President Strug – Fiction

President Strug

by Jeff Williams
illustration by Jef Taylor

With the elections fast approaching, I’m reminded of Kerri Strug, the itsy-bitsy U.S. gymnast who won everyone’s heart at the Olympics when she cracked her ankle on her balance beam dismount, yet managed to smile through it all. She is a charmer. She is also a monster.

Truly, can there be anything more frightening than the power wierded by a tot so drenched in cuteness? How could any adult even dream of formulating the word “No” to any request from her? Daddy, can I have one of those giant frosted pretzels?” “Mommy, won’t you buy me a Ferrari? It’s just got to be cherry red!” “Jimmy, if you kill Mr. Mutton, the Science teacher, you just KNOW there wouldn’t be a test on Friday.” “Now that I’m President, you people don’t really think we NEED to have a whole Congress anymore, do you?” And Kerri Strug most certainly could become President.

I mean, this kid makes Mary Lou Retton look like Eleanor Roosevelt. Think about what a giant soft spot the American people have for anything cuddly: the Russians didn’t need to put missiles in Cuba, they should’ve just coaxed us all onto some marshy islands with a box of labrador puppies (actually rabid wolverines in disguise). We’d go like lemmings. The only people remaining would be the most bitter, old, jaded cusses… well, OK, maybe just Bob Dole. Maybe we’d better elect the guy – he may be our only defense against the Cult of Cute.

But Dole, in his reliance on his allegedly heroic past, may already be repeating the mistake of George Bush: “Remember me? I won that Gulf War thing? SAD-Dam?” It was especially pathetic as it was Ronald Reagan (the one who willed Bush the Presidency) who had perfected the technique of leading with “The Heartwarming Anecdote” which allowed us to feel good about ourselves while receiving monumental national kidney punches. The Democrats simply scooped up the fumble with “The Boy From Hope” and spiked it on the hapless Bush.

A Strug candidacy would close the circle, marrying the anecdote to the storyteller. A walking, breathing (and flipping and cartwheeling), warm and cuddly anecdote. What we really need to do is go the next step and personalize the struggle. I envision one of those bare-knuckled “Ultimate Fighting” Matches being decried, yet repeatedly shown on such conscientious shows as Hard Copy, between Kerri Strug and Bob Dole. The funny and sad part would be that Strug could EASILY whip Dole’s ass. There would be this sweating, old, doddering man on the mat, trying to raise himself back up with his one good arm, while Kerri dances around the once Grand Ol’ Nominee, kicking it out from under him, while waving her two good arms to the weeping and wildly cheering crowd.

Go, U.S.A.!