11/22/00 4:50 p.m.
Can’t We Play Dirty Too?
It’s time to gouge some eyes.

By Jack Dunphy*, an officer of the Los Angeles Police Department

y sanity was at risk.

I stopped watching the farcical events unfolding in Florida when Jesse Jackson made his first appearance. I simply couldn't bear it any longer. Here was the same crowd who told us that sex wasn't really sex, that perjury wasn't really perjury, even that is wasn't really is, these people were now lecturing us on the rule of law. Here was the sublime irony of the son of Richard J. Daley, perhaps the greatest fixer in modern political history, weighing in on the importance of honesty and integrity in the counting of ballots. If I continued to watch, they would soon be coming for me in the rubber truck.

For two weeks I have confined my television viewing to sports, primarily football, of course. Football fans know that once a ball carrier has "broken the plane" of the end zone he has scored a touchdown, and that even if he then fumbles the ball to see it recovered by the opposing team the touchdown still stands. Fans also know that referees can be imprecise in their judgement of such events, and that a loose ball can change hands several times as players bite, gouge eyes, and engage in all manner of thuggery at the bottom of a dog pile before the officials can rush in to sort things out.

What we are witnessing in Florida is the aftermath of a hard-fought drive to the end zone. The Bush team scored on the final play of the game, but they are now getting jobbed by the officials — the Florida supreme court — who refuse to whistle the play dead. The refs blithely stand by as the vice president's teammates, including the swarm charging in from the bench, pile on, and wrest the ball from the governor's bleeding hands.

"Look what they're doing!" the Republicans say to the officials. "They're cheating! We won the game fair and square! What about the rules?"

"Rules, schmules," the justices answer. "The rules are what we say they are, and this game ain't over till we say it's over." The sages in the press box, their money and their hearts on the Democratic side, nod their assent. "Sounds good to us," they say.

So the game continues, and the advantage belongs to those who can play rough. In this contest, it's like the nice kids from Sidwell Friends taking on the team from the local prison. All those dimpled and hanging chads will be thrown into the Gore pile, and all the pregnant ones will be allowed to gestate into full-term Gore votes. (Only a baby can be aborted, you see, never anything so precious as a chad.) Soon we'll see William Daley or someone of his ilk on MSNBC saying, with a straight face, that the dog ate several thousand Gore votes, which should now be added to the vice president's total. No problem, the Florida supreme court will say.

And when it's all over the Republicans will be left standing in dumfounded silence as the Democrats tear down the goal posts and carry their hero from the field.

Doesn't anyone on our team know how to play dirty?

(*Jack Dunphy is the author's nom de cyber. The opinions expressed are his own and almost certainly do not reflect those of the LAPD management .)