[img]1|left|Ari Noonan||no_popup[/img]Your choice of the winner in last night’s Jerry Brown-Meg Whitman debate at U.C. Davis hinges, undramatically, on the candidate you are supporting.
Neither noticeably gaffed, always the first barometer. It was clear throughout the 60 minutes why they are tied in the polls with 34 days to go.
In the state’s leading newspapers this morning, Ms. Whitman, a rookie politician at 54 years old, demonstrated why Republicans have such a tough time winning office here.
She barely could catch a break.
(After stuntman Gloria Allred’s latest sally in front of the cameras this morning, over Ms. Whitman’s housekeeper, you can guess how deplorably the GOP candidate will be portrayed by tomorrow morning. Remember, a similar stunt sprang Sen. Barbie Boxer into office over Bruce Hershensohn 18 years ago. It is what Demos do.)
A businesswoman all of her life until about 10 minutes ago, Ms. Whitman received no newspaper credit for mastering a deep and broad command of the nuances of every subtle and obvious Sacramento issue that arose in the debate. She was perfect.
She Sounds So Phoney
The tiresome next-day story thread that ran, unbroken, from the Sacramento Bee to the Los Angeles Titanic was that this self-made wealthy woman whom they detest, recited her “carefully scripted” answers as if the test were rote.
Right-o, Jeeves.
Heaven forbid she had muffed a single syllable, which she did not. She might have been physically attacked by those discerning purveyors of the news.
Anti-conservative journalists never weary of sticking their noses into a jar of pickles before assessing this astoundingly accomplished woman. She dwarfed Mr. Brown in the comprehensiveness, the accuracy and the clarity of her answers.
My wife would have dispatched her to a beauty parlor before her limo arrived at the U.C. Davis campus. Otherwise, she was flawless.
Mr. Brown ever is the antithesis of smooth. He looked like a Toastmasters dropout addressing the Rotary Club on 4 minutes’ notice. But he never has taken the heat for anti-orator style that President Bush did because he is a liberal, one of us, not the dinosaurian enemy.
Three to Nothing
Their styles and backgrounds are drastically different, but they are equally savvy, from their toenails to their heads. They duck adroitly. Learning from their bigger brothers in Washington, they will tell you what they want you to know, but not what you want to know.
There was supposed to be a press conference after they came off stage. Ms. Whitman breezed in, answered three questions — not bad, comparatively speaking — wheeled and exited swiftly, saying her husband was waiting to take her to dinner.
Mr. Brown was snootier. He didn’t even enter the room. Said he was going outside to shmooze with “the real people,” and 127 journalists, hungering for more than either gave up while the television cameras were live, could pound sand.
As I watched Mr. Brown frequently grope, almost charmingly, for the right words — the way a teenage boy gropes for a landing zone for his hands on his first date — I wondered why his motives for running for office at 72 years old have never been questioned. Or at least examined. This is the best the left can do? Mr. Brown is the age Sen. McCain was two years ago when he ran for the White House. The Senator was constantly hammered for being too old.
Such is life in a leftist controlled world.
A lifetime government lackey, Mr. Brown’s undistinguished career is distinguished for its longevity rather than any accomplishments. His latest campaign has been underwritten, almost entirely, by tens of millions of dollars by those virginal icons of enviable purity, the unshaved thugs down at the labor union and public employee union hangouts. (No guns or knives before dessert, please.)
Ms. Whitman has financed virtually her total campaign from her own pocketbook. Admirable, you would think? Wrong. Those Pharaohs of Phairness on the left have meanly lashed at Ms. Whitman as if she were the nutball imam who announced the other day that a woman who had offended him should be beheaded.
Ooops.
Sorry.
I forgot.
A-l-l M-u-s-l-i-m-s a-r-e m-o-d-e-r-a-t-e.
