In the back room of the Old Ebbitt, Jack and Evan hurried through the door and took their places next to Bob at the bar.
Evan pointed at the closest beer tap and while the bartender filled the glass, he said to Bob, “I can’t believe you wanted to watch the debate tonight.”
Bob eyed him over the top of his glass of Scotch.
“I’ll have one beer with you, then I’m out of here.” The bartender slid over the beer and Evan picked it up with both hands. “I would rather watch the Redskins get killed again.”
Jack nodded. “Yeah, Bob. I don’t get it either.”
“No, apparently you don’t. This is going to be better than “Breaking Bad.” Hell, better than Shakespeare.”
Evan and Jack stared at him.
“Lincoln Chaffee and Bernie Sanders will both channel Don Quixote and we will watch them, much as we look into faces of some of the early contestants on “American Idol,” to see what on earth they could be thinking? How did these people get on that stage? Did their mothers praise them too much? Do they have an undiagnosed brain tumor? How can they have so little self-awareness?
“And what about O’Malley?” Bob slipped off his stool and held on to the bar. “Will he be able to keep a straight face while bragging about his fabulous record in Maryland, where even the Democrats have contempt for him?”
Jack nodded. “Is Jim Webb, former Secretary of the Navy, going to sit there and smile at Hillary Clinton, or is he going to rip into her for jeopardizing lives with her criminally negligent handling of classified data? ”
“That’s the idea.” Bob climbed back on the stool.
“So Hillary has done debates before. I can’t watch that. I’m going to get the check.”
Bob shrugged. “Yes, and she’s awful. She has to go off script. Hillary ad-libbing. It does sound a little painful, but think of the drama. We could be seeing the end. Are you going to miss that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe if Biden was there,“ Jack sighed.
“Biden? Oh, it’s all about Biden.” Bob sipped his drink through a sly smile. “Biden is going to be there alright.”
“What have you heard? Biden is coming?”
“If Hillary implodes, he is going to step in her expensive designer heels faster than you can say “What difference does it make?””
Evan put his beer down. “So you think he’s running?”
“This is what he’s waiting for. This and the Benghazi testimony. If she fades, he will step over her corpse. Her organization will surround him and the Obama people who have been recalcitrant will rush to his side.” He swirled the ice and waved to the bartender.
“Okay. Let’s get another round. We have to figure out the #drinkinggame.” Jack pulled out his phone. “I’ll check Twitter. Get ready.”
Update 9:44: Ok, gang. Climate change. Go. No wait. “Free.”