Suppose you’re at a bar on a weekday afternoon. You may encounter a known type: male, late 30s or early 40s, bitterly eager to tell you how his life went wrong. It all goes back to the high school championship football game. He was a star, courted by college recruiters, destined for great things. Until a dastardly referee made the worst call ever, depriving him and his compatriots of their rightful victory. Now, he harangues patrons with his faux-tragedy; we smile and nod and make sympathetic noises, all the while wishing he’d get his life together or else quit bothering us so we can drink in peace.

Dear Republicans: You are that man.