Clint was the perfect metaphor for the Republican Party.

A shadow of his former self, the old hard, lean vigor now shriveled and prunelike, obssessed with his own malicious fantasies and his festering hatred for an imaginary enemy, one mostly of his own creation. Bitter, sour, spiteful, a senile old man who has lost his virility and dignity not as a natural consequence of time and hard use, but through decay and neglect. This is what fear, anger and hatred can do to a man, or a political philosophy.

I've always liked and respected Clint, outside his ridiculous Western and macho tough guy characters, he has occasionally handled more sensitive and serious roles with great skill, and his talents as a musician and director are undeniable.

Of course, what happened to Clint last night has nothing to do with his politics, although even now his partisans are rallying around his performance, as if that somehow justified their program. The RNC stage was just the setting where his collapse unfolded.

But it was still painful, awkward, an embarassment to watch, not so much for the Republicans, but for Clint, and for those who genuinely admire him and his work. I know it broke my heart.

It was so sad. He couldn't even remember his lines.