‘Twas the Night of the Election (or “A Visit from St. Kornacki”)

‘Twas the night of the election, and all over cable news,

Not a network was covering anything but red states and blues.

The pundits were booked on the panel shows with care,

As one spoke, ten others all nodded and stared.

The pollsters were complacent, all smug with their data,

While margins of error would allow backpedaling later.

And I, on my sofa, weary from attack ads and rallies,

Settled my brain for a nap, long before there’d be any vote tallies.

Then from my TV there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the chaise to see what was the matter.

When what to my wondering eyes did appear?
But a “Breaking News” banner—was the official call here?

Away from the newsdesk, the anchors did throw,

To a map on a screen and a man in the know.

With smart looking glasses and neatly pressed khakis,

I knew in a moment he must be Steve Kornacki.

“Now, Lester! Now, Rachel! Now Chris Hayes and Chuck Todd!

Shut your yaps,” he shouted. “I’m updating The Big Board.”

Sporadic as lightning, the precincts reported.

He pinched and he zoomed to keep it all sorted.

His outstretched finger drew circles and digits;

His tabs contained overlays, pie charts, and widgets.

Governors, AGs, statewide referendums,

Each county was accounted for, no matter how random.

To The Villages in Florida! To the Dells of Wisconsin!

He analyzed while Chris Matthews recalled Goldwater vs. Johnson.

For hours and hours he parsed exit polls,

And highlighted anomalies due to new voter rolls.

The Black vote, the women, the white working class,

No block or coalition escaped his magnifying glass.

From the presidency to the downballot races,

The candidates’ totals climbed next to pics of their faces.

The moon rose and fell ‘cross the November sky,

As the voting booths closed in Alaska and Hawaii.

Yet the real nailbiter remained unprojected,

No outlet could verify the leader we’d elected.

My eyes, how they watered, my mouth kept on yawning;

It was now 3 a.m. and I had work in the morning.

Steve tinkered and teased with the Electoral College equation.

The swing states hadn’t swung yet, was his explanation.

He broke down the math, realtime and hypothetical,

Every pathway to victory was fact-checked and credible.

Though thoughts of my warm bed grew more and more heavenly,

I was determined to stay up ‘til one nominee reached 270.

I dashed back from a pee break to catch Steve’s final update.

Surely coverage wouldn’t conclude without knowing our fate?

But I heard him exclaim, ere he exited camera-right—

“It’s too close to call, good luck sleeping tonight!”