What goes around, comes around.
By Ian Millhiser
Indelible in the hippocampus is the anger. The rage. The red faced, snarling incomprehension from Brett, who spent decades preparing for his ascension, only to have it threatened by some woman he claims not to remember assaulting. Brett was careful. Brett came from the right family. Took the right jobs. Made all the right friends. And wrote all the right opinions. When excessive partisanship was a liability for men seeking ascension, Brett artfully said nothing about Obamacare. When ideological purity became fashionable, Brett made sure everyone knew he would overrule That Decision. Brett. Went. To. Yale. But now she was here. And she wanted Brett to pay for something that men like him do not pay for. “I love coaching more than anything I have ever done in my whole life,” Brett screamed to his inquisitors. “But thanks to what some of you on this side of the committee have unleashed, I may never be able to coach again.” (Brett still coaches.)