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Best of all, the man knew his audience. He didn't rail against our lack of an attention span; he played to it. The minute that big, easily bored, sugar-fueled baby that is the American public started to drift off, he'd grab a straw hat and a banjo and somehow get us back. And so we never turned him off. We sat and watched, grinning and glassy-eyed, waiting expectantly to see what the funny man with the fat red nose would do next.
And now the show is over. The stuttering pig is telling us there is no more. Some saw hope in the 2000 election, hope that either candidate would offer strong cartoon potential (I'm not including Nader, who finds anvils "unsafe"). But I was not optimistic. We wince when we see these men fall. We fear for them. Strap Acme rocket shoes to Bush, and you'll spend months cleaning up the mess. No, the irony of Bill Clinton is that he may have felt our pain, but we didn't feel his. We just listened joyously for which funny sound he'd make as he bounced happily off the canyon floor.
Yes, I'm going to miss Bill Clinton. And regardless of your politics, you will too.
The writer is host of Late Night with Conan O'Brien on NBC