No, Hillary, You're Creed, Not Rocky. That's Your Problem.

As soon as I heard Senator Clinton likening herself to Rocky, I was incredulous. Is this campaign and/or candidate so feckless that they can't see the inevitable Maureen Dowd gore-fest that will follow, by comparing herself to the Italian Stallion?

But my slack-jawed wonderment had more to do with the real problem (besides the glaringly obvious one -- that Rocky actually loses the fight. There's that, of course.) Hillary Clinton is so obviously Apollo Creed, not Rocky Balboa. It was Creed who had it all, let himself grow deluded with entitlement, surrounded himself with an entourage of yes-men who never thought for even a second that their fighter might actually have to fight. Except for Creed's trainer, of course. He watches Rocky beat the bejesus out of a slab of meat on the local news, and tries to get Creed's attention by saying 'Hey, champ, you oughta come and look at this boy you're gonna fight on TV. It looks like he means business." His entreaties fail. The Champ figures it out too late, in the ring.

Now of course Senator Clinton is fighting like a mad dog, and today, I thought to myself, as I have on many days over the past few weeks, "she does know that she and Obama are in the same party, right? Could someone tell her they are BOTH DEMOCRATS?" But even as Senator Clinton struggles now against the real Rocky in this campaign, it is hard to shake that early, toxic period of inevitability that makes it nearly impossible, for this voter at least, to ever consider her the underdog. Senator Clinton, you went to Wellesley, one of your first stops on a gilded path to power. I live in Wellesley. There are no Rocky's in Wellesley.

Do I see any likeness between her and my beloved movie hero? I will allow the possibility that the Senator can perhaps break thumbs. And it does seem clear this fight will end up like the one in Rocky does: with both contenders covered in blood.