Ketanji, take a bow. You’re no biologist, but your cameo in a bold, nonbinary musical proves you’re not without talent.

In fact, Justice KBJ’s Broadway debut poses an urgent question: How much more untapped star power languishes in our nation's congressional offices, governors' mansions, and NGOs? As they say in auditions, talent knows no boundaries. You don’t need to be a triple threat from Julliard to shine onstage.

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For far too long the Great White Way has perpetuated a system of performer privilege. Only those with highly developed acting, singing, and dancing chops stand a chance get the most coveted roles.

Also: "Great White Way"? Yikes.

All this to say, the casting lineup for the upcoming revival of David Mamet’s Pulitzer-winning "Glengarry Glen Ross" is woefully predictable.

Ever since its iconic 1992 movie adaptation, Mamet's tale of macho, foul-mouthed real estate hustlers fighting for their jobs in a winner-take-all sales contest has been a magnet for professionally trained actors. This new production is no exception, enlisting the likes of Bob Odenkirk, Bill Burr, and Kieran Culkin.

What a missed opportunity for alternative casting.

An all-female version? Don't be ridiculous — everyone knows that intra-female competition is far more vicious than anything even Mamet could dream up.

What I have in mind is ceding the spotlight to some of our most brilliant public servants.

As former Bud Light marketing head Alissa Heinerscheid once said, it’s time to “be inclusive” and “shift the tone.”

Well, Alissa: Hold my beer.

Bernie Sanders as Shelly ‘The Machine’ Levene

“Just give me a hot lead. Just give me two of the premium leads. As a ‘test,’ all right? As a test. And I promise you …”

"Glengarry Glen Ross" opens with two men arguing in a restaurant booth. The older one is bent forward and repeating himself, clearly begging for his life. The younger man sitting opposite has the power to make or break him. Ladies and gentlemen (sorry, I meant "dreamers of all ages"), meet Shelley Levene, the first fellow in that equation.

Broke, wrinkled, and hounded by trouble, Levene nonetheless harbors hope that he's still got it. A symbol of washed-up cold callers everywhere, he’s also a choice acting role — "King Lear" light for thespians over 50. Jack Lemmon played Levene to crooning, anguished perfection in the movie, and he lives on in pop culture as "Old Gill," the raspy, collar-tugging salesman from the "The Simpsons."

Is "Better Call Saul" star Bob Odenkirk the clear choice for this fast-talking, aging warrior with something to prove? I object!

If it please the court, I call upon Senator Bernie Sanders from Vermont.

To say nothing of range, Shelley Levene requires battle scars. With 16 Senate years and two popular but ultimately doomed presidential runs, Bernie’s got them. Plus, what better angsty, grandstanding lefty to drive home the play’s anti-capitalist undertones? Net worth aside, Sanders is notoriously frugal, and Mamet quipped that he wrote "Glengarry" when he "didn’t have two dimes to rub together." Sanders’ best-selling book "It’s OK to Be Angry About Capitalism" couldn’t say it any better. And nothing puts butts in seats and money in producers' pockets like hating capitalism.

Washington’s full of geezers, but let’s face it: Only old man Sanders has the drive, doggedness, and "brass b***ls" to move these lots … before confiscating them for the workers.

Understudy: Anthony Fauci

David Hogg as John Williamson

“You start closing again, you’ll be on the board.”

The other man in that restaurant booth is office manager John Williamson, played on-screen by a 30-something Kevin Spacey. Keeper of the leads, Williamson shoulders the whole operation, including the sales contest that will see two bottom performers axed.

When the office is ransacked and the leads are stolen at the end of act one, this guy in charge (who looks like an intern) finds himself in way over his head. Vandalized property, angry bosses, contracts to re-close … and older, jealous employees circling him like vultures.

Talk about reverse ageism. For this less showy but demanding acting lift, I nominate a real up-and-comer — anti-gun activist and recently confirmed DNC vice chair David Hogg.

If Hogg looks the part, he’s also got the resume. Harvard pedigree. As a 24-year-old power broker, he’s already working on that look of forlorn determination, the resigned stare of baby-faced execs who get no respect (or stock tips) from the old guard. If he’s eager now, put him in a room with Pelosi and give it time.

Plus, going by the title of his book "#NeverAgain: A New Generation Draws the Line," Hogg sounds like the kind of guy who stands his ground … if standing said ground means abolishing ICE and persuading people to give their guns away. On that fun-ruining note, I can see David hugging a pile of leads to his chest and refusing to share.

Understudy: Former San Francisco D.A. Chesa Boudin

Gavin Newsome as Richard Roma

“Where are you going? This is me … this is Ricky, Jim. Jim, anything you want, you want it, you have it. You understand?”

When we first see Ricky Roma, he’s leading a bogus philosophy conversation with a man he just met, James Lingk. The spiel ends with Roma sliding a pamphlet across the table; he’s selling land, of course, and Lingk is the easy mark.

Speaking of easy mark, millions of California voters can’t be wrong.

If you’re looking for a slick, confident, high roller who believes — and possesses the strange ability to make others believe — every word he says, look no farther than Gavin Newsom.

Need I say more?

With his soulless good looks and just the right note of gravel in his voice (all the better to lend credence to empty promise after empty promise), Governor Hair Gel is a shoo-in. With more family connections to wealth and power than a British royal, he’s more than prepared; he’s Ricky Roma — winner of this month’s sales contest — to a T. Here, with Newsom taking his place beside Al Pacino, Liev Schrieber, Aidan Gillen, and Joe Mantegna, the play casts itself.

While I won’t give too much away, watching this Temu "American Psycho" flail around in act two to stop James Lingk from taking his money back would be too good to miss. Where there’s fire, no water, no power, and nothing to show for some $200 billion of bullet train, Gav Man’s there, perfecting his flail.

Is he vain and abrasive and hard to work with? Sure. Will he try to nail his castmates' wives and girlfriends? You bet. But sometimes art requires sacrifice. And nobody knows more about making other people make sacrifices than Gavin Newsom.

Understudy: Andrew Cuomo

Andrew Tate as Dave Moss

“That’s right. It’s a crime. It’s also very safe.”

When corporate suits downtown turn up the heat, jilted salesman Dave Moss (played with fangs by Ed Harris) doesn’t take it sitting down. Instead, he strikes back — just like kickboxing champ, influencer, and patron saint of brooding, teenage males everywhere Andrew Tate.

Not long after we first meet him, Moss has all but convinced co-worker George Aaronow that they have to rob the office that night. His plan involves turning the place upside down, making off with the leads, and selling them to rival Jerry Graff in an act of revenge.

Alpha. Boastful. Unusually cool when discussing or confessing crime.

Throw on a tie and Tate’s perfect.

Nothing like Tate's smooth, simmering, performative fury to bring Mamet’s snake of an antagonist to life. And hey, with people everywhere wringing their hands over Tate’s toxic reach with the he-man-woman-haters crowd, the stage might be a healthier outlet for everyone. Buck the system, mate. Rant and black-pill all you want, because it’s all made up. When you’re finished, you even get to take a bow.

Understudy: Destiny

John Fetterman as George Aaronow

“Why are you doing this to me, Dave? Why are you talking this way to me?”

There’s a touch of Mr. Magoo to clueless, hand-wringing George Aaronow. Thinking he’s just blowing off steam with a co-worker, Aaronow stumbles into Moss’ plan to rob the office. When he’s done listening, Moss tells him "you’re an accomplice."

Aaronow is appalled, but by the end of act one, we’re fairly certain he’s gone and done Moss’ dirty work. When act two rolls around, we’re not so sure, and "Glengarry" takes on the flavor of a crime procedural.

Who better than the faux-blue-collar Dem turned crypto-conservative after a massive stroke to keep us guessing?

If you think John Fetterman, the senator who wore shorts and a hoodie to a presidential inauguration, won’t don a suit for the role of a lifetime, think again … and then get ready to think outside the box, costume-wise.

Either way, and in spite of his occasional stammer, Fetterman’s gentle-giant vibe and loud rejection of progressive brands Hamas and Tren de Aragua give him an ingredient the play and character really need: a functioning moral compass.

Understudy… but not for much longer: Mitch McConnell

Jamaal Bowman as James Lingk

"I can’t negotiate. I don’t have the power.”

If this seems like an odd choice, then back off, friend — we’ve got five white men cast already.

A hapless NPC who takes Roma’s bait and signs over his family's nest egg, Lingk clambers back in act two to pull the fire alarm on their deal. Call it instinct, but something tells me Jamaal Bowman is just perfect for that.

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Fair and equitable?

On second thought, this list is as privileged as it gets. Washington may be Hollywood for ugly people, but it’s a far cry from the undiscovered, still-unrescued acting talent of inland North Carolina or Palestine, Ohio.

But you get the idea.

From Al Pacino down to Burr and Odenkik, ‘Glengarry’ is a rite of passage for theater veterans. Fresh productions in New York and London over the years have made the play more like a semi-annual boxing tournament, with roles, brackets, and positions already set. Mamet’s role as dialogue guru and reigning vulgarian is nothing new, so the buzz over plays like ‘Glengarry,’ or even ‘American Buffalo’ is mostly who will be squaring off with who.

That we, the audience, still favor fifty-year-old shock value over cleaner hard-hitting drama says something about our culture. Swears are fun, and yes, Mamet raised them to an artform, but maybe, just maybe, we’ve spent enough time in this rank, money-grubbing locker room. Still, what better opportunity to turn heads with alternative casting? If we shouldn’t let a crisis go to waste, the same goes for a ninety minute f-bomb deluge that still carries cultural weight.

Move over, Ketanji.

Bernie, Gavin, pull those gloves on.

Broadway glory awaits.