We are coming down to the wire. There is still time for a surprise or two. Gallup? Rasmussen? ABC-Washington Post- NYT -CBS … They’re all over the map. But come on, you know you have an opinion. Time to show your cards:
Tag Archives: Romney
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Apparently there is a bar near Hofstra called the Dizzy Lizard. They aren’t answering their cell phones. I expected this of Bob. In fact, I thought Bob might accidentally go to Detroit to watch the Yankees. But Jack? Not sure how he’s going to spin this.
Jack pushed open the door of the bar and squinted into the dark until he saw Bob. “Why aren’t you at the Old Ebbitt? I’ve been to half the bars in town looking for you. Are you coming over to Evan’s tonight to watch the debate?”
Bob watched him approach. “The debate? What about the game?”
“We have that covered. Two TVs. Side by side.”
“Can I have the remotes?”
“No. And, Evan said not negotiable.”
Bob nodded thoughtfully.”I guess we know who will win anyway, since it’s all in Spin Doctor.”
Jack dragged a bar stool into position and sat next to Bob. “By the way, I have to hand it to you. You nailed it. Watching with the sound off may be one of your best ideas yet.”
Bob shrugged. “You seem surprised.”
“I thought you were just looking for an excuse to hang out in a bar.”
“Right. Like I need an excuse.”
“Okay, smart guy. What about the VP debate?”
“You tell me. You’re the Spin Doctor, after all.”
“I think we go with the sound off again” Jack waved at the bartender and ordered a Bass Aie.
Bob nodded. “But not because of the visuals. It is possible that listening to this debate, without proper medication, could induce drowsiness.”
“So you don’t think Biden will implode?”
Bob shook his head. “Biden is over rated as an entertainment. He knows how to woo an audience, that’s all. Sometimes he gets caught by another audience that thought he loved them more.”
“What are you talking about? He’s married.”
“Funny. Ha ha. You know what I mean. He can talk to the Economic Club of Chicago and the Brotherhood of Baggage Handlers and they both will think he’s their guy. Then, they see the news and find out he has a multiple personality disorder.”
The bartender slid the bottle of beer in front of Jack, no glass, and another drink in front of Bob.
Bob went on:“No. Think. Tonight the audience is everybody. Tonight he will be buttoned down and buttoned up. No gaffes, no shooting from the lip. Just get out of the debate alive with no headlines. He can’t move the needle so–just don’t blow it.”
Jack blinked at him. “No. I don’t think so. He has absolutely nothing to lose tonight. He’ll swing for the fences. Hold up Big Bird’s lifeless body. He is going to go for the jugular, be the defender of the President. Even if he goes over the line, he’s not going to lose votes. But, he might energize the base. Right now, the air is coming out of the base. Turnout will be everything.”
“So what are you saying? You have too many metaphors. I can’t follow.”
“Abortion. The women have fled the ticket. This is no time for sweet talk. Immigration, another base issue. And then, a blend of economics aimed at black voters.”
Bob’s pinkish eyes widened. “The race card?”
“Not saying they will play it. But they might accidentally drop it on the table then quickly pick it up.”
Bob stirred the ice cubes in his glass with the bar straw.
“What do you think?”
“Does Evan have any Glen Fiddich or should I bring my own?”
Jack pushed his way through the tourists at the Old Ebbitt toward the bar in the back, where he was surprised to see Bob, already at the bar. “I thought M.C. asked you to go to Colorado for the debate. What are you doing here?”
Bob shifted on the barstool. “I’m supposed to watch the debate, right? So I can do that here.”
“No, you are supposed to be there. In person.” Jack slid onto the stool next to him, waived at the bartender and pointed to the Heineken tap.
Bob shook his head. “First of all, the people in the room will have no idea what is going on. They will talk to each other, squint at the stage, strain to hear over the applause that isn’t supposed to happen.” He took a sip of an amber drink in a short glass. “If you want to know what happens, you have to watch TV.”
The bartender placed a napkin in front of Jack and set the beer on it. When he went back to the other end of the bar, Jack went on: “Well you aren’t going to try to watch it here, are you? I mean it isn’t noisy, but you won’t be able to hear a word they say.”
“No. Seriousy. You can come over to Evan’s condo. We are going to get some beer and watch it there.”
“No. Thanks anyway.” Bob waved his empty glass at the bartender, who nodded back. “Besides, you two will probably make a drinking game out of the word “deficit” or “fiscal cliff.” You really can tell what’s going on better with the sound off. It’s visual. It doesn’t matter what they say. It’s how they react.”
“Stop saying that. I’m not kidding. Remember the Lloyd Bentsen-Dan Quayle moment? It wasn’t what he said as much as Quayle’s reaction. And Bush the Elder, when he looked at his watch. Visual. Didn’t say a word.”
“That was ages ago. Don’t you think voters are more sophisticated now? “
“Maybe. But it’s still about what your eyes take in. If you hear the words, it’s hard to concentrate on the visuals.”
“I’m starting to believe you are serious. What about the last election?”
“Easy. The debate was a draw. Amiable old guy versus smooth young guy. Bush the younger won both of his, but not on words. Gore and Kerry struck some voters as condescending. Like they were talking to a group of naughty five year olds. And remember Gore’s sighs? And those Reagan moments they keep playing in a loop? You can tell without the sound that he nailed those lines.”
“I still think M.C. wanted you to go to Colorado.”
“Look, nothing like what happens in Spin Doctor is going to happen in this debate. I’m not going to another time zone. Also, the air is thin. And it’s not like I’m going to find anything out in those spin rooms. I can tell you what they’re going to say before the debate starts.”
“Plus, there is no bar in the auditorium.”
“I very much doubt it.”
See the poll in the sidebar on the left.
Heading into the stiff winds of the Democratic Convention, does the Romney campaign start the week with a bump? What’s the final answer?
Rasmussen has Romney gaining 6 percentage points overall, which is average, according to Gallup. He started the week at 42%. The latest head to head is Romney 48% to Obama 44%.
The Gallup daily tracking poll does not show a bump at this point. But keep in mind, the Gallup poll is a 7-day rolling average vs the 3 day moving average of the Rasmussen poll. In other words, the Gallup poll would include responses that were taken BEFORE the convention. So we will need to wait a few more days to see if there is an impact among registered voters, a broader measure than the Rasmussen “likely voters.”
So now does the same thing happen for the President? Will Obama get a bump this week? Please vote in my poll and let me know what you think!
Jack found Bob at the Hub over on Franklin Street. It was dark inside, but he could see him in his lime green polo shirt and jeans. His head was on the bar. Not leaning on his elbow, but actually on the edge of the bar.
Jack eased toward him quietly from behind and was surprised to see his eyes open, trained on the small tv set hanging from the corner of the bar. “Jeez Bob, I thought you were asleep. Are you okay?”
Bob sat up. No hello. “Of course.” He drew his drink close and looked at it fondly.
“Why aren’t you at the Forum?” Jack looked up at the tv. “They aren’t even showing the convention.”
“Duh.” Bob took a sip. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I know M. C. sent us down here to cover the convention, but. . . ” he shook his head, unable to go on.
“Are you crazy? Haven’t you heard the speeches? Even if you don’t agree with everything, I mean, I thought you were a professional.”
Bob squinted at Jack. “You just got here, right?” He took another gulp. “I went down there the first day, I was hanging around, you know, where they were doing those cable shows. I tried to watch. I was there an hour or two. I swear to God, Jack, they were interviewing corpses. Zombie politicals. And they all said the same thing. Over and over. I watched the producers. They came towards me. They started grabbing up people in the bar, making them talk on camera. I had to get out of there.”
The bartender came over and Jack got an iced tea.
“No way. But wait. It got worse. I went to the convention Tuesday night. I know a guy who got me some credentials. . .”
“Really—that’s great. Why didn’t you write something about it for the blog?”
“Maybe I will, when I recover.”
“What happened? Did somebody hit you or something?
“Almost. There was a sea of red, white and blue. And I couldn’t find the bar. Then, more zombies saying the same thing, more or less. The great state of something or other casts most of their votes. Bla Bla . . . Some of them had on red cowboy hats.”
“Come on, is this your first convention? That’s what they always do.”
The bartender came back and asked if I wanted to order breakfast. Not sure what he meant by that, so I said no.
“No, it’s not my first convention. But you know how we block out certain things. Like you remember what it’s like to go over to Rehoboth and swim in the ocean. You remember the hot sun and the cool water lapping against you as you walk out to the surf. But you forget completely how the waves crash down on you, knock you over, spin cycle you with sand and grit and small shells and get up your nose. I went home and burned every red, white and blue article of clothing. This shirt is all I have left.”
“No you didn’t. You can’t burn things in a hotel room.”
“Okay, true, but I got rid of it.”
“So you didn’t watch any of the speeches? Seriously?”
“I thought you were going to write that part.”
“Great. I thought maybe, since you were here, that you were. What happened to your cell phone, anyway?”
“Good question. How did you find me, by the way?”
“Easy. Asked the concierge for a list of dives. This was the first one he mentioned.”
Bob waved at the bartender and pointed to his glass. “By the way, I started a tab.”
The bartender slid his drink in front of him. “Here you go, Jack. Is that Abbott with one t or two?”
Obviously a complete waste of money to fly these characters to Tampa. Please help us by voting in the poll, so we have some kind of convention coverage.