I believe in second chances – even third and fourth chances – but not for Penn State

By Kevin Canessa Jr.
The Canessa Corner

Tuesday, 17 July 2012 – 

I've lived a life filled with ups and downs. I've wronged people, and I've been wronged. I've asked for second chances – even third and fourth chances – and I've granted the same to others as well. Lord knows, I've survived because of those chances granted me. But there's one spot – one place, one sport, one incident – where I just cannot see granting a second chance. And though I won't be popular among some of its alums (some are friends, some are former students), I just cannot see granting a second chance to Penn State University after the findings of former F.B.I. Director Louis Freeh.

Let me take a step back first.

Former F.B.I. Director Louis Freeh

I really like Freeh. I always have, going back to when it was first announced, I guess in 1993, that the North Bergen, N.J., native was being tapped by President Bill Clinton to lead the nation's top law-enforcement agency. Hell, it's not often one gets to claim the F.B.I.'s director was born in the same city [Jersey City] and comes from the very same county. So yes, I am biased. I like Freeh and I find him to be one of the greatest law-enforcers of a generation.

So it should come as no shock that while I was astounded by what I read, I found it refreshing someone really got to the core of what happened at Penn State with former and disgraced coach Jerry Sandusky.

And when he got to the bottom of things, despite denials from the Paterno family, we learned what we all suspected – that Joe, the patriarch of the family, of Penn State, of Penn State football – was grossly negligent and did hardly enough to help the young boys entrusted to the care of the monster that was and is Sandusky.

One of the reasons, among many, that I decided to no longer teach at Catholic schools – I did so for seven years of my life – and one of the reasons I completely divorced myself from the Catholic Church in general was the way it handled the priest sex-abuse crisis of the early 2000s. Of course, the crisis had long been prevalent, having started decades upon decades before everything really spun out of control. But I was there in the early 2000s. I saw first-hand how the crisis was handled.

And folks, it was abysmal.

What was most disturbing about it all – and this clearly happened at Penn State, too – was that if I, as a teacher, witnessed, first-hand, a colleague of mine, engaged in any sort of sexual abuse and sexual activity with a minor, a student, by policy, I was not allowed to contact the police or the proper authorities on my own. Instead, as it seems happens all too often in large institutions, teachers who witnessed or who were aware of the sexual abuse of a minor were, by policy, only permitted to tell a school chief – like the principal, headmaster, dean or in parish schools, the pastor. That person, then, would be responsible for bringing the news and details to the authorities.

You see, this was PRECISELY what caused these sex-abuse scandals to spiral out of control in the first place – and clearly, the same at Penn State. The men and women entrusted with the responsibility for reporting such news properly didn't do that in so many cases. In the church, these so-called leaders, who failed abysmally, instead often swept allegations under the proverbial rug. In many cases, when priests were involved – which was the majority of the time – they'd often be transferred, or simply admonished. But they'd often remain in ministry.

And they often struck again.

I couldn't understand why if I saw, with my own two eyes, some sort of abuse, I couldn't bring it to police on my own. For the love of god, if I saw a child/teen being abused, not only would I do everything within my power to immediately stop what I saw, I'd be prone to immediately reporting it to law enforcement. I couldn't wait. When kids are being abused, there's absolutely no room for waiting.

The abuse needs to be halted immediately – and regardless of what the policy is, it needs to be reported to the cops immediately.

Immediately.

Not when the principal feels it's time.

Not when the pastor thinks the time's right.

Not when, say, the president of Penn State University thinks it's time.

Immediately.

And because of institutional policies – and because he wanted to protect his own reputation, the school's reputation, the football program's reputation – Paterno kept his mouth shut, deafeningly so. And he says he didn't quite understand what was going on?

What, in the name of the lord, wasn't understandable about what former coach Mike McQueary said he saw in the showers? What wasn't understandable about what numerous kids said happened to them between 1998 and 2002?

Jerry Sandusky's mug, taken after
he was finally incarcerated.

To say or believe Paterno was doing anything but covering up the truth for PR's sake is disingenuous. He was fully aware Sandusky's behavior was criminal and monsterous. And he sad by, idly – and not only didn't he stop it all from happening, he allowed the monster to take his prey, innocent young boys, on to the Penn State campus to rape them. To sodomize them. To rip their very innocence away like very few others ever could or would.

He preferred image over justice.

He chose institution over humanity.

And yet somehow, the statue on "his" campus lists him as a humanitarian?

Joseph Paterno changed lives for many of his players. He turned boys into men. He sent some to the National Football League. He made poor kids, rich men. He gave a lifetime of loyalty in ways very few others have or could.

But he also could have stopped so much carnage. He could have saved kids from having lifetimes of pure, unadulterated hell. But instead, he turned his back. He looked the other way. He did the wrong thing.

A statue paying hommage to Joe Paterno on campus.

Now, just about the only right thing Penn State can do at this point is to tear down that statue to Mr. Paterno.

Because if they leave it up, they're still saying they care more about history and image than they do those poor kids.

And when the history books get updated, let's face it, all that good will and should be wiped away by his awful inactions over his once-good actions.

Because aside from taking a life, there's nothing more abhorrent than taking away the innocence of a young child.

And Paterno's inaction did just that.

And that, sad to say, is unforgivable and unworthy of a second chance.

Just ask those poor kids – the victims.

They deserved a chance to get away from Sandusky, but never could – and never will for as long as they live.

The opinions expressed herein are solely those of the writer. Follow Kevin Canessa Jr. on Twitter @kevincanessa. Click here to send feedback directly to Kevin.

Back to Blogging — First Stop: The Mets (Again)

My ticket stub from Game 6
 of the 1986 World Series

When Keith Hernandez flew out to make the second out of Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, I picked up my hot chocolate, wrapped up my blanket and forcefully asked, at age 12, if my mom would be willing to leave Big Shea before the final out was made. We were sitting in the far reaches of left-field, in fair territory, surrounded by hoards of Boston Red Sox fans who just wanted to yell and scream for their team, which hadn't at that point won a championship since 1918.

I wanted no part of this — at all.

"Kevin, sit the f*** down right now," my mom said, screaming above the cheers of the Boston fans. "It's not over and we're not going anywhere."

Much to my chagrin, I stayed. We stayed. And the rest, as they say, was history. Gary Carter, Kevin Mitchell, Ray Knight and Mookie Wilson did their work. And Calvin Schiraldi and Bob Stanley, well, they didn't.

Wow was I happy afterward that my mother didn't give in to my requests. If she had, we would have missed perhaps the most exciting game in baseball history.

Fast forward to 2011 — 25 years later — and it's unfathomable to believe that aside from a few moments of drama, that day, Oct. 25, 1986, was one of the last days of importance for a franchise that resides in New York City.

There weer some great moments after, sure. Like in 1999 when, on yet another wild pitch, the Mets clinched a Wild-Card tie at Shea in a dramatic game against the Pirates. There was Todd Pratt's series-ending homer against Arizona in the 1999 NLDS (I refuse to call it a 'walk-off'). There was Bobby Jones's one-hit shutout in the 2000 NLDS against the Giants. There was Mike Piazza's improbable homerun in 2001, just 10 days after the Sept. 11, 2001 terror attacks. 

And sadly, the good memories — aside for the aforementioned few — have been hard to come by. At all.

This is a team still without a no-hit, no-run baseball game pitched. This is a team that epically collapsed twice in the last 2000s with leads that would have sent them to the post-season as NL East Division Champs. This is a team now more associated with Bernard Madoff than it is the game of baseball, and quite frankly, it's sickening.

When the Wilpon Family sold part of their team for $200 million the other day, one might have thought this was a sign of good things to come. Yet how could it be?

Much of that money will be spent to pay down old debt. Some will be spent to make this year's payroll. None, likely, will be spent to make the team better. In fact, we're told it might get even worse than this before it gets better.

I'm at a point right now, as are so many others, where I'm asking myself on a daily basis why I bother continuing to root for this team. It's made even more impossible to enjoy this team as a fan of two other organisations that are run more professionally than any others in sports — the NY Giants and NJ Devils.

Year after year, I'm back. Year after year, the frustration grows.

Year after year, I pray the Wilpons will sell the team.

The finally did — but too small a percentage of it.

And until they sell a majority of the team, it's now gotten to the point where I refuse to spend a penny on anything Mets-related.

Are you ready to join me, or have you done so already?

It's Time for All Americans to Truly Remember What Happened on Sept. 11, 2001

In just a month, America will pause yet again to remember the tragic day that gripped the world on Sept. 11, 2001.

Lest we forget — and sadly, there are many who have already forgotten this — on that fateful day, 2,974 lives were lost, including 343 New York City firefighters, 23 New York City police officers and 37 Port Authority police officers. Lest we forget, we will pause to remember the more than 200 people who decided that rather than burn to their death in fires that some estimate were in the thousands of degrees, it would be a better option to jump more than 1,000 feet to their ultimate death.

Lest we forget, we will pause to remember the more than 650 people from just one company — Cantor Fitzgerald — who lost their lives on that day. We will pause to remember the pilots, flight attendants, innocent children, business travelers, vacationers who boarded planes in Boston, Portland, Maine,  Newark, N.J.  and Washington, D.C., and never returned home to their loved ones, to their jobs, to their daycare centers, to their friends.

Lest we forget, we will pause to remember the brave men and women of Flight 93, who knew they were going to be the missile that launched either into the White House or the Capitol — and who instead decided their own fate by taking over that United Airlines airplane, bringing it down into a field in that small Pennsylvania town whose name we’ll likely never forget, Shanksville.

Lest we forget, we will pause to remember the rescue workers who have since died because of their selfless work, looking to find the remains of those who perished before them.

We are eight years removed from that awful day, and yet somehow, many Americans — including some New Yorkers — pass by the site that once held the Twin Towers as though it were any plot of land being “built upon,” and not a sacred space where all those lives were senselessly lost.

We are eight years removed from that terrible day, and yet somehow — this blows the mind — there is not a permanent memorial yet built where the World Trade Center Towers once stood.

We are eight years removed from that day of carnage, and yet somehow, the mastermind of the entire plot, Osama bin Laden, still has not been captured and brought to justice for the lives he took without just cause. Yet still, there are some who fail to remember this. There are some who have completely forgotten about bin Laden and what he did that day.

We are eight years removed from that day of terror, when more than 10,000 people were able to escape the fires, falling debris, broken glass … only to become covered with that grey dust from head to toe — that same dust that turned day into night twice as both towers crumbled into shredded pieces of steel.

We are eight years removed from that day when so many, to save their lives, fled up streets, ducked into doorways and stores, hid underneath cars and inside cars, not knowing if they’d make it out alive — how could they know whether they’d be hit with fallen steel or other debris?

Yes, we are eight years removed from Sept. 11, 2001. And while there hasn’t been a terrorist attack on American soil since that day, we are a nation filled with so many people who forget what that day felt like — for those who lost someone and even for those who didn’t, but who nonetheless lived through the day’s events. So many have forgotten about that car ride or ferry ride home that Tuesday afternoon that took what probably seemed like an eternity. So many have forgotten about that awful smell that surrounded Ground Zero, Lower Manhattan, Jersey City, Hoboken and parts of Brooklyn for months after the attack — a smell which a combination of burning metal, debris, paper, wood, other elements and yes, human flesh.

In just an instant on Sept. 11, 2001, so much changed. Many said the day was one they’d not only never forget, but it was a day they’d grow from. This writer, who was just a few miles away from the World Trade Center that day — in Downtown Jersey City, N.J. — hasn’t forgotten a single detail about that day, down the most minute details of what I was wearing that day, what I had to eat and drink, what I listened to on the radio, what I saw and smelled.

Sadly, though, eight years removed from Sept. 11, 2001, there are those who have completely forgotten about that day and what it meant to this country.

Take a look at the pictures posted around these words — and if you’re one of those people, ask yourself “how?” The pictures don’t lie — nor do the words that recall that day. It’s a day no one should ever forget.

And it’s a day, the likes of which we should never have to face again. Yet the more we forget history, the more we are likely to repeat it, as the old saying goes.

It’s time for everyone, in all walks of life, to truly remember what happened on Sept. 11, 2001.

That time starts now.

Click here to read my reflections on the seventh anniversary of Sept. 11, 2001, from 2008.

Palin's disgraceful performance in interview with Charles Gibson signals doom if she gets elected with McCain

If there's ever been a time to question the absurdity of some Republican pundits--think Sean Hannity, Rush Limbaugh, Steve Malzberg, Bill O'Reilly--now's the time. Each of these four buffoons went on the air today and rated Sarah Palin's performance in her interview with Charles Gibson as remarkable.

Their ridiculous assessments--clouded by their already deep hatred for so many people in this country--demonstrate that no matter what a candidate says, no matter what a candidate does, the issues don't matter. Political parties do. And that's a shame.

Now please--don't write to me if you're going to complain about Joe Biden and Barack Obama. Now is not the time for that. This is solely about Palin and her underwhelming performance last night on ABC with Gibson.

There were so many instances where Palin failed abysmally that I won't even get into all of them. You can watch the video after you read this [I'll embed it below]. And after you watch the video, if you can honestly say, with a straight face, that Sarah Palin was successful and worthy in the interview, quite frankly, you should probably never come to this site again.

The vice presidential nominee didn't know what the Bush Doctrine was. She said she has national security experience because of the way she's dealt with the energy crisis in the country. She refused to answer tough questions.

And yet, she'd be one heartbeat away from being the leader of the Free World if she and Sen. John McCain are elected in November. I cannot even begin to fathom this.

Folks, today, Malzberg said he believed her broad experience in Alaska--coupled with her ability to speak well--makes her an ideal VP candidate. He said she's going to tear Joe Biden to shreds when the two debate later this month. Are you kidding me, Steve?

It blows my mind there are people in this country who think her experience governing one of the least-populated states in the union--and leading a town a quarter of the size of Kearny, N.J., has the experience and knowledge to lead this country into better times. It actually embarrasses me there are people in this country who think like this.

There has been talk about Obama being the least-experienced presidential candidate ever. This is a discussion for another day. But if you want to talk about inexperience--if you want to talk about someone who has no business being on a national ticket--you've got your gal in Sarah Palin.

What scares me even more is that she appeared beyond rehearsed in the interview with Gibson. Clearly, when she delivered her speech to the Republican National Convention a few weeks ago, she read from text prepared by people who have at least an understanding of what national government is all about.

Tell me folks--again, be honest here--do you really think Sarah Palin even understood what she was talking about in that speech? Do you honestly think a woman whose foreign travel includes trips to Mexico and Canada [next door]--all around one solitary trip to Kuwait and Iraq--has any clue what it takes to be VP? Do you really think a candidate who admittedly has never met a foreign head of state should be second in command to lead the United States of America?

This is one of the most embarrassing periods in American history. We're not even getting into the fool known as the current president. In November, the American people have a chance to elect a new president--and a new vice president.

And I'll say this with ease and without the fear of repercussions: If McCain and Palin win in November, my hope in this nation will be lost.

But I have faith that the American people are smarter than the likes of O'Reilly, Limbaugh, Hannity and Malzberg.

My goodness I better be right on this one.

Because if I am not, man will my faith in some Americans be completely shattered--forever.

Reflections on the 7th anniversary of 9.11.01

EVERY YEAR WHEN SEPT. 11 GETS CLOSER, I wind up saying to someone: “I can’t believe it’s been (however many) years since the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and Shanksville, Pa. Such is the case again this year—seven years after that awful day that saw nearly 3,000 people lose their lives. On my regular blog, The Hudson Line, I’ve shared, several times, my Sept. 11, 2001 experiences. This year, I do so for the first time for the readers of Sid Rosenberg’s Web site also. I hope you’ll indulge me as I share these memories. 

They say people who were old enough in 1963 always remember where they were when they learned President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. For a younger generation—one that wasn’t around in 1963—the same can be said of the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001.

It’s true.

Not only do I remember where I was—I remember precisely what I wore to work that day. I remember the songs I listened to as I drove into work. I remember almost every single minute of that day as if it were yesterday—not seven years ago.

It happened that Sept. 11, 2001 was the first full day of classes for me at St. Anthony High School. As my schedule had it, Monday, Sept. 10, I only had a handful of classes. Tuesday was the first day I had all five sections. It was first period. Senior religion. I was on the first floor of the dingy St. Anthony High School. It was room 101.

I had just walked over to my podium, from my desk, after having taken attendance for the first time. I took my course syllabi, and handed them to a then senior, Pedro Rodriguez. I asked Pedro to pass out the syllabi as I handed out the classroom rules and regulations. At that very moment, there was an intense boom. It was a sound that wasn’t too uncommon—after all, we were just three blocks away from the Holland Tunnel, and there are always trucks overturning or bouncing as they hit potholes.

But this boom was a little different. It was louder. Still, I thought nothing of it.

Pedro continued to pass out the syllabi. Within a minute, CJ Flaherty, a history teacher at St. Anthony’s, ran into the building from his trailer classroom outside that overlooked, of all things, the New York City Skyline—and the World Trade Towers. You see, St. Anthony’s is situated 2.5 miles to the west of the old towers. And you could draw an imaginary line from one of the Towers directly to the school building. When CJ came in, he was out of breath. He screamed at me to get to the door. I went over, tripping on my bag that I left aside the podium.

“Dude, the World Trade Center’s on fu**ing fire,” he said, his voice cracking.

“CJ, what the f**k are you talking about—don’t kid around like that,” was my response.

“I’ll stay here. Go outside on 8th Street and see for yourself,” he said.

And outside I went immediately, almost hoping that what he said was a sick joke to play a prank on me for all the pranks I pulled as a teacher.

We know that wasn’t the case—far from it. What I saw when I was outside is the last memory I have of the Towers—the Towers I saw each and every day I was in Jersey City. It’s a sight I just can’t erase, as hard as I  try.

I had a direct view of the north side of the North Tower. And in it, I’d later learn, was that first airplane—the one we all saw from the footage shot by the French documentarians filming the rookie in the New York City Fire Department. I hadn’t a clue an airplane hit. All I knew—all anyone knew at the time—was that there was an immense fire at the North Tower. We were in for an unforgettable, memorable day.

The late Brother James Redunski, who at the time was assistant principal at St. Anthony’s, came around to let us know, about 20 minutes or so later, that we should turn the televisions off. Yet before he did—only Channel 2 was working at the time since the antenna on the North Tower was obviously damaged—we saw on WCBS-TV another explosion—this time at the South Tower. Ironically, it was Pedro who recognized the second airplane coming around—no one else could tell.

“Holy, sh*t, Canessa,” he said. “That was an airplane.”

Everyone—and I mean everyone—sat in stunned silence, including a girl, Michelle, whose mother was working at the Trade Center. She began to cry when she realized it was likely her mom was in one of the buildings. She couldn’t remember which one, though.

Since we were a Catholic school, we all dropped everything and could do but one thing—pray. And then, believe it or not, we went on with what remained of the 40-minute class. By the end of the class, parents were coming to pick their kids up. Everyone had realized the trouble we were in.

Second period came and went—and I still hadn’t seen a thing other than the one moment I went outside. When third period arrived, many of the kids had been picked up—they went home. Michael McNutt, the dean of seniors at the time, came in to tell me the South Tower collapsed. Then the North Tower. Then he told me of the hit at the Pentagon.

It was at this point I gave up on teaching—too much was happening outside our doors. Since many New Jersey rescue units went into the city, they passed by St. Anthony’s to get to the Holland Tunnel. The sirens were deafening. The kids who remained—including a few who had a parent working at the Trade Center—were a mess. I can still recall one teen, who went on to play Division I college basketball, crying intensely. He couldn’t reach his mother. He thought she was dead.

We learned later she wasn’t.

The distractions aside from the sirens were hard to digest, too. Scores of people came by 8th Street. Some from buildings in Jersey City, others from the ferries that came from New York to the Jersey City waterfront. Some were covered by soot. Others had blood one them. Some were completely intact.

As the day went on, smells began to reach Jersey City. Clouds of grey smoke—smoke from the burning buildings, and as we’d later learn, smoke from burning flesh—made its way over the Hudson River to Downtown Jersey City. It was a scent I can still recall to this day—and it was one that lasted months.

By the time 2:30 arrived, mostly all the kids had been picked up. But for those who remained, they had to wait at school until they could be picked up. Members of the Jersey City Police Department stood at every single street corner within sight. The kids could not leave without an adult, per the commanding officer. Those who lived in New York City were put up for the night in the homes of teachers who lived close to school. Since the PATH was out of commission, and since the ferries were only taking people away from Manhattan, they had no way of getting back to their homes.

I left Jersey City at 4 p.m. I didn’t get home until 6 p.m. The traffic was at a standstill almost the entire way home. And in my mirror was the smoldering of the buildings. In my mirror was a reminder of what had just happened. It didn’t matter whether it took 20 hours to get home. All that mattered to me, at that moment, was knowing I was OK—and at that moment, all of the kids were, too.

There’s something I skipped chronologically on purpose—it was something so sinister it’s hard to even write about.

Back at around 11:30 a.m., one of my colleagues came around and made the following statement to me: “1010 WINS is reporting a nuclear bomb is on its way to New York.” Of course, there was a lot of mis-information out there that day. We also heard there was a fire on the Washington Mall—there wasn’t.

But when I was told there was a nuclear warhead on its way to New York, for the first and only time ever, I believed I was about to die. I stood in the parking lot during a break, all the while listening to Don Imus and Charles McCord, both of whom remained on the air after Imus’ scheduled show ending. I could hear the fear in Charles and Don’s voices. I was just as much in fear.

I wondered—when the nuke hit, would I feel it? Would it burn? Would I suffer? Would any of us suffer? Would it be long and drawn out? Would it be quick? These thoughts all went through my mind—yet when there was word the nuke attack was a false alarm, there was a sense of relief.

But what that happened Sept. 11, 2001 had any relieving qualities? It certainly wasn’t the jumpers. It wasn’t the lost lives. Nothing that day offered any relief. The kids who watched the jumpers jump and the Towers fall from a classroom window were scarred for life. The kids who didn’t know if their mom or dad was alive lived in agony.

The only thing that offered relief was the sheer notion that we were a united America. If only that lasted until now. For a short time in New York and Jersey, people were very kind to one another. People weren’t rude to each other. It was like nothing we’d ever seen before.

But that day—those incredible experiences—that’s something I can never forget. What a better world we’d be if people kept that spirit going. But it didn’t happen.

Still, seven years later, it’s clear many have forgotten that day. They’ve forgotten the people who jumped 100-plus stories to their deaths. They’ve forgotten the 343 firefighters who died. They’ve forgotten the 2,800-plus dead. They’ve forgotten almost everything about that day.

But I haven’t. I can’t. Having been so close, it’s impossible to forget any facet of that day.

As we approach the 7th anniversary of Sept. 11, 2001, I ask, as I have at every other anniversary of this day, for people to take some time to recall the events that transpired. I ask that if you believe in a higher power, you offer up some kind of prayer for the victims.

Sept. 11, 2001 is a day no one should ever forget. It’s a day you and I will remember for the rest of our lives. It’s our very own version of JFK’s assassination.

And wouldn’t every one of us give just about anything to have never had a day like Sept. 11, 2001? I know I would—but that is impossible.

And because of it, I will always remember the sacrifices made by countless brave men and women that day.

Will you?

McCain's bad decision with Palin

When John McCain announced today he picked Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin to be his vice-presidential running mate, you could almost hear a collective shout across the country.

What?!? Who?

That's right, folks. McCain picked Alaska's governor, a woman, to be his running mate. McCain chose the governor of Alaska to be one breath away from the presidency. He chose a woman who was mayor of a town in Alaska that had no more than 6,000 residents. He picked a woman whose state, population wise, is one of the smallest in the entire country.

And yet, most of today, I've been left to wonder: Where on earth is the outrage over this?

At the very least, James Danforth Quayle, vice president under Bush 41, had experience in the United States Senate. Palin, meanwhile, has about as much experience in politics as you or I do. And yet, God forbid, if McCain is elected, and if he's unable to serve out his term for whatever reason, Palin becomes the President of the United States of America.

Which leads me to wonder: Is ice fishing now a prerequisite for the vice presidency? Is having a license to carry a gun for hunting a prerequisite for the vice presidency? Is having experience governing fewer than 1 million people a prerequisite for the vice presidency?

Apparently, ask McCain and the answer is yes. And yet, though he wants the American people to believe Palin is an experienced, worldly politician who would, as he said, do well as the president, McCain completely forgot something today when he made this announcement.

The American people — the smart ones, at least — will see right through this national disgrace.

Lately, McCain has found time to call out Barack Obama over his experience. Because he's done this, Palin is now fair game on the same topic.

I don't care if you're a Republican or Democrat, you have to admit side by side, Palin's experience pales in comparison to Obama's. Yes, Obama has served just three-plus years in the Senate. But can you believe this? Are we supposed to believe Palin's selection was anything BUT a ploy to try to get women who would have voted for Hillary Clinton to vote for him? Could it be any clearer McCain's choice of Palin can be directly attributed to the diversity that has made this election season the most intriguing of a generation?

My goodness — the people of America should be outraged by all of this.

Yet conservative pundits say Palin is a good choice because she's pro-life.

Last time I checked, so was Mitt Romney —  and so was Mike Huckabee. So why Palin for any other reason than to win over disgruntled Hillary voters?

"She's exactly who this country needs to help me fight the same old Washington politics of me first and country second," McCain said. "She's got the grit, integrity, good sense and fierce devotion to the common good that is exactly what we need in Washington today."

Does she really? How does McCain know this? Last time I checked, McCain hadn't even been to Alaska to campaign. And Palin—now that's not all too common a name on TV news. Palin?

McCain can spin this however he'd like. But the bottom line remains that McCain clearly picked her for all the wrong reasons.

Now in all seriousness, I ask ... especially to supporters of McCain ... can McCain honestly, now, run a single TV ad critical of Obama's experience?

All he has to do is look around him now when he and Palin hit the campaign tour — and Minnesota next week for the Republican National Convention.

What he'll see is a miscalculated choice for his vice president. And he'll see someone whose credibility and experience can be ripped to shreds — even by Obama.

If that's not reason enough not to vote for John McCain, I don't know what is.

The following video is of McCain and Palin's rally today in Ohio.



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