Think of me as the hero of H. G. Wells’s The Time Machine, bursting into your present, my clothes all tattered and torn, and on my face an expression of dire horror and impending doom. For I am afraid I have a terrible message to impart. I have just seen the future. Our future. And I’m sorry to say, it sucks. You thought Winfield United was going to make everything okay, right? Even if you didn’t vote for them in the past, you’re kind of hoping that some good must surely come of it. We’ve been told by the President of Winfield United that Hoover-revisited guy, that their village board was going to magically sweep away all those bad things with their magic WU broom. Right?
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha……………
That’s the sound of me laughing darkly, by the way. You see, where we are now, and where we were before we fell under the spell of Winfield United, and elected the prototype of Winfield United’s end of the alphabet guy. The person’s name is Deborah Birutis, someone to whom you’re likely quite well disposed. But what you’re more likely to know—is what a mess she made of this town.
Now that pretty much all of Winfield has woken up from that six-year malaise of Winfield United with a screaming headache, noticed that their town has regressed, their leafs have piled up, their property values trashed, their police protection compromised, their streets rife with potholes, their fund balances carelessly spent, people have started to wonder: “Huh? Did someone drug me? Why didn’t I see that one coming?”
As one who did see it coming, I find it hard to summon much sympathy. It’s like Dr. Faustus complaining when, having been granted the power to enjoy his every earthly fantasy, the devil turns up at the end to steal away his soul. It’s like the citizens of Hamlyn complaining when, having welshed on their deal with the Pied Piper, he lures all their children inside the mountain. You just want to give these guys a good shake—maybe a brisk slap for good measure—and say: “Did you think it was going to come FREE, this once-in-a-lifetime wonder deal you made with the mysterious, bald stranger you met at the corner of Waterford and Winfield Roads at midnight?”
The bad news is that you’re about to go through the same experience again. That bald stranger is going to once again try and persuade most of Winfield, as Winfield United persuaded most residents before, that the impossible is true: that their agenda and their candidates can work hand in hand with the residents, that Winfield United’s meddling in your life will not make your life more difficult for you, that Winfield United knows better how to spend your money than you do, that economic and growth are dirty words, that new taxes are a good and noble idea that has been misapplied and misrepresented and is now ripe for another try, only this time they’re going to ask for more.
So what, if any, consolation do I have to offer you in these dark and difficult times? Precious little, I’m afraid. Virtually nothing in fact, save the warm, self-affirmatory glow you get when someone tells you you’re right, that some day your beliefs will be vindicated, that however long it takes, reality and the truth will win out. It isn’t easy being right when pretty much everyone else is wrong. There’s not a lot you can do to stop the deluge of misery which is going to hit you if you leave Winfield United in charge. But forewarned is forearmed. The more of you who know what to expect of Winfield United, the more of you will be ready to resist and restrain their wilder advances.
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