An Alternative History of Sean Spicer

So, like everyone else in the populated universe, I’ve watched with considerable fascination the departure of Sean Spicer from his sublimely agonizing role as White House spokesperson these past few days. I gather, from what I read on the web, that he left as he came in—with a final snarl at the press he was supposed to be wooing.

It is hard to have sympathy for him, of course. He knew the job was going to be horrible when he took it. And he clearly lacked some of the fundamental skills required to be a PR person. Likability, being one of them. Yet, in spite of that, I (like, I’d guess, a lot of people) still found something sad in his departure, and even felt a little sorry for him. His task was, after all, impossible—to make the rantings of our current commander in chief something like a coherent statement.

So it is that I like to envision a different future for him. Yes, I know it will not happen. I know it is impossible. Yet...what a wonderful thing it would be for him, and for us, if rather then slink off in a sulk to seek that final and total obscurity which is the normal lot for such men, he had instead left the White House, hailed a cab, and gone directly to the offices of the Washington Post. And that, once there, he’d sung like a canary. Or, rather, not a canary, but like the entire, combined cast of Wagner’s Ring cycle, from Wotan to Fafner to Brünnhilde and back again, complete with thunder, hail, and gargling Gibichungs...

And, after that...he’d caught a shuttle north and shown up, unannounced, at the offices of SNL, with a bouquet of roses for Melissa McCarthy, and, for the writers and producers, an offer of one free episode, with himself as a reporter, and her, as himself, in that former, sadder, and more torturous role.


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BTW, I read today that in his first post-resignation interview, Mr. Spicer said he rather enjoyed Ms. McCarthy’s impression of him, though sometimes she went “too far.”

So, who is to say? Maybe the above scenario is not completely impossible. Merely almost so.

And, for him at least, therefore all the more sad. For you see, revenge may or may not be living well. But it can certainly be found in a guest shot, and making your choicest enemies appear the most exquisite of all possible idiots.