Here's to Scooter, a dumb, true believer

In the news: Scooter Libby found guilty. Well, duh. And not just because he was obviously lying; but because this was his job; to take the bullet for some horrible fucker and, in the process, to perhaps inspire some measure of odd respect for his loyalty. History is full of people like him. But then, what would it have sounded like if he had told the truth, anyway? "So, did Cheney want Valerie Plame outed?" "Oh, you mean Satan? yeah, sure," "So, it is your testimony that Cheney is Satan?" "Yeah, everybody thinks its Karl Rove, but he's just the front man. Karl's an evil fucker though, don't get me wrong." And so on.

Hey, we all need somebody. Reagan needed Oliver North. Cheney needed Scooter Libby. You need somebody. I need somebody. It's a matter of who we need, and that's a measure of who we are. Cheney is a sneaky, evil shit; he needed some sucker to take the fall for him. I can barely count and need someone who will make sure the mortgage gets paid. The guy at the taco stand needs people who don't get horrible gas from beans, or better, who don't care. It's always something; and so, it's always someone.

But what does it mean to be the one who got needed? Making paper airplanes while your girlfriend writes the mortgage check? Rich? In prison? Left on the curb wondering what the fuck just happened? I have to wonder if Scooter will lie in prison in the middle of the night, listening to the rats feet on the linoleum, thinking "Scooter, you stupid son of a bitch." "Why didn't you just stay home and run that hardware store, Scooter?" "Why didn't you just open that moped dealership, Scooter?" "You just had to work for Satan, didn't you, Scooter?" Or whatever a guy named Scooter thinks in prison in the middle of the night while the rats scrabble and Cheney farts after an overpriced dinner of steak and scotch, and blames it on somebody else.

And yet, I somehow respect the guy, because as stupid as I think he is, at least he was really dedicated to someone, and to something. And beyond what we need, what we can and cannot commit to might really be the measure of who we are. Here's to you, Scooter Libby; you're a dumb fucker, but at least you believe in something. Maybe we could all learn a little something from you.