The only things to survive the end of the world, some people say, will be the cockroaches plus Bill and Hillary Clinton, alone in the ruins when all else is gone. What they absorb, their fans claim, will just make them stronger. When down, they will always come back. But some things suggest that this time might be different, that conditions have changed, and they along with them, and this outcome is not foreordained.

The last time they took a licking and kept on ticking was 1998-2000 — when he wasn’t convicted, and she became senator — two administrations before this, a long time ago. They were then young and supple; they’re now old and furrowed; their reflexes are slower; they’ve been rich for too long. Then there were two, now there is one, and not the most talented: over the years there has been an uncoupling, and when Bill tried to help her — in 2008 for example — it did not work well. Bill was a charmer who knew how to improvise, Hillary is a scold who’s unhinged by surprises. Her tin ear, faux pas and cringe-making accents — “I ain’t nowhere tired” — are justifiably legend. You can call this strike one.