Everybody loves to hate a sanctimonious hypocrite. Enter, stage left, Eliot Spitzer. Like Jimmy Swaggart in a different arena, Spitzer built his reputation as a "tough" -- I'd say "overzealous" -- prosecutor. Some would say a power-drunk prosecutor, whose prosecution's became all about Eliot and his manly will. He gave new meaning to prosecutorial sword fighting.

Whatever Sir Spitzer was working out when he was a prosecutor, he is now acting out the truism: What goes around, comes around. Tragically, his family is caught in the crossfire.

Yes, of course, prostitution and playing the John should not be a crime. It's merely a capitalist act among consenting adults.

That's the thing with hypocrites: They never know when and how the bad-karma boomerang's going to hit them upside the head.

Try as we might to look away from this roadside wreck, it's hard, isn't it? On some level, something deep inside of us recognizes the hypocrite in us. We hate it. Yet, we look.

So, the only appropriate response is compassion. Yes, Governor Spitzer should sort this one out in private as a private citizen. Casting stones at him will not allay our own guilt.

But you knew that.

-RC