This is what we've come to: On Monday afternoon, as those who enthuse about such things awaited news of President Donald Trump's nominee for the Supreme Court, a cable television network cut to cameras outside the home of Judge Amy Coney Barrett to show us that she was busily collecting towels from the porch and carrying them inside — and therefore wasn't in Washington and couldn't be the nominee. Breaking news!
That's who we've become, a nation for whom even selecting Supreme Court justices is part of our political game show. We listen eagerly for the call of “come on down” that identifies the next Running Man so that we can follow every minute as he (sometimes she) races through the gantlet of fearsome interest groups across the spectrum, finally arriving on the set, the hearing room of the Senate Judiciary Committee, where the questioning is half “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” (“Now, the next round is harder ...”) and half “Family Feud” (“Sorry, judge, but the survey said ...”).
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