In 454 B.C. an ancient Roman warrior named Coriolanus decided to run for public office. He was a legendary defender of Rome. He was brave. He was intelligent. He was qualified. But he had one flaw: he talked too much.

As tradition demanded, Coriolanus had to speak directly to the people of Rome if he wanted to be elected. On a stage constructed for this purpose, the big warrior pulled back his toga to reveal dozens of scars. He quickly told the crowd that he had earned them in defense of Rome. Only a few listeners in the front heard his words, and they passed them along to those behind.

But then, like a modern demagogue stepping up to the microphone, Coriolanus continued. He stood before the crowd in a fighter’s stance, legs at shoulder width, slightly on the balls of his feet, shoulders back, hands near his chest. For the next forty-five minutes, he ranted about the issues in Rome, among many other things. But the crowd could not hear him. Luckily, the men in the front row did not pass along his lengthy speech. Finally, Coriolanus ended with a shout for the Roman Republic, and he once more showed his scars. The people were moved to tears at the sight of this brave warrior’s dedication to their defense. The crowd walked away speaking to one another of the experience and bravery of Coriolanus, and the great number of scars he had attained in service to Rome.

The senate, the patrician aristocrats, and Coriolanus all believed the election was as good as final. And it was. It was, that is, until he spoke again.

On the day of voting, Coriolanus entered the senate chambers with an enormous retinue of senators, patricians, and veterans. The common folk who were present were slightly annoyed at this show of bluster. Still, Coriolanus was a war hero, a legend, and the people loved him.

For the next forty-five minutes, he ranted about the issues in Rome, among many other things.

Then he spoke. He told sour jokes only the wealthy could appreciate. He spoke angrily against his opponents. He spoke about his guaranteed victory in the election. He promised riches and he bragged about his battlefield conquests.

The people were disgusted. They forgot all about his legend and saw him as a common bragging soldier.

News of his arrogance spread and flocks of people showed up to vote against him. They ensured he would lose. And he did.

Leaving Rome, Coriolanus swore revenge on the people. He returned to the battlefield and awaited the proper moment. It came from a grain shipment.

The senate was meeting to vote on whether or not to distribute a much anticipated shipment of grain to the people of Rome. Coriolanus entered the Senate Chambers and gave a speech. He argued that this grain would cause more harm than good. Laziness and dependency would occur, he assured. But he did not stop there. He kept talking. He denounced democracy itself. Fickle and dangerous, he called it.

Once again, word spread through Rome. The people were furious. Riots broke out as the People’s Tribune demanded Coriolanus be brought before them to apologize. The wealthy patricians protected their friend. But they capitulated on the grain distribution to the people. Rome received its much deserved food.

News of his arrogance spread and flocks of people showed up to vote against him. They ensured he would lose. And he did.

But it was too late for Coriolanus. The people of Rome could not be fully satiated. They demanded Coriolanus be brought before them to apologize. Were he to do so, the people’s tribune said he could return to the battlefield, so long as he kept his opinions to himself.

When he did appear before them, he started his speech slowly. The people seemed swayed by his condolences. But, as before, he did not stop talking. He became more blunt about the problems of Rome, of which this was proof. He became more arrogant and insolent. The crowd grew angrier and angrier. Until, finally, they had had enough. They demanded his execution. The People’s Tribunal voted “yes” on death to the grand savior of Rome, the man who had protected them from ancient enemies, Coriolanus!

The patricians stepped in once again and convinced the Tribunal to excommunicate rather than execute the war hero.

But, as before, he did not stop talking. He became more blunt about the problems of Rome, of which this was proof. He became more arrogant and insolent. The crowd grew angrier and angrier. Until, finally, they had had enough. They demanded his execution.

When the decision to excommunicate him was announced all the people of Rome rejoiced. There were celebrations in the street. Never had Rome seen such jubilation. Not even when they had announced that Coriolanus had defeated an enemy bent on sacking Rome had the people celebrated so loudly. All this fury and hatred because, Coriolanus could not shut his mouth.