Adding to the humiliation of being inarticulate in front of the national media were the incessant characterizations of McClellan as a loser. Michael Wolff's Vanity Fair profile was particularly brutal and, perhaps, predictive of the revenge to come. McClellan, Wolff wrote, seemed to have "some terrible social disability," and had become a "kick-me archetype" in the press briefing room. "He's Piggy in 'Lord of the Flies': a living victim, whose reason for being is, apparently, to shoulder public ridicule and pain (or, come to think of it, he's Squealer from 'Animal Farm'). He's the person nobody would ever choose to be."
Few can read those words and not feel some empathy for McClellan -- the picked-on boy who just wanted to be one of the cool guys. With few friends and no respect from peers, it seems entirely plausible that McClellan began plotting his revenge long ago. That behind his flaccid facade of befuddled calm was a focused mind marking time.
He would show the Bushies -- and he would show the world -- that Scott McClellan was nobody's chump.
Fast-forward to this week and McClellan is no longer a socially disabled, farcical figure bullied by the press, but king of the bully pulpit -- a triumph of lucidity. All he had to do was switch sides and say what the vast majority of Americans already believe.
Who's the fool now?
Unfortunately for the short, unhappy political life of Scott McClellan, the boy who squealed all the way home may be stuck with the title after all. Because no matter how sweet the revenge, on the playground, the snitch is trusted by no one.