After last night’s 3rd and final debate (with apologies to Budd Schulberg’s On the Waterfront):
Act III, Scene 6 - PLACING THE BLAME
Int. Hofstra University Debate Hall – Night
Deserted. Bob Scheiffer is gone. The people and media types are gone.
Barack and Michelle are gone. Cindy McCain is gone. In a darkened dressing
room, only George Bush and John McCain remain. Tension and the threat of
violence in the air.
Look, kid, er, old man, I - how much you weigh, John?
When you weighed one hundred and sixty-eight pounds
you were beautiful. You coulda been another Billy Conn,
and that skunk you got for a campaign manager, he brought
you along too fast.
It wasn't him, George, it was you. Remember that night
in the Senate you came down to my dressing room and you
said, "Kid, er, old man, this ain't your night. The country’s
going for the price on Obama." You remember that? "This
ain't your night"! My night! I coulda taken Obama apart!
So what happens? He gets the title shot on January 20th
outdoors in D.C. and what do I get? A one-way ticket
to Palooka-ville! You was my President, George, you shoulda
looked out for me a little bit. You shoulda taken care of me just
a little bit so I wouldn't have to take them dives for the short-end money.
Oh I had some bets down for you. You married that beer
heiress. You saw some money.
You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a
contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which
is what I am, let's face it. It was you, George.