Team of Rivals

Since it would be disingenuous at this point to proclaim a disinterest in television viewing, this being my third consecutive blog inspired by that activity, let me begin with the frank admission that, like the proverbial couch potato, for past two weeks I have found myself fixated on the silver screen for extended periods of time, entranced by all manner of sound bites, speechmaking, interviews, commentary, and analysis relative to America's quadrennial exercise in presidential selection.

Is this season's circus any more intriguing and seductive than others of recent memory -- or is it just the fact that, like a championship sporting event, it's this week's game of the century? I will not be the first -- nor last -- putative pundit to point out two obvious reasons for a heightened level of interest: (1) This is the first presidential election year since Eisenhower ran against Stevenson in 1952 in which neither party is offering up a natural successor, that is, a sitting president or vice-president; (2) The number of viable candidates is unusually large, nine at this writing, although some may fallen from favor by the time I post -- or you read -- this article.

Nine is a number which should resonate with my faithful readers, at least those perspicacious enough to recall my past and present reverence for the game of baseball. Yes, nine players constitute a traditional baseball team -- minus the anomalous designated hitter -- a conceit I propose to expand upon in this political meditation. Since, of course, these contenders are rivals rather than teammates, I seized upon the title noted above, fully aware that I might be justifiably castigated for plagiarizing it from Doris Kearns Goodwin's best-selling history of Lincoln's Administration, among the members of which were, at Mr. Lincoln's invitation, three men whom he had bested for the Presidency: William H. Seward, Salmon P. Chase, and Edward Bates.

The sight of these players rushing to their assigned positions prompts me to reflect on just what this game is all about: the quest to become the President of the United States, the most powerful man on earth, leader of three hundred million diverse souls, commander-in-chief of 1.5 million uniformed men and women scattered throughout the globe, administrator of a $2.8 trillion budget, manager of two million civil service employees (and 10.5 million more when federal contractors and grantees are included). Baited by the press, we, his constituents, yearn for a Chief Executive invested in the shimmering aura of royalty and endowed with the superhuman powers each candidate claims to possess, only to be cruelly disillusioned when Shakespearian flaws erupt like ugly boils, the most painful of which is a stubborn inability to forecast the consequences of one's actions, whether personal, as in the case of Bill Clinton, or geopolitical, as in the case of George Bush.

While striving to lead, each candidate presents himself as a servant of the people. Speaking as a cynic or a realist, I submit, however, that what drives these seekers of our highest office is a synergistic combination of a will-to-power and the desire to promote a particular -- though often fluid -- agenda. And while these forces are actively informing the psyches of each individual, they are just as vigorously propelling two influence groups surfing in their wake: party functionaries and a tangled potpourri of special interests. For with victory come the spoils of war: appointments to be made, contributors to be rewarded, platform-driven legislation to be proposed, executive orders to be promulgated.

The imposing figures of Ronald Reagan -- actor as politician -- and Bill Clinton -- politician as actor -- and unrelenting media attention have transformed presidential campaigns into stage shows where performance trumps solidity. Through the unfiltered camera lens and the unforgiving microphone every grin, grimace, voice inflection, pause, body movement, and spoken word is amplified, scrutinized, and analyzed ad infinitum. Viewers are challenged to choose between authenticity and plasticity, experience and novelty, competence and likeability, humor and gravitas. Some rare stars -- like Reagan and Clinton -- are charming enough to project these contradictory traits simultaneously, setting lofty standards for their aspiring successors to emulate.

I used to believe that Presidents could not make a significant difference in my own -- or anyone's -- life, until the advent of George Bush. Now, seven years later, I am compelled to admit that his tax cuts -- passed at his behest by a malleable Republican Congress -- saved me money, lots of money, by reducing my earned income and capital gains rates. Whether economic growth and the stock market's meteoric rise during the same period -- which benefited my retail furniture business and increased my personal wealth -- can be attributed to these policies, experts wiser than I will have to determine. And whether these same policies have laid the groundwork for severe negative long-term results, manifestations of which may already be upon us, those experts also will have to judge.

At least one thinks they have. Writing in the December issue of "Vanity Fair," Joseph Steglitz slams the Bush Administration's economic policies and catalogues a litany of missteps and their consequences: passing the aforementioned tax cuts, which, skewed towards the wealthy, have deepened the gulf between rich and poor; enacting the Medicare prescription drug benefit, the largest increase in entitlements in four decades, which, in a sop to pharmaceutical companies, has prevented subscribers from purchasing cheap foreign-sourced medications and the government from negotiating with those same companies for lower prices; launching a preemptive war in Iraq, which has destabilized the region, driven up oil prices, and cost our government almost $1 trillion; failing to diversify America's energy resources, to invest adequately in a decaying infrastructure, and (this one is mine) to address our massive unfunded future Social Security and Medicare obligations; and fostering, by example and lack of oversight, a fiscal irresponsibility that has encouraged lenders and borrowers to accumulate unsustainable levels of home mortgage debt.

I believe a divided government -- a Democratic Congress and a Republican President, or vice versa -- where one branch checks the excesses of the other -- reflecting the brilliant design of the Founding Fathers -- causes the least harm, and offers the opportunity for the greatest good for the American citizenry. Whether voters, in their ultimate wisdom, will produce that outcome remains to be seen. In any event, I now believe our next president will have as great an impact on our individual lives as the current one. And he (or she) will be one of the following members of our baseball team.

Standing on the pitcher's mound is Mitt Romney, a surprising choice, since, given his catchy proper name, one would expect to find him ensconced behind home plate. But how callous would it be to veil that handsome visage -- the nobly chiseled features, the sparkling black eyes, the blindingly pearlescent smile, the luxuriously coiffed hair -- beneath leather and iron. (Of course, he poses capless.) The mystique enveloping Mitt -- flanked by his wife, sons, and daughters-in-law, all gorgeously stamped from the same mold as he -- is that he's too perfect; one speculates whether the delicately struck blow of a jeweler's hammer might not shatter him like a diamond. As one satirist remarked, when he goes into his windup to deliver a pitch, he's like Robocop eating paste.

Voters are not yet convinced that his positions are any more durable than the fragile shell that encases him. Anyone who has slipped so smoothly from moderate (or liberal) positions on social issues like abortion and gay rights can just as easily blow back -- which might make him more appealing to me, except for the confusion and shoddiness of his flip-flopping. And although Washington may indeed be broken and in dire need of a fixer -- the newest of his themes, which change colors like a chameleon -- does anyone believe bureaucracies and legislatures can be re-engineered like the companies Mitt's venture capitalist firm bought and sold? And, more to the point, does the man on the street really care?

Crouched behind the plate, giving Mitt the finger, is the scrappy, pugnacious, bulldog of a catcher and, by virtue of his seniority, the designated team captain, John McCain, whose scarred mug, crooked arm, and uneven gait are not only the vestiges of prison camp torture but the symbolic wounds of political warfare, including the battle he lost in 2000, when the Republican establishment and religious right, weary of his independence (read, liberalism) and fearful he might derail George Bush's coronation, threw him under the bus. Ironically, he turned out to be one of Bush's strongest war and immigration reform supporters, and is now riding the surge to a renewed primary popularity.

Of all the candidates, McCain seems less driven by naked ambition than by a genuine desire to serve and lead his countrymen, or, as he refers to them, ad nauseum, "My friends." When attacked by his opponents on issues like the Bush tax cuts and immigration and forced to compromise and qualify his convictions, his pain and disgust are palpable. Smiling doesn't come easily to him, another reminder of his life story -- but no one can doubt his sincerity, courage, or gentlemanly conduct; except on rare occasions, he is too kind to his rivals.

I fear, however, that his time has passed. At age 72, McCain would take office as our oldest first-term president. His advisers, apprehensive about what the unleashed "Straight Talker" might say, prefer that he avoid speaking extemporaneously; he read a ten-minute prepared acceptance speech after winning the New Hampshire primary. While I applaud his hawkish crusade against out-of-control government spending, I thought he passed the ball when he used a question about a possible recession to reassert his reputation as the congressional "Sheriff" and to congratulate himself for sinking a $6 billion tanker expenditure.

Anchoring first base is the tall, lean, craggy-faced, Tennessee-drawling, former actor, Fred Thompson. This position requires less mobility, less pure athletic skill, than the others and is ideal for the player whose engagement and commitment have disappointed his supporters ever since he bubbled up from the underground and his immediate name recognition boosted him into the thick of the race. I believe that the Republican establishment was desperate for a candidate whose conservative credentials were untarnished and consistent and that his hungry trophy wife persuaded him to throw his hat in the ring.

As one pundit remarked, Thompson has played many roles well, except the one he must play now: himself. (He reminds me of Henry Fonda -- the President -- in the 1964 movie "Fail-Safe.") He stumbled early, appearing lackadaisical and uninformed. He was articulate enough and serious-looking -- which only served to deepen his wrinkled brow; he just didn't seem to know, or care, what he was talking about. He's been a quick study, though, and performed well in the Republican South Carolina debate (one focus group pegged him the winner), pouncing on his direct opponent in that primary, Mike Huckabee, as too liberal for Reagan Republicans. I was surprised to hear him express concern over the looming insolvency of Social Security and Medicare, an issue on which all other candidates and the media have been resoundingly silent. I expect Fred's flare-up is ephemeral and will expire soon from lack of energy and oxygen.

The man with two first names, Ron Paul, holds down second base, where limited range and a weak throwing arm will do minimum damage. Paul's libertarian philosophy has mobilized a sympathetic base, generated millions of internet dollars, and garnered a tolerable number of primary votes. In public appearances he has criticized both parties for enlarging the federal government, pursuing unnecessary and expensive foreign missions, and weakening the dollar and endangering our economy through uncontrolled deficit spending -- valid arguments, to be sure. Yet, in my view, his rambling, unfocused, isolationist, whining diatribes have sadly undermined his own and his disciples' credibility. Reduced violence in Iraq and the success of the surge have also negated his cause. Libertarians deserve a better spokesperson; it's time for Ron (or Paul) to retire.

The hot corner, third base, is capably defended by former New York mayor, Rudi Giuliani, the Italian stallion (or stud, according to some reports), Sylvester Stallone without the hair, who spears line drives as deftly as he deflects terrorist attacks. Based on his expertise in national security and his perceived edge in a mano-a-mano contest with Hillary, and in spite of his un-Republican pro-abortion and pro-gun-control leanings, before any votes were cast, Rudi was the front-runner -- that is, until Hillary squandered her inevitability, a revived McCain co-opted national security, and Huckabee made social issues relevant.

Rudi is struggling mightily to recover from this flurry of hard-hit balls as well as a strategy that has him banking on a victory in the Florida primary -- which has left him out of sight, out of mind, out of the conversation, and out of the running in Iowa, New Hampshire (where his poor showing has made his staff downplay the considerable time he actually spent there), Michigan, and South Carolina. Rudi is shrewd, well-spoken (even with rocks in his mouth, which he sometimes evinces), and sure-footed, but at the same time passive, in that he never challenges an opponent; maybe he fears a counterattack against his vulnerable left. His latest proposals (they may not be new) smack of panic: a one-page income tax return, featuring three simplified levels of taxation, 10%, 15%, and 30%, with about as much chance of adoption as Rudi's being named father of the year; and an impractical and intrusive national ID card to register illegal immigrants and, I assume, legal citizens (which sounds to me like just another identification to be stolen). I doubt Rudi can regain traction.

Meanwhile, he's been overtaken by our slick-fielding, nimble, witty shortstop, Mike Huckabee. I am embarrassed to admit it, but, in the words of the slogan plastered all over his bumper stickers, signs, and lapel pins, "I like Mike." Who can resist his hucksterish country-boy charm, self-deprecating humor, and crooked, congenial grin, all of which remind me of a cross (no pun intended) between Gomer Pyle and Ronald Reagan? Who cares if he's an Evangelical Christian and former Baptist preacher? I've always felt that the Republican Party of recent vintage was the product of an unholy coalition between big business and socially conscious middle-class churchgoers who would one day find themselves at odds. It takes tax dollars to build better roads and schools -- and often to provide food, shelter, and health care to the impoverished -- and if Mike Huckabee raised taxes in Arkansas for those ends -- which I have no doubt he did, in spite of his equivocations -- more power to him. He's preaching an economic populism and compassionate conservatism that is luring audiences, contributions, and votes.

I won't deny that Mike has his problems, and they won't be easily salved with snake-oil. Ghosts of corruption haunt him from his days in the governor's mansion. His lack of knowledge and experience in foreign affairs and security matters is painfully evident -- but so was Reagan's at a similar time in his career. Running constitutional amendments banning abortion and gay marriages up a Confederate flagpole will win him few friends and lots of enemies. His Fair Tax Plan is unfair, flawed, going nowhere, and mostly a carrot dangled in front of economic conservatives. But wouldn't it be refreshing to have a president who took his job seriously but not always himself; who hadn't sworn allegiance to multinational corporations and special interest groups; and who espoused a brand of warmhearted Christianity that even a Jew like me can appreciate?

Although my readers will no doubt argue that all three Democratic contenders belong in left field, proper defense dictates an occupant for each outfield position. And of the three, furthest to the left is the boyishly handsome, toothy, silver-tongued son of a . . . mill worker, John Edwards, former trial lawyer, former Senator, former nominee for Vice-President -- to review his laundry list of qualifications for our Highest Office. By all accounts, Mr. Edwards's Senate record wasn't all that remarkable (he voted to authorize military action in Iraq, and for other measures which he now apologizes for) and he ran for President in 2004 because he knew his Senate re-election chances were slim. Along the way he appropriated the role of spokesperson -- or defender, as in a courtroom -- for all the underrepresented, uninsured, dispossessed, disadvantaged, and forgotten elements in our society (the Other America, to recoin a phrase), and embarked on a crusade in their behalf, in 2004 and, deja vu, in 2008.

At the risk of offending those whom Mr. Edwards (it just doesn't sound right to call him John) is championing, I find his tone and invective so strident, belligerent, and repetitive that they distort him into a caricature of himself. While I acknowledge that the great divide between rich and poor in this country has widened in the last twenty years -- a condition exacerbated by the current administration's fiscal policies -- I submit that assailing corporate America and health insurance companies as cold-blooded sinners and staking a presidential campaign on a handful of victims tragically underserved by our health care system is futile rhetoric at best and demagoguery at worst. Mr. Edwards's railings may indeed be the only way to draw attention to some fundamental inequities, but, if I may take a cheap shot, their authenticity and purity are blemished by exorbitant hairstylings, lavish residences, and cozy hedge fund relationships.

Patrolling center field is the graceful, lithe, charismatic upstart, Barack Obama, only last year an unknown minor leaguer but now, suddenly, a major player. I must admit that my conceptualization of Mr. Obama is as vague as, well, some of his policies. Maybe I've been watching too much Fox News, but I haven't seen that much of him on television. I did catch a snippet of his and Oprah's revival -- where the size, excitement, and enthusiasm of the crowd clearly eclipsed comparable events. On a superficial level, I find it amusing that, as his poll numbers have risen, Mr. Obama has largely abandoned his much-discussed, trend-setting, suit-with-no-tie attire and is sighted now usually sporting a blue appendage. Is it possible that, having won over the dress-down constituency, he has been advised to expand his base?

My younger readers (and some older Democrats, too) may cringe at my opinion that Mr. Obama's credentials are of even lighter weight than Mr. Edwards's -- a speech at the Democratic National Convention and three years in the Senate. (At least the latter completed a full term before running for President.) So what, I am sure they will respond; where we're headed, no experience is necessary, conjuring up images of John Kennedy, although, since Kennedy served fourteen years in Congress, I believe a more apt comparison would be Abraham Lincoln, except for the incongruity that Mr. Lincoln started a war and Mr. Obama wants to end one. This movement is all about the future, hope, change (you can believe in), vision, leadership, unity, and, quite frankly, a powerful voice, and so historic that its herald, in a rather peculiar declaration of independence, has even invoked the name of hallowed Hall of Famer Ronald Reagan as an inspiration. A testament to Mr. Obama's durability is the fact that the spark that ignited his campaign -- his initial opposition to the War in Iraq -- has in recent months lost its luster. Meanwhile, he has ridden his own surge to equality with the presumed front-runner, courageously kept to the high road, and, in his own inimitable style, successfully projected his personality as the message.

Which leaves only right field, manned (!) by Hillary Rodham Clinton, HRC in blogspeak, because, as the only female on the team, it's where her suspect defense will do the least harm, even though she may ultimately turn out to be the best player.

MSNBC brought our three outfielders together a few nights ago in Nevada in what was billed as a debate, but which, with Obama pulling his punches, Hillary sheathing her fangs, and Edwards dancing around the edges, quickly evaporated into a mild-mannered coffee klatch. YouTube voters said Obama won, but I thought Hillary, seated royally in the center of the semi-circular table, a magnet for the camera, clothed in red and black, emerged as dominatrix, calm, controlled, commanding. She spoke more authoritatively and specifically on the issues -- executive management, economics, and energy -- than either of her opponents. I winced at her proposals to ban home foreclosures for ninety days and to freeze interest rates on adjustable mortgages for five years -- problematic disruptions of free markets -- but, in reality, her pandering is no worse than Obama's or Edwards's.

The Clintons as a team, however, disturb me. I liked Bill as president, although, after a while, I had to tune out his gravelly voice, interminable speeches, and slippery rationalizations. I never thought sexual misbehavior and its attendant lies (who's going to admit to adultery?) were grounds for impeachment. Early in the campaign, when Hillary looked unstoppable, I grudgingly accepted her as the Democratic nominee and the person I would be voting for if I were to remain true to my Democratic roots. But lately, the more I see of her and the more I see of him, I've come to realize that George Washington had the right idea when he walked away from a third term in 1797. I know that Hillary and Bill are two different people and that I'm probably guilty of some sexist, anti-feminist prejudice when I reject a spouse simply because she's a spouse, but the facts are that these two are inextricably and permanently linked, and that when she goes into the White House, he comes along. That doesn't sound like change to me.

It's possible I've been listening to too much right-wing talk radio, but I am also no longer willing to turn a blind eye to the Clintons' unscrupulous lust for power. Politics is a ruthless business, and maybe it's just more Clinton fatigue on my part, but their brand seems egregiously hypocritical and mean-spirited. Slyly-leaked insinuations about Obama's drug use, dredging up old abstention votes on abortion rights in the Illinois Senate, clumsy back-handed attempts to inject race into the race -- followed by patronizing protestations of innocence -- are typical of the nasty tactics and behavior that will shadow another Clinton Administration. It may well be beneficial for the country -- and an improvement over the current one -- but, in my view, will suffer mightily from the burden of too much baggage.

We are now in the fifth inning of our imaginary game, with players singling, doubling, tripling, and striking out. Sooner or later, somebody on this team is going to hit a walk-off home run in the bottom of the ninth. My guess is that the opposing parties will rally around Mitt and Hillary, and, with the 2008 election a referendum on the economy and George Bush, HRC will prevail.