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Alex Barnes-Ross Celebrates Failure Before an Audience of No One
He’s a real nowhere man
Sitting in his nowhere land
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody. —The Beatles
Alex Barnes-Ross addresses the assembled chairs in an empty meeting room, dressed up for another day of make-believe and delivering his latest show-and-tell to an audience that never existed.
He gestures as his voice echoes through the hollow room, proud as a 5-year-old who has raided his father’s wardrobe and declared himself prime minister.
There he is, posing before rows of vacant seats, waiting for the grown-ups to applaud.
Or at least arrive.
That is the pattern with Alex: He fails, then pins the failure to his chest like a cardboard medal.
Who is Alex Barnes-Ross? Google knows, even if you don’t. Just type his name, followed by “broke bigot.” There you will find the wreckage behind the make-believe: allegations of stalking women, a history of spewing hate speech and the humiliation of becoming such an embarrassment that even his own mum publicly disowned him, erasing any trace of him from her website.
That is the pattern with Alex: He fails, then pins the failure to his chest like a cardboard medal—bragging about his baseness, busted businesses and bigotry.
And no one takes notice.
He is the true Nowhere Man, dressed for importance, posing for posterity, and still waiting for the clapping that never comes.
His blogs are read by no one.
His life choices are of interest to no one.
His harangues—as evidenced by his latest display of nonattendance—are heard by no one.
But from empty room to empty room he marches, rehearsing empty grievances and pretending the echo is applause. And with each performance comes the same desperate plea: Look at me! I’m important! Ignore the empty chairs, the failed petition and the latest appeal for rent money!
I knew someone like Alex—when I was 8.
He was my cousin Irwin. My mom said I should play with him because no one else would.
I soon found out why.
Whenever I was about to win at anything, he’d knock over the board and scream, “BOOM! I WIN! YOU LOSE! YAY ME!”
Like Alex Barnes-Ross, he believed that declaring himself the winner made it so.
And, like Alex Barnes-Ross, he had no friends.
But most 8-year-olds eventually put away the costumes, stop awarding themselves imaginary prizes and grow up.
Irwin did.
Alex Barnes-Ross didn’t.
Instead, he became a fiasco-seeking missile, manufacturing his own disasters and declaring victory over the wreckage.
For his own good, someone may want to tell him:
- Stop mistaking an echo for a cheering throng;
- Stop mistaking anti-religious obsession for relevance; and
- Put away the costume, grow up and find something useful to do.
Nowhere Man Alex Barnes-Ross can’t or won’t see that he’s fooling no one but himself.
But then it’s hard to see the world when you’re squinting through the one-eyed lens of your own hate.
