John McCain’s Ranch, Arizona
It’s 105 degrees at 9:00 a.m. when GOP Vice-Presidential candidate Sarah Palin comes down for breakfast. After two straight days of intense preparation for her debate against Democrat Joe Biden, Palin looks as haggard as a hospital intern after a 12-hour shift in a big-city ER on a night when rival gang-bangers launch a killing spree.
McCain’s people are nervous about the debate, even though they’ve been working the media non-stop for days, pushing the story that Palin is much better in a debate format than she is in a one-on-one interview and will hold her own against the unpredictable and loquacious Biden. McCain’s people know the claim is a stretch, but they don’t have much choice; the campaign is in disarray, sliding in the polls, and the clock is ticking.
Even after two days of history lessons, review of talking points, mock interviews, and long conference calls with Dick Cheney, Rush Limbaugh and Karl Rove, Palin still seems unsure of herself and displays a potentially disastrous tendency to wander off topic or make unsupportable claims.
With less than twenty-four hours to go before the big showdown, it’s time to pull out all the stops, so this morning, even before Palin can pour a cup of coffee and help herself to a doughnut, aides hustle her outside into the harsh sunlight. The Governor shields her eyes as she is marched to a replica of a North Vietnamese POW camp erected on McCain’s lawn. The camp is authentic down to the last detail, including guards dressed like NVA soldiers, and armed with Chinese-made rifles.
“What’s this?” Palin asks.
“Never mind,” the aide says impatiently. “Get in that bamboo cage.”
“I’m not getting in there! Are you crazy?”
“Senator McCain wants you to get a taste of what he went through in Vietnam. He thinks it will help you in the debate. Get in.”
“There’s a dead fish in there! And it smells like dog poop! Gross!”
Two aides shove the Governor inside the cage and secure the door. The Governor is too tall to stand comfortably and too concerned about soiling her skirt to sit down. She feels disoriented, the heat is unbearable, and she wishes she were back home, shooting wolves from a helicopter with a high-powered assault rifle. Since the GOP Convention, party types from all over the country have been whispering to her that John McCain is unhinged -- and she’s beginning to believe them.
“What is our mantra?” a voice booms over a loudspeaker. “Who are our enemies? Which nation is more of a threat to the United States of America, Russia or Canada?”
Again the voice booms, “What is our mantra? Answer!”
“Country first,” Palin offers, tentatively.
“Louder, with conviction!”
“COUNTRY FIRST!”
“And our enemies?”
“The Liberal media and the Washington elite?”
“Yes, yes, among others. Are we winning the war in Iraq? Is Barack Obama a traitor for not supporting the Surge? Should the United States invade and occupy Pakistan? Answer!”
“Yes, yes, yes! We should invade everybody and drill for oil in their backyards! It’s our Manifest Destiny and part of the Bush Doctrine. Can I please have a drink of water?”
“No! Do you think this is a game? We’re in a war for the American Way of Life, locked in a struggle with an implacable enemy. Imagine how Senator McCain felt when he was in captivity!"
“OK, OK,” Palin says. “I get it! I demand to be let out of this stinky cage.”
“You’re too young to have been a POW but now you at least know how it feels. Joe Biden cannot make the same claim. This gives you an enormous advantage. Tonight you must go for the jugular of that Muslim-sympathizer, Obama. Show no mercy and ask no quarter. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t hear you!”
“YES! Now let me out of here, I’m ruining a fabulous pair of pumps.”
“Our fate rests in your hands, Governor. The stakes are high but the bar is so low that you cannot fail.”
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