anti
spin
 
mission.
 
He
 
was
 
a
 
partisan
 
chicken.
 
I
 
threw
 
the
 
papers
 
away
 
and
 
sagged
 
in
 
my
 
chair,
 
disgusted.
 
There
 
are
 
no
 
silver
 
linings
 
to
 
American
 
Presidential
 
politics,
 
not
 
even
 
little
 
ones.
 
FORMER
 
NEW
 
JERSEY
 
SENATOR
 
Bill
 
Bradley
 
is
 
white
 
hot
 
right
 
now,
 
America's
 
new
 
darling.
 
If 
 
you're
 
like
 
me,
 
an
 
upper
 
middle
class
 
white
 
intellectual,
 
then
 
you've
 
probably
 
already
 
watched
 
 
your
 
entire
 
family
 
and
 
a
 
good
 
half 
 
of 
 
your
 
friends
 
 jump
 
on
 
his
 
bandwagon
 
in
 
the
 
last
 
month
 
or
 
so.
 
There's
 
something
 
about
 
Bradley
 
that
 
makes
 
affluent
 
white
 
college
 
grads
 
weak
 
in
 
the
 
knees.
 
It
 
might
 
be
 
his
 
grumbling,
 
gawky
 
braininess,
 
his
 
very
 
vagueness,
 
his
 
tendency
 
to
 
explain
 
himself 
 
in
 
cryptic
 
bursts
 
of 
 
important
sounding
 
polysyllables;
 
he
 
is
 
living
 
proof 
 
that
 
one
 
can
 
come
 
across
 
exactly
 
like
 
a
 
black
 
comedian's
 
impersonation
 
of 
 
white
 
people
 
and
 
still
 
be
 
a
 
legitimate
 
threat
 
to
 
rule
 
to
 
world.
 
Or
 
it
 
might
 
be
 
his
 
unabashedly
 
asexual
 
clamminess
‐‐
he
 
must
 
be
 
a
 
relief 
 
to
 
all
 
those
 
people
 
shackled
 
to
 
low
sex,
 
high
 
stress
 
corporate
 
lifestyles
 
who
 
had
 
to
 
sit
 
around
 
for
 
eight
 
years
 
watching
 
Bill
 
Clinton
 
stuff 
 
chicks
 
under
 
his
 
desk.
 
It's
 
like
 
a
 
tacit
 
campaign
 
promise,
 
Bradley's
 
sexlessness;
 
vote
 
for
 
this
 
Bill,
 
and
 
we
 
guarantee
 
that
 
your
 
leader
 
will
 
get
 
laid
 
 just
 
as
 
rarely
 
as
 
you
 
do.
 
Whatever
 
the
 
appeal
 
is,
 
it's
 
not
 
obvious,
 
at
 
least
 
not
 
to
 
his
 
supporters.
 
Most
 
of 
 
the
 
people
 
I
 
know
 
who
 
support
 
Bradley
 
don't
 
have
 
a
 
real
 
good
 
answer
 
when
 
I
 
ask
 
them
 
what
 
their
 
reasons
 
are.
 
The
 
first
 
thing
 
out
 
of 
 
their
 
mouths
 
is
 
usually,
 
"I
 
love
 
Bradley!";
 
the
 
next
 
is,
 
"He
 
seems
 
like
 
a
 
good
 
guy."
 
If 
 
you
 
press
 
them
 
a
 
little,
 
they
 
might
 
say,
 
"He
 
seems
 
honest."
 
And
 
that's
 
about
 
it.
 
But
 
arguing
 
the
 
matter
 
with
 
a
 
Bradley
 
fan
 
generally
 
won't
 
get
 
you
 
anywhere.
 
Even
 
if 
 
they're
 
forced
 
to
 
admit
 
that
 
they
 
don't
 
know
 
what
 
the
 
hell
 
he
 
stands
 
for,
 
most
 
Bradley
 
supporters
 
will
 
still
 
stand
 
by
 
their
 
man.
 
It's
 
like
 
an
 
article
 
of 
 
faith
 
with
 
these
 
people.
 
Only
 
it's
 
the
 
worst
 
kind
 
of 
 
faith
‐‐
the
 
secular,
 
humanist,
 
left
leaning
 
rich
 
liberal
 
know
it
all
 
kind.
 
It's
 
faith
 
from
 
the
 
kind
 
of 
 
people
 
who'll
 
insist
 
even
 
under
 
torture
 
that
 
faith
 
is
 
a
 
relativist
 
intellectual
 
construct.
 
The
 
press
 
loves
 
Bradley,
 
too.
 
God,
 
do
 
they
 
love
 
him.
 
The
 
cartoon
 
hearts
 
all
 
but
 
ooze
 
off 
 
the
 
page
 
when
 
newspaper
 
writers
 
describe
 
his
 
campaign
 
appearances.
 
The
 
Bradley
 
portraits
 
that
 
appear
 
in
 
the
 
mass
market
 
publications
‐‐
like
 
the
 
cover
 
story
 
in
 
last
 
week's
 
Newsweek 
 
(see
 
Press
 
Review)
‐‐
tend
 
to
 
be
 
slavish
 
exercises
 
in
 
 journalistic
 
mythmaking.
 
One
 
of 
 
the
 
favored
 
 journalistic
 
methods
 
for
 
lavishing
 
praise
 
on
 
Bradley
 
is
 
the
 
nakedly
 
transparent
 
technique
 
of 
 
lauding
 
his
 
braininess
 
via
 
so
called
 
"criticism"
 
of 
 
his
 
egghead
y
 
public
 
persona.
 
For
 
example,
 
New 
 
York 
 
Times
 
reporter
 
Richard
 
L.
 
Berke,
 
in
 
a
 
November
 
9
 
article
 
on
 
Bradley,
 
quoted
 
advertising
 
executive
 
Mark
 
DiMassino
 
to
 
illustrate
 
Bradley's
 
"problems"
 
as
 
a
 
candidate:
 
"Then,
 
Mr.
 
Dimassino
 
said,
 
'there
 
was
 
the
 
boring',
 
and
 
the
 
fact
 
that
 
Mr.
 
Bradley
 
only
 
had
 
two
 
kinds
 
of 
 
ideas:
 
'Smart
 
ideas
 
that
 
will
 
move
 
people
 
and
 
smart
 
ideas
 
that
 
make
 
people's
 
eyes
 
glaze
 
over.'"
 
The
 
obvious
 
implication
 
is
 
that
 
Bradley's
 
only
 
problem
 
is
 
that
 
he's
 
 just
 
too
 
darn
 
smart,
 
an
 
assertion
 
that
 
in
 
the
 
defiantly
 
anal
retentive
 
micro
type
 
of 
 
the
 
New 
 
York 
 
Times
 
looks
 
a
 
hell
 
of 
 
a
 
lot
 
like
 
an
 
endorsement.
 
Newsweek 
 
also
 
praised
 
Bradley's
 
hyper
cerebral
 
inaccessibility;
 
under
 
a
 
photo
 
of 
 
Bradley's
 
wife
 
Ernestine,
 
the
 
magazine
 
included
 
the
 
following
 
caption:
 
"Ernestine
 
is
 
Bradley's
 
only
 
confidante,
 
but
 
even
 
she
 
is
 
sometimes
 
baffled
 
by
 
her
 
husband."
 
Translation:
 
Bradley's
 
so
 
smart,
 
not
 
even
 
his
 
wife
 
knows
 
what
 
he's
 
thinking.
 
The
 
combined
 
effect
 
of 
 
all
 
of 
 
this
 
is
 
to
 
present
 
the
 
world
 
with
 
an
 
image
 
of 
 
Bill
 
Bradley
 
as
 
a
 
sort
 
of 
 
Ivy
 
League
 
Scarlet
 
Pimpernel,
 
a
 
Princeton
 
aristocrat
 
who
 
has
 
descended
 
into
 
the
 
netherworld
 
 
of 
 
Presidential
 
Politics
 
in
 
the
 
guise
 
of 
 
a
 
mysterious
 
and
 
reluctant
 
lone
 
hero
 
intent
 
on
 
protecting
 
America's
 
decent
 
folk.
 
Bradley
 
is
 
painted
 
everywhere
 
as
 
a
 
man
 
of 
 
our
 
time,
 
a
 
net
 
literate
 
("Bradley
 
is
 
doing
 
especially
 
well
 
among
 
'new
 
economy'
 
Democrats,
 
who
 
work
 
with
 
technology
 
and
 
are
 
plugged
 
into
 
the
 
digital
 
marketplace,"
 
saysThe
 
Washington
 
Post;
 
Newsweek 
 
describes
 
election
 
day
 
in
 
New
 
Hampshire
 
as
 
being
 
"the
 
day
 
when
 
stock
 
in
 
BillBradley.com
 
goes
 
public"),
 
a
 
hip
 
MTV
age
 
athlete
celebrity
 
(
Newsweek 
 
droolingly
 
noted
 
that
 
Michael
 
Jordan
 
himself 
 
might
 
eventually
 
play
 
a
 
key
 
role
 
in
 
Bradley's
 
campaign),
 
and
 
a
 
public
 
figure
 
who
 
blends
 
in
 
nicely
 
with
 
the
 
material
 
furnishings
 
of 
 
our
 
turn
of 
the
century
 
lives
 
("the
 
Adlai
 
Stevenson
 
of 
 
the
 
SUV
 
set"
‐‐
the
 
Washington
 
Post).
 
Like
 
the
 
Scarlet
 
Pimpernel,
 
he's
 
good
 
people,
 
one
 
of 
 
us,
 
and
 
his
 
politician's
 
mask
 
is
 
 just
 
that,
 
a
 
mask,
 
a
 
humble
 
but
 
necessary
 
tool
 
to
 
help
 
disguise
 
his
 
good
 
breeding
 
for
 
the
 
greater
 
good.
 
Bradley's
 
support
 
in
 
the
 
polls
 
grows
 
daily.
 
The
 
latest
 
Newsweek 
 
poll
 
has
 
him
 
with
 
36%
 
support
 
among
 
New
 
Hampshire
 
voters
 
compared
 
to
 
Vice
 
President
 
Al
 
Gore's
 
46%,
 
and
 
the
 
magazine
 
cheerfully
 
claims
 
the
 
gap
 
is
 
"narrowing".
 
New
 
stories
 
appear
 
in
 
the
 
press
 
every
 
day
 
noting
 
the
 
panic
 
in
 
Gore's
 
camp
 
before
 
the
 
Bradley
 
 juggernaut.
 
One
 
New 
 
York 
 
Times
 
article
 
noted
 
with
 
undisguised
 
glee
 
last
 
week
 
that
 
Gore's
 
friends,
 
obviously
 
desperate
 
to
 
stop
 
the
 
Bradley
 
onslaught
 
at
 
any
 
cost,
 
have
 
even
 
begun
 
talking
 
up
 
Gore
 
as
 
a
 
basketball
 
player
 
in
 
his
 
own
 
right.
 
Times
 
writers
 
Melinda
 
Hennenberger
 
and
 
Jane
 
Gross
 
tacked
 
the
 
following
 
sneering
 
parenthetical
 
comment
 
onto
 
that
 
news:
 
"(Note
 
to
 
Gore
 
2000:
 
The
 
vice
president,
 
who
 
averaged
 
2.6
 
points
 
a
 
game
 
at
 
Harvard
 
in
 
his
 
freshman
 
year,
 
might
 
well
 
be
 
advised
 
to
 
concede
 
the
 
basketball
 
primary.)"
 
Media
 
support
 
for
 
the
 
Bradley
 
candidacy
 
is
 
so
 
blind
 
in
 
its
 
enthusiasm
 
that
 
reporters
 
have
 
regularly
 
overlooked
 
obvious
 
factual
 
contradictions
 
in
 
order
 
to
 
preserve
 
his
 
hero
status
 
image.
 
In
 
fact,
 
the
 
Bradley
 
media
 
blitz
 
reminds
 
me
 
a
 
lot
 
of 
 
the
 
universally
 
indulgent
 
treatment
 
that
 
Russia's
 
"privatization
 
czar"
 
Anatoly
 
Chubais
 
received
 
from
 
foreign
 
reporters
 
until
 
very
 
recently.
 
Like
 
Chubais,
 
who
 
was
 
being
 
championed
 
as
 
a
 
crusader
 
for
 
fair
 
play
 
even
 
as
 
he
 
openly
 
orchestrated
 
bogus
 
auctions
 
and
 
took
 
payoffs
 
from
 
gangsters,
 
Bradley
 
is
 
constantly
 
given
 
credit
 
for
 
being
 
that
 
which
 
any
 
rational
 
observer
 
could
 
see
 
that
 
he
 
patently
 
is
 
not.
 
The
 
most
 
preposterous
 
claim
 
the
 
press
 
puts
 
forward
 
about
 
Bradley
 
is
 
that
 
he
 
doesn't
 
want
 
to
 
be
 
President
 
very
 
much.
 
Newsweek 
 
noted
 
that
 
Republican
 
John
 
McCain
 
and
 
Bradley
 
"don't
 
seem
 
to
 
need
 
to
 
win
 
to
 
be
 
complete",
 
while
 
the
 
Washington
 
Post 
 
said
 
that
 
Bradley
 
"gives
 
off 
 
an
 
air...of 
 
distate
 
for
 
politics
 
as
 
usual."
 
These
 
stories
 
came
 
out
 
simulateneously
 
with
 
much
 
the
 
less
publicized
 
revelation
 
in
 
 Adweek 
 
Magazine
 
that
 
Bradley
 
has
 
been
 
working
 
with
 
a
 
high
powered
 
team
 
of 
 
Madison
 
Avenue
 
advertising
 
executives
 
for
 
almost
 
16
 
months
 
now
 
in
 
preparation
 
for
 
the
 
election,
 
not
 
the
 
behavior
 
of 
 
a
 
man
 
who
 
doesn't
 
want
 
very
 
strongly
 
to
 
be
 
president.
 
Descriptions
 
of 
 
Bradley's
 
supposed
 
reluctance
 
for
 
office
 
also
 
often
 
come
 
alongside
 
the
 
observation
 
that
 
Bradley
 
has
 
been
 
very
 
cautious
 
in
 
his
 
public
 
statements
 
to
 
date,
 
has
 
repeatedly
 
ducked
 
debates
 
with
 
Gore
 
or
 
insisted
 
on
 
debating
 
during
 
obscure
 
low
ratings
 
TV
 
and
 
radio
 
time
 
slots,
 
and
 
has
 
"conveniently"
 
rediscovered
 
a
 
love
 
for
 
basketball
 
after
 
having
 
shown
 
no
 
virtually
 
no
 
interest
 
in
 
the
 
game
 
at
 
all
 
since
 
retiring
 
from
 
the
 
NBA.
 
"Only
 
rather
 
recently,"
 

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