After bearing witness to the shambolic main event on the Denver card last evening wherein the red-eyed challenger from (tba) had the effrontery to land several stinging jabs at the seemingly diffident gentleman in blue from (tba) in whose hands many have entrusted their prosperity, if not their posterity, I exited the arena myself reeling with a disoriented feeling, a sense of being, in the words of the late Christopher Hitchens, (or was it Winston Churchill?) "bruised, battered, and buggered." (Or in my own poor choice of words, as battered as a filet-o-fish being lowered into a cauldron of roiling oil). Fortunately, however, being a modern man (for my age) I have an attention span that can be measured in bites of sound, and a memory that can be measured solely by its relative paucity of kilobytes, so I awoke this morning only able to recall the following salient blows landed during the first round of these so-called "debates."
Firstly, I was struck by the tenacity with which the Republican who somehow, heuristically, perhaps, made the best of his innate talent for imposture and dealt short, swift, shots to the insouciant southpaw; and dumped a tautology [flurry] of baleful ignominy upon the Democrat.
Secondly, the crowd which had gathered to attend this long-awaited conflagration were foresworn to silence, thus disabling their deliverance of the appropriate amount of opprobrium due to the hard-punching outlier. The entropy of the incumbent, though, was palpable.
Finally, not being one to repine, I must confess that the referee of the contest (who I like as much as his doppelganger, Walter Cronkite) was rebarbative, to the nth degree. The whole affair hung upon me throughout the day like the redolent circumambience of another long-gone, widely-touted battle, one that took place in a distant ring when the sonorous Max Baer plucked the crown from the swollen head of another gentle giant, Primo Carnera.