Get ready, fight fans. The Heavyweight match of the decade is fast approaching. And yes, I’m talking about the president of the United States climbing into the ring with the GOP Senate. Kid Activist versus the Beltway Octopus. The result of this upcoming main-event showdown over health care reform will determine who wears the D.C. championship belt and who gets a one-way ticket to Palookaville.

The suspicion in certain circles is that POTUS might have bitten off more opponent than 60 Mike Tysons could chew. Not so much outclassed as mis-trained. After all, he only rose to this lofty perch by vanquishing what can best be described as an entire grocery shelf of tomato cans: Bill Richardson. John Edwards, Hillary Clinton. John McCain. The Glass Jaw Express. Hardly the training regimen necessary to deal with some of the most brutal and barbaric brawlers in history. A point of pride for the most deliberative body in the world.

You see, this happens to fighters all the time. They slice through a lower-weight class like a serrated knife through foie gras then move up too fast, only to find themselves kissing more canvas than a Spanish busload of Pablo Picasso groupies.

After a brief promotional tour, the People’s Prez is about to engage in a public pugilistic endeavor with the entire battalion of bare-knuckle gladiators that are the GOP’s big boys. In order to survive 12 rounds, his managers better have trained him how to throw the low blow, because he’s going up against the masters of the procedural rules sucker punch. A group to whom the term “below the belt” does not exist. Whose clinches are characterized by roundhouse rabbit punches with something hard, dull and heavy hidden in the gloves.

This skirmish is shaping up to be one of Washington’s epic battles. New world taking on the dark ages. A fresh young face from flyover country squaring off against the entrenched grizzled veterans who’ve been known to gnaw on each other just to stay in practice. And don’t expect this brush with destiny to be held under Marquess of Queensbury Rules. It’s a cage match. No silly mandatory 8 counts here. We’re talking Thunderdome. 2 go in. 1 comes out.

Obama’s only hope is to go the distance; stick and move, float like a butterfly, sting like an Avenger Surface-to-Air Missile, land some clean shots and not get trapped on the ropes by the bum’s rush of the filibuster. And speaking of bums, his team needs to keep an eye on that cut man, the punch drunk, Joe Lieberman. Sure, he says he’s working a neutral corner, but this potato head has been known to take a dive or two and was always prone to throwing in the towel even when his fighter was leading on the scorecard. Let’s get ready to bumble.

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