ROUND ROCK, Texas — Nine days after Democrat James Talarico defeated Republican Ken Paxton to become the first Democrat elected to the U.S. Senate from Texas since 1988, local retiree Dale Purcell, 61, who has told everyone within earshot that "this time is different" every two years since 1996, confirmed Thursday that he has no idea what to do now that it was.
"I had a whole thing for the Wednesday," said Purcell, standing in his kitchen in the spot he has reportedly occupied since shortly after the race was called. "You get up at five. You drive to the Whataburger. You sit in the truck and don't order anything. You say 'Well' out loud, once. Then you go home and tell Carol it was the turnout. I've done it fifteen times. Nobody ever wrote me the other version."
By his own count, Purcell entered election night with a record of 0 and 15, a streak he describes as "a body of work." He said it about Victor Morales in 1996. He said it about Ron Kirk in 2002. He said it about Wendy Davis's sneakers.
"He said it so many times the grandkids thought it was grace," said his wife, Carol Purcell, 59. "Somebody'd pass the potatoes and all six of them would whisper, 'This time is different.'"
This time, it was. Along with Talarico's win, Democrat Gina Hinojosa was projected to unseat Gov. Greg Abbott, and the Texas House flipped to Democratic control. Purcell had predicted all of it, specifically and out loud, in the cereal aisle of a Kroger in September, a statement he now says was "just the kind of thing you say."
Since the call, family members say, Purcell has opened the refrigerator 212 times, according to a tally Carol keeps on a Post-it, "like there's a protocol in there." He has picked up and put down his Beto O'Rourke yard sign from 2018, which has faded in the sun until it reads only "BET." And he has not yet drunk from the mug.
The mug, which says THIS TIME IS DIFFERENT in red block letters, was printed in 2018 and has been kept in a high cabinet ever since. "It was for after," Purcell explained. Asked whether it was now after, he looked at the mug for some time and then at the reporter, as if the reporter would know.
📇 The Purcell Track Record, 1996–2026
Thirty years of Dale saying it. Flip the cards in any order. Purcell asks that you save 2026 for last, "so it lands right."
Results reflect statewide races Purcell personally predicted. He also predicted several school board races, which he wins, and which he says "don't count, because I'm happy."
Experts say Purcell's condition is more common than it appears. "We're seeing a lot of it this month," said Dr. Lena Ochoa, a Round Rock family therapist, who calls it post-vindication disorder. "These are people who built a whole personality on a stable, renewable disappointment. You take that away overnight and they don't know where to stand. Literally. Most of them are standing in kitchens."
Symptoms include refreshing results pages for races that were called days ago, starting sentences with "Well, at least" and being unable to finish them, and a strong urge to text an old college roommate the words "Hey. So." and nothing else.
The finding has also unsettled the academic community. Economists Carmen Reinhart and Kenneth Rogoff spent their 2009 book, This Time Is Different, documenting eight centuries of people who said the phrase and were wrong. Researchers at the Institute for Recurring Folly, a think tank HuckFinn could not locate, said Purcell's statement may be the first confirmed exception in the dataset, and that they would be adding it "as a footnote. A small one."
The rest of the country gave Purcell little to hold on to. Democrats took both chambers of Congress, the fifth time since World War II that a party has flipped the House and the Senate in a single midterm, after 1946, 1954, 1994 and 2006. According to an NPR analysis, the polls got the direction right and, if anything, underestimated Democratic support. For the first time in his life, Purcell was more optimistic than the data and still not optimistic enough.
"I didn't even predict the U.S. House," he said quietly. "I got outflanked by my own side."
His longtime group chat, which began in 1998 as "Texas Blue By 2000" and was later renamed "Blue By 2008," "Blue By 2020 (For Real)" and "Purple Is A Kind Of Blue," went silent for six hours on election night. The first message, at 4:12 a.m., read "so what do we do." The second read "do we… govern?" Nobody has answered either one.
🤖 COPE-96 Coping Protocol Assistant
Carol set up this assistant after the 2014 cycle to walk Dale through election Wednesdays. It has never been asked anything new. Ask it something new.
COPE-96 has 40 pages of guidance for losing, an appendix for losing narrowly and one blank page labeled "If." A firmware update has been requested. Estimated arrival: the next time it happens.
Neighbors have noticed the change. "Normally by now he's out front explaining Harris County turnout to my dog," said a man two houses down. "Yesterday he just waved. Like a normal person. It was very upsetting."
Purcell did try to call his brother-in-law, Randy, a lifelong Republican, to say something about it. "I said, 'Hey, Randy,' and then I just breathed for a while," Purcell said. "He asked if I was okay. He was real nice about it. I think he's had more practice at this than I have, from the other side."
On Wednesday night, in what family members described as an attempt to restore order, Purcell walked into the living room during dinner and announced that this time was different for the Dallas Cowboys, who have not reached an NFC Championship Game since the 1995 season.
The family begged him to stop. "He was right one time," Carol said. "We don't know how many of those he has. We're not sure the state can afford a second."
At press time, Purcell had been seen on his front porch, whispering "it'll never happen" to a 2028 wall calendar, just to feel something familiar.
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