John McCain has a flare for the dramatic. In the grand tradition of great republican actors such as Arnold Schwarzenegger, Ronald Reagan, and Rutherford B. Hayes (he had a little-known supporting role in Le Prince's Roundhay Garden Scene. If you look close, you can see him hiding behind a bush), McCain established himself these past two weeks as a thespian in his own right. He started by acting like our economy was strong, then he acted like he understood how our economy worked, followed that up by acting like he actually cared about the economy, then acted like he could single-handedly save our economy by suspending his campaign before finally acting like he wouldn't be able to debate Barack Obama tonight. Fred Thompson, eat your heart out.
The brilliance of McCain's act is that as a result, it doesn't even matter what happens during the course of tonight's debate. McCain and his campaign staff, who apparently were not suspended, have already successfully shifted the narrative for tonight. It's not about issues, it's about attendance. If John McCain shows up, he wins. Hollywood has taught us that lesson countless times.
The Karate Kid is a great example of this narrative. Despite the knee injury suffered at the hands of the Cobra Kai, with the help of Elizabeth Shue and the mystical healing power of his mentor, Mr. Miyagi, Daniel Caruso is ultimately able to finish and win the karate tournament. The moral of this tale is clear: our hero doesn't win because he's better at karate. Our hero wins because he has the courage to show up when times are tough. Barack Obama is McCain's Cobra Kai, Cindy McCain is Elizabeth Shue, and Sarah Palin has magic hands.
It doesn't matter if McCain knows anything about issues like the economy, social security, medicare, health insurance, unemployment, inflation, the environment, globalization, or even foreign affairs. If McCain shows up tonight, he wins. All that's left for him to decide is how he shows up. I see it unfolding sort of like this:
Open on Barack Obama, standing triumphantly, basking in victory. All of a sudden, there is a noise. It grows louder. And louder. And louder. It's a helicopter, and it somehow manages to 1) land inside the auditorium and 2) do so without killing or injuring anyone. Obama and his handlers look anxiously at the chopper, waiting for it's passenger to emerge.Just then, adorned in a t-shirt made out of an American flag, John McCain stomps out from the vehicle. Onlookers cheer and rush to fill his wake as McCain makes his way to the stage. McCain is focused and undeterred; nothing is
going to stand in his way, not even David Plouffe, who McCain effortlessly pushes aside as he approaches the podium. McCain climbs onto the stage, emboldened by the chants of "Drill baby, drill" from the thousands of fans who flooded the already packed arena through the giant whole left in the roof when McCain's 'copter crashed through it. Jim Lehrer attempts to stop McCain, explaining "this contest is over, and you're too late." McCain is undeterred. Grabbing a microphone, he begins his oration:"Everyone wants to know what's wrong with America. There's nothing wrong with America... The only thing wrong with America is YOU, and we're gonna clean house right here, right now."
McCain's harsh words are met with phlegm, emanating from the mouth of David Axelrod. True to his word, McCain does not blink; he dispatches Axelrod, tossing him off the the stage. He then tares off his American-flag shirt, which would seem un-patriotic if not for his rippling muscles now so rightfully exposed. Then the unimaginable happens. After sizing each other up for several seconds that tick by like hours, Obama charges. McCain evades, directing Obama into the lectern. A dazed Obama spins around back towards a waiting McCain, who then delivers the final blow: a devastating hip-slam that leaves a defeated Obama laying helpless on the floor.
McCain is the champion. And the winner is America.
