Last week I watched a clip from PBS's Charlie Rose interviewing Tom Brokaw. It was an affectionate homecoming, a love fest where both host and hostee tip-toed through the tulips in and around the landmine field that is Barack Obama's presidential campaign.
To watch this bastion of global, journalistic inquisitiveness, say "I don't know, I don't know, we don't know," repeatedly is painful and embarrassing. Brokaw is supposed to be the Walter Cronkite of the Baby Boom generation. A hard-charging reporter who doesn't stop digging until he hits paydirt--except, that is, where the Messiah and His Millenial Reign are concerned.
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