June 30, 2024

by Robert McOuat

In the epic battle of the geriatric gladiators, two elderly political rivals entered the ring, ready to duke it out over who had the fewest liver spots. The muckraking was fierce, as these crotchety old coots tore into each other with bitter, labored quips. Body shots about being “tough on Russian fascists” and how “loved they were by the military generals” flew back and forth like arthritic weapons in this struggle for geriatric supremacy.

“How much does the Mexican government like you?” one gnarled old man growled, landing a gut punch with his frail, age-spotted fist. “Well, at least I’m not in bed with those Russian fascists!” the other shot back, delivering an uppercut that sent his opponent’s toupee nearly tumbling off. But this was no contest of policy or character—oh no. This was a battle of vanity, a clash of aging egos. Golf handicaps were bandied about like deadly weapons, while the number of sun spots on their sagging, wrinkled skin was the ultimate prize. The blows landed hard, drawing gasps from the amused crowd, but no dentures flew during the serious teeth-gritting. These were not young, fit gladiators—these were frail, decrepit old men, trading blows with their feeble, quivering limbs.

Flipping between the debate and the fictional world of Dexter provided a peculiar sense of comfort, an escape valve for the escalating anxiety. With a mere click, I was enveloped in Dexter’s stark, morally ambiguous world, where the rules, though skewed, were crystal clear. On one side, a sociopath murdered other sociopaths. At least in Dexter’s domain, one knew what to expect—a brilliantly executed case of homicide. I rooted for the antihero and overlooked the trail of murders Dexter left in his wake.

But the true commonality between the Dexter universe and the political discourse that I found most intriguing was not the bloodbath, but the classic trope of the Wise Old Mentor. In Dexter, Deputy Chief Tom Matthews served as the ethical anchor for the notorious serial killer, guiding him toward more righteous acts.

In the presidential debate, who was the Wise Old Mentor? The presidential race, however, was anyone’s guess. Witnessing these elderly statesmen degrade one another for their advanced age just didn’t sit well. Much like Dexter’s nefarious murders, one couldn’t help but wonder if this political blood sport was, in fact, a necessary evil. After all, in the cutthroat world of power, sometimes the ends may justify the means, no matter how unsavory the means may be.

Whether it’s the rock-solid Uncle Ben imparting his timeless wisdom to the web-slinging Spider-Man, the silvery-haired Albus Dumbledore guiding Harry Potter through magical mayhem, or the bushy-browed Gandalf the Grey leading the charge against Middle-earth’s encroaching darkness, these venerable mentors serve as the indispensable yin to the raw, unrestrained yang of our heroic protagonists. Their moral compasses, sage counsel, and unwavering commitment to justice and the greater good provide the vital ethical framework that grounds our high-flying heroes, instilling in them a profound sense of purpose and responsibility that transcends mere superhuman abilities. Without these guiding lights, the protagonists would be hopelessly adrift, their immense talents and influence potentially corrupted or misused for nefarious ends. But with the Wise Old Mentors by their side, our heroes are empowered to channel their powers toward the greater good, becoming the champions and saviors their worlds desperately need—albeit with the occasional gruff reprimand or twinkling-eyed admonishment from their venerable advisors, of course.

I leaned back, the irony of the situation not lost on me. Here we were, members of a culture that reveres the fantasy of the Wise Old Mentor, watching in real-time as our venerable figures were stripped of their dignity. The sacred tenet of respecting our elders had been tossed aside like last week’s trash; it was all about exploiting vulnerabilities now. After all, experience matters, but so does the ability to stay awake past 8 PM!

As much as Dexter’s serial killing of serial killers seems to be the favorite bloodbath, the opening montage features various non-blood breakfast foods splattering across the screen as a primer for the upcoming blood-spattering at murder sites. The presidential debate is the new champion of bloodsport. As voters, how do we reconcile the age-old reverence for the elderly while also degrading old people simply for being old? Are we prepared for the next four months of political ads depicting a fierce game of “my geriatric is less geriatric than yours”? The door has opened for five months of bloodsport. The muckraking wasn’t surprising; it was the low-hanging fruit of political theater. But this year’s harvest was particularly bitter. In a nation that worships its founding fathers, we were now witnessing their successors tear each other down—not over policy or character, but over who had fewer liver spots. In elections past, candidates hurled insults about sexual exploits and shady business deals. Now, the jugular they thirsted for was wrinkled and exposed—their weapon of choice singularly focused on the relentless march of time. These guys weren’t just old; they were ancient relics of a bygone era, round-housing each other over golf scores right before our eyes!

I couldn’t help but recall my teenage years, lounging on shag carpet and watching Phil Collins’ “Land of Confusion.” The puppet Ronald Reagan fumbling for the mythical “button” seems eerily prophetic now. Reagan’s snores were once a joke, but today’s seasoned leaders could nap through a DEFCON 1 crisis. Over the next four months, we’ll be bombarded with reminders of our elderly candidates’ age and mental acuity—or lack thereof. It’s morphed into a race to exploit seniority as a political liability, contrasting sharply with the respect we used to show our elders. The traits that once earned respect are now targets for critique and bickering. How did we reach a point where two elderly men contest the highest office, likely unfit for most regular jobs? It’s not entirely their fault; it’s ours for craving larger-than-life figures. Our collective daddy issues have led to candidates who will spend months denigrating each other, leaving us questioning if this is truly the best our nation has to offer.