Fumes of fame

People love a cause.

Good, bad, religious, political, whatever the cause, it draws people like a lure draws trout, rouses them like cattle in a stampede, brings out the worst much quicker than the best.

They come marching, leaping, screaming, praying, and fighting, often ready to die, or even kill, in the name of whatever it is that stirs them up. Even peace.

Directing the fury of both righteous and self righteous mobs into productive uses instead of fanning the flames and feeding off the fumes of fame, a good leader addresses the problems and soothes the raging hormones.

But when the leader is a jack in the box, popping up at regular intervals singing Pop Goes The Weasel, no one knows what to do and all that energy is wasted.