Hit him again. Put him down. Make him bleed.

Not many of them will admit it, but that’s what a lot of partisans were hoping for when Liberal MP Justin Trudeau and Conservative Sen. Patrick Brazeau squared off in an Ottawa boxing ring over the weekend. Someone said the match had something to do with raising money for charity, but I’m willing to bet no one — not the guys, anyway — gave that part much thought.

This fight was about something a bit more primeval. It was about visceral, gut-level, deep-down stuff that political partisans regularly feel for one another. If you were to say it was about hate, you wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

Politics, stripped down to its essence, is like boxing. Get in a ring, beat each other to a bloody pulp as people sit on the sidelines and cheer.

That’s why so many guys are drawn to it, and why so many gals are not. It’s a vicious and ugly avocation, one that tries to dress itself up in finery of statesmanship. But women — being smarter than men — know what politics is. It’s schoolyard brawling that pretends it isn’t.

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For instance, if Ms. Wilkie’s tweet was so offensive, why did Wildrose staffers instantly begin retweeting it? Why did they want to ensure that the breathtakingly immature comments of a low-level staffer in the Premier’s Calgary office to a small number of followers got wider play? For partisan political reasons? That would be a reasonable conclusion.

And when you learn that some officials on Ms. Smith’s campaign started contacting reporters about the tweet and providing information about Ms. Wilkie’s role in Ms. Redford’s office you become even more suspicious about Wildrose’s motivations. They wanted a story. And when no media bit, Ms. Smith sent out a news release the next day.

It instantly created sympathy for Ms. Smith and made the Redford camp look mean and heartless. Ms. Redford’s call to Ms. Smith to apologize shortly after the release went out was unquestionably sincere, but by then the damage had been done.

On Sunday, Wildrose didn’t want to talk about the issue. And perhaps it shouldn’t. The sooner this incident is forgotten, the better.

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Spoke to a friend this morning who has known, and worked with, many Trudeaus:

“I knew he’d win. Those guys never do anything unless they know in advance that they’ll win.”

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Wish it wasn’t. But it is.

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Of the many things that Budget 2012 will be remembered for, the assault on Canadian seniors must surely rank as Number One.

The importance of the change to Old Age Security (OAS) cannot be overstated. The Stephen Harper regime has decided — without an election mandate, and without any consultation whatsoever — to fundamentally remake the way in which Canadians approach their retirement years.

It’s breathtakingly brave, or breathtakingly stupid, depending on your political affiliation: Harper’s Conservatives have chosen to deny Canadians access to old age benefits until age 67 — and not age 65, as they have been paying for, and expecting, for a half-century. It is, fundamentally, a reordering of the social contract between citizens and government. It is an undeniably historic move. And all that remains to be seen is whether Canadian senior citizens, and those approaching retirement years, will let Harper get away with it.

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Well, my lawyer kicked his ass, big time. you don’t always get what you pay for, y’know?

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Listen, pal, when we’re all starting to wonder how education and health care are going to be sustained past the next couple quarters, a pretty light show for the super-rich in downtown Toronto doesn’t rank high on the priority list, kapiche?

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Of course. Just like the other guy who got crushed in an election, and the guy who is headed in the same direction.

Let’s not listen to anyone who actually wins elections, okay? Wouldn’t want to do that.  Let’s keeping listening to the guys who lose elections.

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He’s a little man, with a little man’s perpetual sense of grievance.  So when he practically invites credit agencies to downgrade Canada’s largest economy, and when he takes potshots at Dalton McGuinty and Dwight Duncan, as he did again today, it’s only because he still possesses a little man’s rage that he has been beaten – every time – by men who were smarter and better than him.

Conservatives keep hoping he’ll come back to Toronto to take over the wreck that is the Ontario PCs.  I hope he will, too, and not just because of the endless entertainment it’ll provide.

Flaherty won’t ever slink back, however, because he knows we’ll grind his face in the dirt, just like we did every time before.

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Angelo Persichilli is my big brother, as I wrote once before, and I’m a bit biased, but I would suggest that the Harper government’s relationship with the national press gallery markedly improved during his brief tenure as Director of Communications at PMO. Unlike all of his predecessors, Angelo’s life had been devoted to journalism, not the Conservative Party. He understood the job his former colleagues had to do, and he didn’t bitch or whine when they did it.

We spoke every week, sometimes more than that. Not once did he ever reveal a secret.  Not once did he complain about the news media. And not once did he object to anything I’ve written about his bosses’ party – even though I have come to thoroughly detest it, as the Robocon scandal has unfolded.

As noted in this story by Stephen Maher – the guy who has made actual election fraud an issue in Canada, for the first time our history, by unveiling Robocon – the staff work load at PMO is extraordinary. It’s bigger and tougher than anyone could ever imagine. Angelo remarked to me often that it’s a younger man’s (or woman’s) game, and it is. When he took the job, I told him he was crazy – not because it wouldn’t be fun or educational, but because it is potentially lethal for one’s family and one’s health.

In our last phone call, I told him he had done a very good job.  As usual, he demurred.  “Name one story that’s been done, since you’ve arrived, talking about the bad relations between Harper and the media,” I said.  “You’ve made it a more professional relationship.”

And, in a democracy, that’s all you can ask for, I think: a professional relationship between the watchers and the watched.

Angelo Persichilli is a good man, and I hope all the partisans will permit me to say this to my big brother: welcome home.

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