The Subject Was Clinton

A bunch of us were sitting around scratching, drinking Budweiser beer and watching the Super Bowl when the subject of Bill Clinton came up.

Well, it didn’t actually just come up. I brought it up. I wanted to hear a cross-fire of opinions on the big news out of D.C. that everyone is calling Fornigate, like in Watergate. I wasn’t disappointed.

The party consisted of me, my wife, Cinelli, and people I’ll call Norm, Ted, Kate and Lydia, which aren’t their real names, but they’ll do.

I should mention my dog Barkley too, because he was responsible in the first place for providing the opening to start the conversation.

The game between Denver and Green Bay was still in the first quarter, the Packers leading 7-0. Cinelli had left some bacon cooling in the kitchen to put into a potato salad and then had joined the rest of us in the living room.

Barkley discovered the bacon and had eaten about half of it when he was caught. We all gave him the “no no, bad dog” routine and he slouched toward the back door, knowing he was dead wrong and would get put out.

Seeing my opening, I said, “That’s just like Bill Clinton. He knows it’s wrong but can’t resist the bacon.”

There was silence for a moment while everyone turned to me, missing the first Broncos touchdown, and then Lydia said somewhat testily, “Alleged!”

Cinelli shook her head and said, “I’ll start the barbecue.”

*

What Lydia was saying was, of course, true. The accusation that Clinton had a sexual affair with Monica Lewinsky is indeed in the allegedly/supposedly category, but that didn’t stop Norm, who said, “He did it all right.”

“He denies it!” Lydia said.

“Barkley would probably deny it too,” I said, feeding the fire.

“But no one actually saw Clinton take the bacon,” Cinelli said, returning to the room.

Everyone laughed while I served more drinks. We weren’t really swilling Bud, by the way. I just said that because it sounds Super Bowlish and evokes all those jock and cowboy images that beer companies like to project. Real men don’t drink pinot noir.

We were about five minutes into the second quarter when John Elway slammed over the goal line to put Denver ahead, much to Kate’s delight. We had a pool going, and the score meant Kate had a chance.

She was hooting her pleasure when she suddenly stopped and said, “The man’s a sexual predator.”

For a moment I thought it was a football term she’d picked up and was applying to Elway, who’d just given the Broncos the lead. Then we all realized she was referring to the president of the United States.

Lydia sighed deeply and said, “This is surreal.”

Everyone was silent. It was surreal. We were talking about a man who spoke morality at every turn and here he was up to his belt buckle in Paula Jones and Monica Lewinsky, not to mention Gennifer Flowers and God knows who else.

Is this the same guy we saw dancing with Hillary on the beach in a tableau of romance and saying goodbye to Chelsea at Stanford with tears in his eyes?

“I can’t believe it,” Lydia said. Jason Elam booted a 51-yard field goal. Denver 17, Green Bay 7.

*

Everyone agreed it was one of the most exciting Super Bowls we’d ever seen. I mean, boom, Green Bay goes 95 yards and Mark Chmura takes it in and suddenly there are only three points separating the two teams! Holy moly!

“Let me ask you this,” Norm said when the cheering stopped. “If nothing sexual happened, why did Monica say to Linda Tripp that it did?”

“The literary agent is behind it,” I said. “I think she’s arranged a book co-written by Monica and Linda but she’s got to have a basis for it, right? So she has Monica make up an affair with Clinton and then gets Linda to tape it. It’s got bestseller written all over it.”

“The far right is behind it,” Ted said firmly, dismissing my theory. “I can smell it.”

“That’s bacon you’re smelling,” Cinelli said. “I have to replace what Barkley ate.”

The third quarter saw Green Bay tie the game and then Denver go ahead again. We had ignored halftime and in the third quarter got a little crazy.

“The thing is,” Norm said, “he doesn’t consider oral sex real sex.”

“Alleged oral sex,” Lydia said.

Her allegeds were sounding weaker. Lydia likes Clinton a lot and doesn’t want any of the allegations to be true. But then none of us do.

“Maybe someone should talk to him about it,” Ted said.

“I’ve talked to Barkley for months, but it hasn’t done a bit of good,” Cinelli said. “He still goes after the bacon.”

Ted stood and played the part of a presidential advisor: “Mr. President, I have to say that shaking hands isn’t sex and smiling isn’t sex and hugging isn’t sex. But, sir, when it’s oral, and I don’t mean just talking about it, that’s sex.”

“Fun and games, fun and games,” Lydia said softly. “But what about poor Hillary? What about Chelsea? What about us?”

We sat in silence as Denver pulled ahead and won the game. Barkley stared in the window from the backyard, looking contrite. I won the pool.

Al Martinez can be reached online at al.martinez@latimes.com