The nation is in a constitutional crisis, its populace stirred and shaken after an election in which 100 million of its sons and daughters cast votes for a president, and yet its new leader hinges on several hundreds of ballots in a tiny crevice of the country.

Our American republic is in turmoil.

And it’s all my fault.

I’m from Hollywood, Fla., a small town in Broward County, one of the four now-infamous counties that had “voting irregularities” in a state whose electoral votes will swing the election to either George W. Bush or Al Gore. Nearly six million votes were cast and the difference between the two candidates is a few hundred.

Guess who didn’t vote.

Well, maybe it’s not completely my fault America doesn’t know who its next president will be, but enough for my guilty conscience to kick in.

Sure, everyone says every vote counts, that even one vote can make a difference, but that’s hardly ever true. It’s been four decades since a presidential election was even remotely competitive. Even my local elections are typically landslides or unopposed victories. Finally, there’s an important election where every single vote really does matters, and what happens?

I blow it.

Pick your reason why: I forgot, I was too busy, I had no time, I lost my ballot, I forgot to register, blah, blah, blah.

Who knew the election was going to be thisclose? Who knew the election was going to be thisclose AND come down to my state? Who knew the election was going to be thisclose AND come down to my state AND that my county would make a difference?

But sure enough, the night of the election, the dinky newscaster with the fake hair from my hometown television station – the same dinky newscaster my friends and I have ridiculed a thousand times – was on CNN – CNN! – standing outside the building where I got my driver’s license smugly saying how stupid people who didn’t vote must feel.

Thanks, jerk.

When word got out I had shirked my constitutional responsibility, friends and associates were merciless.

“How could you?” asked one professor.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” said a co-worker.

My boss at The Washington Post said, “Boy, Florida sucks.”

“Boy, you suck,” a friend at The Hoya said.

To be fair, I don’t know my vote would have counted anyway.

Just north of Broward is Palm Beach County, where, thanks to a poorly-designed, state-approved ballot, Pat Buchanan has emerged as an immensely popular political juggernaut and 19,000 ballots – five percent of all votes – were thrown out because of double voting.

Just south of Broward is Miami-Dade County, whose mayoral elections on more than one occasion have involved – and been decided by – absentee ballots, apparently cast by those from the afterlife.

Even in my beloved Broward County, controversy and ridiculousness ruled the day. A ballot box was lost for nearly an hour, apparently stuck in a pickup truck while the driver was eating, the fate of the Free World resting on how fast the line cook at the State Road 84 Waffle House could produce some redneck truck driver’s blue-plate special.

So now, instead of the socially-gifted, mentally-challenged, ex-alcoholic, ex-baseball team owner I wanted to be our commander-in-chief, the next president could be the socially-awkward, egomaniacal, know-it-all Eco-man whose finger I want nowhere near The Button.

If Gore becomes president, the United States will undergo four years of fiscal, social and military irresponsibility, from wasteful government spending to questionable moral leadership to an overextension of the military into areas where it doesn’t belong.

But if that happens, I’ll have no right to complain.

Because I didn’t vote.

And believe me, that won’t happen again.

David J. Wong is a junior in the McDonough School of Business, a contributing editor and chairman of the board of directors for The Hoya.