Borking Mad

Count Peggy Noonan among the right wingers stamping their tiny feet and cursing Daddy for just ruining the Supreme Court for them. Being a unbalanced lunatic, Peggy posits that Harriet Miers' confirmation will depend on her choice of hairstylist:

What everyone forgets about the case of Robert Bork in his confirmation hearings is that regular people watched him, listened to the workings of his fabulous and exotic mind, saw the intensity, the hunger for intellectual engagement, caught the whiff of brandy and cigars and angels dancing, noticed the unusual hair, the ambivalent whiskers, and thought, "Who's this weirdo?" They did the same thing with Arthur Liman in the Oliver North hearings. I am not saying Americans are swept by the superficial.

Yes, everyone forgots that because it never happened, except in Noonan's addled brain.

Peggy then offers a football analogy:

That having been said, the Meirs pick was another administration misstep. The president misread the field, the players, their mood and attitude. He called the play, they looked up from the huddle and balked. And debated. And dissed. Momentum was lost. The quarterback looked foolish.

Peg's understanding of football, it seems, comes from repeated, late-night viewings of her favorite parts of Knute Rockne, All-American.

The substance of Peggy's column is that Miers is no Robert Bork, that Bush is no Robert Bork and that the American people are no Robert Bork. And she really could use another brandy and a cigar.