Sam continues frothing at the mouth and gets up to pace around: "He needs to be killed, until he is dead, and he needs to be killed again, or he is going to keep biting at our ankles and I mean all through the campaign! He needs to be a joke, or we're going to be." Maybe you should bust him like a piñata while you're at it, dude. Suddenly, C.J. starts snapping her fingers, and she sings, "'Boy, boy, crazy boy, keep cool, boy...'" (from West Side Story, I believe ["Yes." -- Wing Chun]). It's an odd moment, and briefly C.J. rubs me the wrong way, for probably the first (and one hopes, the last) time in the history of this show. Because I don't care to have the perfection of C.J. messed with too much. But it just seems slightly insensitive -- too flippant -- considering how upset Sam is. Sam says, "I'm not screwing around." C.J.: "Neither am I. Sit down." Sam sits down, declaring, "I'm not going to be a victim of this." C.J. says, "Let me tell you something I've learned in my years. There are victims of fires. There are victims of car accidents. This kind of thing, there are no victims -- just volunteers. Of course we'll get in the game. I'll talk to the editors of the major papers, but we're not going to publicly refute every bogus charge. First of all, there are too many of them. Second of all, I'm not going to give this guy and his book the weight of the White House. As far as the press is concerned, I've read the book because I had to. You have a vague recollection of the guy, but he wasn't here long enough to make a lasting impression. Have you read the book? Of course not. You're too busy doing a job." Sam listens patiently and replies, "While you're convincing the Post and the Times that it's ridiculous..." C.J.: "Sam! Once again, we don't know what's going on in the Oval Office. Obviously there's a problem. When it's our turn to worry about it, they won't be shy about telling us. Let's not fixate on the knuckleheaded stuff we think we can fix in the meantime. And it feels a lot like...that's what you're doing." Sam takes this in, turns to Toby, and asks, "Are you inside?" Toby says, "Josh is. But let me ask you this: a guy shoots one for twenty-three from the field." Sam: "McTeer?" Toby: "Yeah. But he goes eight for eight from the foul line. My question is, why are you fouling this guy at all? I'd just get out of his way and point him toward the basket." Sam: "Yeah." Someone reassure me that there are people other than me who are able to apprehend the world (for years on end, mind you) with less liberal use of sports metaphors and anecdotes. C.J. asks, "So we're done talking about this now?" Sam ignores her and asks Toby, "Is there any beer?" C.J.: "You two have offices?" Toby says the beer's out in the fridge. Sam rises to get his beer, glances out the window, and mentions it's started snowing. So the windows do work!