Bull Durham: The Metaphor

On Nov. 3 of this year, voters in Virginia and New Jersey go to the polls to elect their governors. These voters are inevitably thinking why couldn’t we be in one of the normal years? Then everyone wouldn’t be staring.

Virginia voters have a choice between a man who never met a position he could hold. Or couldn’t hold. Or could hold but not too tight. And one who advocates the imposition of sharia law. Although, he insists that the document in which these covenants were put forth was a youthful indiscretion. It seems to me that the indiscretions of a married father and army veteran of 34 are rarely characterized as youthful.

Most New Jersey voters are probably quoting Noel Coward for the first time in their lives: “If I had to choose between them I’d take hemlock.”

Regardless of the caliber of the candidates put before me I have never missed a primary or general election since turning 18 in 1974. This makes me ineligible to run for governor of California.

If you are Democrat holding office in Virginia, you may thank me for supporting your primary opponent. If you are a woman running for the state senate, Congress or the presidency and you see me approaching with an open checkbook run, run like the wind.

Now that I have relocated to Atlanta, the electoral politics before me is table rasa. Since I don’t know the players, I am starting with the candidates for City Council in my district. To that end, I recently attended a candidates’ forum.

The four men and two women sat at two long folding tables, facing the audience from a middle school stage. The whole thing could have been over in 20 minutes as little was revealed over the course of ninety minutes that changed the impressions created by their opening statements.

The first candidate seemed ill-informed and possessed of no particular platform. I would have been embarrassed for him had he not seemed so impervious, serenely confident and self-satisfied. He was only killing time until his inevitable election.

Next up was a young woman who was clearly quite intelligent, but also anxious and only marginally better informed. She was more excruciating to watch as she clearly knew how inadequate her answers were.

She was followed by an Ichabod Crane-ish fellow who had done his time in the trenches. He knew the community, he knew its issues and he had thoughtful proposals for addressing them. He even had responsible ideas for funding his initiatives. Unfortunately, his was not a legislative disposition. He was arrogant, impatient and given to hectoring. I couldn’t imagine him building the coalitions necessary to advance his good ideas.

Then came his mirror image, mild, amiable, a bit cuddly looking, with occasional flashes of a surprising edge. He gave the impression of a man who thought enough to get by and not one iota more. He didn’t so much have fire in the belly, as a few glowing embers of ego. He struck me as someone whose name was frequently preceded by “good ole.”

The other woman running was tall and patrician, with a natural graciousness that made it possible for her to put all and sundry, from the largest donor to her housekeeper, at ease. She seemed to know every organization mentioned, and several she brought up herself, intimately and authentically. She was, however, the only candidate to pull a gimmick. The other five candidates sat through their opening statements while she made a rather ostentatious point of standing. And her solution to most municipal concerns was outsourcing. I might have respected her if she had offered to put her own position first.

The final candidate was the most intriguing. A successful entrepreneur with roots in the community, but not the history of civic engagement of Ichabod or Lady Bountiful. The most poised and articulate speaker. He knew the issues facing the district and the city cold. His proposed solutions were a little vague and his funding mechanisms even vaguer. Both his vagueness and his hint of charisma made him seem a natural.

And aren’t city councils and county commissions and the like really political farm teams? They provide most players with their final stop and a chance to parade before small, but intense legions of followers. A few players are groomed for bigger things. Sometimes a natural talent will emerge; sometimes the most disciplined player will advance. We all think we can pick ‘em, but really we only know in retrospect.

In fairness, someone should tell Lady Bountiful if she sees me approaching with a check book to run, run like the wind.