How'd that work out for you? From there you went right into a National Lampoon-style daily snark against the guy you said didn't stand a chance of winning and that went even better, right up until November 8th.
The looks on your faces that night were almost worth the past fifty years of your constant obfuscation and perfidy. It was a real-time version of the folks riding First Class on the Titanic realizing that their tuxedoes weren't buying them a whole lot of sympathy down at the lifeboat boarding station. Stricken is the word that comes to mind. To call what the public delivered to you an ass-whooping would be an understatement. You guys looked like a collectivist version of Ronda Rousey after Holly Holm got done with her. Beaten, down for the count and weepy in the morning.
So why bother trying to keep up with the pretenses? In the grocery business, they'd say you were past your sell by date. There was a time when you had not only a purpose, but a mandate and those must have been heady days indeed, the gravitas and respect measured out in equal parts from every quarter of America. I remember well the way my own Grandparents would hang on every word uttered by the distinguished clergy of the time; Huntley, Brinkley and Cronkite.
If there had been room on the walls their portraits would have hung beside the ones of JFK and FDR, so admired were they for their earnest and judicious reporting on the comings and goings of our political leaders and the events of the day. Later, guys like Woodward and Bernstein turned themselves into nerdy Batmen, flipping the script on the powerful and turning up the pressure until their only recourse was to clamber on a helicopter and wave grimly not only to the public but any legacy that may have been hoped for. Good times, indeed.