Marry me, Peggy?

Every now and then I forget that Peggy Noonan likes the concept of government a little too much. Usually, I forget it when she writes about the pretensions of its posturing nabobs.  Lately, of course, the poseur-in-chief  has most suffered her graceful sting.

It is one thing to think you're Lebron. Its another thing to keep missing the basket and losing games and still think you're Lebron.

And that really was the problem: (Obama)  had the confidence without the full capability. And he gathered around him friends and associates who adored him, who were themselves talented but maybe not quite big enough for the game they were in. 

What an elegant way to say His Ineptness is in over his swollen head and should stick to rousing the rabble  south of the Blackstone Hotel. 

I recommend reading the whole thing. And if you happen to run across Ms. Noonan, please tell her I was just kidding about getting hitched. On the other hand, if she would settle for a couple of picnic hours with wine and a basket of cold chicken, I'm hers.