Tiger-skin rugs convey a rugged masculinity about the men who have them, which undoubtedly is why Cruz decided he wanted to have one, as part of that good old hardboiled gun-totin', boot-wearin' Texas cowboy image he's been cultivating for years. (That, and to own the liberals sure to be offended by the suggestion of an endangered species being killed to make a rug, but that represents a different, petulant sort of masculinity.)
Now that Cruz has the rug of a dangerous predator in his office, it's as if he's putting everyone on notice about what a powerful man he is. It rather puts me in mind of another famous politician who had a tiger skin rug.
Teddy Roosevelt was a tremendous big-game hunter, one who went to Africa on safari and hunted dangerous animals, including lions and tigers. One rather imagines Roosevelt welcoming visitors and, once they had marveled at the magnificent rug, regaling them with a story of the hunt.
One can picture him now, sitting back in his chair with a pipe, looking over his spectacles at his overawed guest, and telling a tale of the dangerous beast that had menaced the village. He would spin an engaging yarn, sharing how he had tracked the tiger for days or weeks, before finally meeting it. There, face to face, man and beast met in a match of resolve, steely sinew, and wits in a contest of two predators until at last Roosevelt had emerged victorious.
The tale would be exaggerated, but there would be no doubt of it: Roosevelt had enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, had no small measure of respect for the tiger, and continued to feel pride in accomplishing something relatively few other men had done.
Ted Cruz, meanwhile, bought a rug. And it isn't even real.
Copyright © 2014 by David Learn. Used with permission.
Tweet
