By the time you read this you will know the results of Tuesday's election, so there's no point in me waxing about how you might consider voting this way or that. What Election Day means to me, today—like all others since 1972—is that I can rest assured that my ballot was duly cast and duly collected. My vote will be counted and verified and I'm confident that nobody cheated.

Despite that bit of warm and fuzzy, there's one thing surely afoot: The single most consistent theme of my life has been losing at the election booth. Well, I also lost many foot races, but I always felt I could win those. I've no such illusions as a Utah democrat.

I seldom vote straight ticket (not much of a reveal if you've ever paid attention to this column), and I didn't this time. My votes induce great sorrow and are cast for a person who, if he or she drinks, should start drinking right now. If that person is a non-drinker, they can contact me and I will teach them the ways of looking at the world through the bottom of a glass.

We can raise our glasses while toasting the great Merle Haggard (easily one of the top five live performers I ever saw), plugging our coins into that jukebox over in the corner—wait, maybe not the jukebox, but we can find him on Spotify.

And we shall sing his famous anthem "Misery and Gin," but with lyrics modified from that of a pining barfly to that of pining Democrats after yet another election day rejection:

But here I am (we are) again mixing misery and gin
Sitting here with all my (our) friends and talking
to myself (ourselves)

I (we) look like I'm (we're) having a good time,
but any fool can tell

That this honkytonk heaven (living in Utah) really
makes you (us) feel like hell

I (we) light a lonely woman's (Democrat's) cigarette

We start talking about what we wanna forget.

Her (their) life story and mine (ours) are the same

We both lost someone (another election) and only
have ourselves to blame.

Truth is, though, we don't have ourselves to blame. I believed in 1972, and in every election since, that I voted for the right person at the right time. Not to brag or anything, but I think history has borne me out. I didn't vote for Nixon, Ford, Reagan, either Bush nor for Trump. I voted for every Democrat running for Utah governor, except in the case of Republican Jon Huntsman Jr, who—before he became a sideline-sitting, political ghost—was, in fact, a genuinely good governor.

Seriously. Since Huntsman decided not to run a third-party ticket, has anyone heard from the guy? Is he ok? I believe he's helping direct things over at Ford Motor Company these days, so it would be nice to hear from him about what he thinks and who would be the better guardian of our United States autoworkers, but nada.

I'm still pissed at him for the way he coyly endorsed Mike Lee in the last senate race—he coulda' just said "Vote for Mike" instead of candy kissing Lee's face—but I'm not so pissed that I wouldn't buy him breakfast if I ever saw him.

Wait. I did that already, a couple years ago in a popular Salt Lake diner. He never said squat, just ate his food and left. Maybe he didn't know. It's just my easy-going good nature to give the benefit of the doubt, so I don't blame him, but I doubt he didn't know, nonetheless. If he had come over to say "screw you Greek boy" and spill coffee over my head, that would've been acceptable.

And if he had, I would have good-naturedly said "that's ok, I had it coming." Because after all, my knowing Jon puts me one Kevin Bacon handshake away from Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, Rocket Man and, of course, Donald J. Trump. It's something I can tell my imaginary grandkids.

Still, I'd rather be one Kevin Bacon away from Aaron Judge. Yep, I'm also a loser New York Yankee fan, and a Chicago Cubs fan if you want to rub it in. But I don't feel like a loser because to paraphrase a popular meme, "You don't learn a goddamned thing by winning." It's fun. There may even be a trophy.

Some trophies aren't worth it though. Does anyone except Spencer Cox—and the rural Republicans who pull his strings—think he has any redemptive qualities left? That he can ever be trusted? I don't. Hell, if I lived in Fairview, I'd pull Cox aside at the next ward meeting and say, "WTF, man? Aren't you embarrassed yet?"

I'm not a fortune teller, but come Wednesday I hope to wake up with Brian King as our next governor-elect. He's everything Spencer Cox claims to be, save for three huge differences: King does not betray his LDS faith; King is a Democrat; and King needn't sell his soul to gain respect. King is an honorable man—a door opener, not a door closer.

In 2000, City Weekly ran a cover story by Alexander Nibley, son of LDS Scholar Hugh Nibley. It remains a fantastic read of the slow sands that move LDS political thinking. He asked the nagging question of the era, "Can you be a faithful Mormon and a Democrat?" and he answered, "Can you be a faithful Mormon and tolerate a one-party state?"

Nibley, thus, fairly predicted the coming of men like Mike Lee and Spencer Cox. Such a predicate indicates that the LDS faithful may one day see through the political con. They say that is happening today. Let's pray.

Send comments to john@cityweekly.net