When I sat down at the bar, Obama was ordering Bourbon.
“Two,” I told the bartender. “I’m buying.”
“I saw you in Ohio,” I told Obama. “You give a good speech.”
“Are you being cute?” he said.
“I don’t think anyone gives better speeches than I heard you give in Ohio,” I told him. “You got talent.”
“So what beat me?
“ Character.”
“Yeah, sure, sure.”
“You’re damn right I’m sure. Everybody’s got talent,” I said. “I got talent. You can’t campaign for months on talent. Clinton isn’t the best just because she’s got talent.”
“I got off message. Had some bad breaks. NAFTA”
“Yeah, ” I said. “Bad breaks.”
“What do I do now?” he said. “Lie down and die? What do I do? Go home?"
"That’s your problem,” I told him.
“So I stay. Hustle some more money. Take her on in Pennsylvania. Maybe by that time I’ll develop myself some character,” he said.
“Maybe by that time you’ll die of old age,” I said. “Fast Eddy, is it okay if I get personal?”
"What have you been so far?”
“You’re a born loser,” I told him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“First time in years I ever saw Hillary Clinton hooked, but you let her off.”
“I got a bad break on NAFTA. Some bad demographics in Ohio. Ignorant whites in Ohio. Hispanics in Texas.”
“Sure. You had the best excuses for losing. Winning can be heavy, too. Drop that load, too, when you got an excuse. Feeling sorry for yourself is a great indoor sport enjoyed by all, especially the born loser.”
“Thanks for the drink,” he said, moving away from the bar.
“Wait. Maybe I can help you,” I said.
“To do what?”
“Beat her in Pennsylvania.” I said. “Look. She knew Ohio was in the clutch. She played it smart.”
“In my head, I've played that Ohio campaign a hundred times,” Obama said.
“Play it again. Learn something. She took a beating in Wisconsin. Went into the john. Washed her face. Combed her hair. Came back to Ohio and Texas all ready to go. You were through. You saw how she looked. All set to start all over again. You know what you were doing? You were waiting to get beat. Flattened out on your butt. Swimming around in glory and dreams of winning the nomination. Probably deciding how you could lose.”
“Hey!” Some guy with a five o’clock shadow and glasses, sitting at the end of the bar said. “How do you know what Eddy was thinking?”
“I know,” I said, moving toward the door. “I’ve been there myself. We’ve all been there.”

(Adapted from The Hustler, 1961, by Sidney Carrol and Robert Rossen, based on the book by Walter Tevis.)