"If It Were A Fight, They Would Have Stopped It."

John McCain's Vindication. 

The Press-I-Di'n't was stripped bare - with only a podium to preserve his dignity.  The O Cult figure had flown into Mile High Denver to add theatre to his all-consuming iconic image - hours before he was to debate a substantive business person.  By comparison, he looked both jet-lagged and "barometrically impeded."  The Air Pressure, the attitudinal thinning and its impact on athletic stability combined to leave the Man Who Would Be Re-Elected dazed and castigated. 

The Governor asserted his substance as Father of five Men, as the son of a Former Governor, who had witnessed his parents' dance in the Mansion, and Barack stood "advised."  Has nobody ever shown "The One" what DAD looks like?  What the OLD MAN looks like?  Christ, I'm a woman, but I get it.  I've worked around and competed head on with American Men enough to understand their response to true leadership.  Men on a mission recognize their Captain.  They discern the member of the Pack who will address all their interests and prevail.  To a male animal, the "Alpha" is obvious, whether that be himself or another.  In last night's debate, Obama (you are what you eat) was the RCA Victor pup responding to his Master's Voice.  I witnessed a full blown capitulation by Barack Obama to the Divinity Within.  In the first two seconds of eye contact, a "higher power" connected with him, took dominion over his lost, floundering ego and confronted him respectfully but gently, speaking directly to his subconscious.   For the first time in his life, by virtue of the "Rules" of the Campaign, the Politician nearing the end of his term was required to stand accountable in the presence of his worthy opponent and convince his Superiors that he was a good and faithful servant, meriting a second term.   In the prepared Mitt Romney, Obama met - for the first time in his life of secular isolation - the gentle balm of true understanding.   On Stage, face to face with a calm, matter-of-fact Superior asking for his badge and his "Piece,"  he was being "fired" and he knew it.   For another "First Time," he faced a true closer, a salesman who could arrive at an agreement in good faith, steeped in the diplomacy and certitude of Business.  He faced a genuine professional who, as a disciplined representive of the People of the United States of America, would perform his duties always cognizant that the Power was the People's and the mission of his service was the continued perfecting of a Union, the progressive, upwardly spiralling forces of Economic Robustness and Freedom in an ongoing exchange of consideration with the 50 Governors, his "College of Cardinals."

He was experiencing first after first; things we all go through in the corporate, working world, like a dressing down for failure to exercise responsibilities, for mis-managed resources, for behavior and associations inconsistent with the culture of the organization.   Barack Obama was being directed to surrendur the political power after which he had lusted.  He was meeting the Father of  the cherished Daughter he had defiled, to whom he had failed to properly introduce himself.  He had "taken" what he wanted with adolescent ignorance of the poverty to which his intemperence had condemned his Paramour.  He had shown no respect for the double-edged sword that is power.  He consciously cocooned himself in the blaring cyclone of media dishonor and surrounded himself with cowards and clods.   In celebrating their twenty years of marriage, he had none of the awareness of the threat of loss of his beloved, never stood by his wife's bedside and assured her that, together, they would survive the crisis that was a diagnosis of MS as well as breast cancer.  He had never been blessed with the grandchildren who filled his life with appreciation for the Ancestry he saw ranging in their little faces.  His exposure to "prayer" was the ravings of an angry showman as filled with racist resentment as any Islamic Cleric/Supreme Ruler.  He had no knowledge of the Gentle light of a butterfly that the cocoon he had inhabited was about to produce. 

Last night, Obama wielded none of the privileges of his Office, save the courtesy and consideration to which he was entitled as a man.  None of the ceremonial righteousness of a worshipful media could protect him, could slam the challenger for being "disrespectful" of the President.  The two stood as they were:  The Man who truly was a public servant, humbling himself to leave what was a comfortable life of privilege to take up the duties of an elected steward called to the People's house relieving the overwhelmed, defensive pretender, of the burdens of our disappointment.  No longer would the People say "terrible things" about him, utter words that conveyed personal disdain.  No longer would his fellow Senators, Republicans who had been shown the sole of his shoe as though what was an insult to "his people" would not be understood as an offense to his colleagues. 

American Men truly personify sportsmanship in the company of legitimate competition.  As a Father of Men,  Mitt Romney knows from experience, what a less-mature young man will attempt in the Game to overtake his superior.   And as the Grandfather of the children of those men, as the Father-in-Law of the Wives of those Men, Mitt Romney knows Family.  He understands the interconnection of Church and Conservatism, of the day-in, day-out follow-through of a care system that does the walk-through, noting matters to be attended to by the professionals he will direct, having chosen them for their fitness to serve in the smooth running of that domain.

A cyclone overtook the Obama Campaign last night.  One fully capable of absorbing the entire cyclone of Obama's re-election madness, nesting it into itself and bringing it under control. It was as if a line of patrol cars - lights flashing - first shook the run-away drivers to alert them of the presence of Authority that could bust them all and pull them over, but, instead, was knowingly backing down the speeding traffic on the interstate to safely bring it through the scene of a forest fire without incurring any further damage.  "Whew!  I thought I was done," thought Obama.  This gesture of accommodation being shown him was a message that, yes, he was breaking every law on the books, but he was - essentially - likeable enough - and it was just such a great night for Partying.  The enforcers of the Law don't want to poop your party, we have pressing safety and security issues to manage and we just need you to get your vehicle under control while we earn our paychecks.  Fall in line behind the Police Escort and you'll be diplomatically ushered through a serious, potentially disasterous conflagration of clashing idealogues on a testosterone trip.

McCain attributes it to "Four Years Inside The Bubble With An Adoring Media."  As you certainly must acknowledge.

But, he also said, "Do Not Underestimate President Obama."  Having "competed" with the crowd who moves the goal post in rabid, small-minded, extreme competitiveness, McCain and his Republican Colleagues were shown the utmost contempt by Obama and Reed who exposed themselves as Senate Rubes, contemptuous of the even more extreme traditions of their August Chamber.  Concerned that the "Candidate, Obama"  will return with a Spirit fueled by outrage at the audacity of Mitt Romney to Challenge the Golden Calf of the Left, McCain urges caution.  Expect the Unexpected, Consider the Unthinkable.

But Sunday, I joined the Mitt Romney Prayer Committee.  My Survival Instincts asserted that the negligence of the Administration that Couldn't Extricate Itself From Campaign Mode was not on the job, not engaged in the duties of National Defense and unaware of the alarming signals being flashed.  As a Wanna Be Agent of the Secret Service, I have consented to be a relay station in the conducting of intelligence that would preserve and protect the President in whom the American People have vested their authority.  I have survived the assassination of a President and know the disorientation my nation was forced to navigate.  I am One with my fellow Americans in the Iron Will to Survive, and have experienced the flooring command to do so.  As a trained, experienced closer, I have joined the gentle, sequestered center of balancing power that must disable the headstrong, wrong-tracked Counter-Culture of the "too artsy, too sensitive, too inexperienced Progressive / Liberals."

With Clint Eastwood, I know what they're thinking: 

• "How many more bullets does he have?" 
• "Can we stall the Benghazi Investigation past November  6?"
• "Can the Media continue to cover our schemes to flex for the Russians who are arming AlQuaida?"
• "Have we intimidated enough Democrats into carrying our water to do whatever it takes to deliver the swing states?"
• "Can he really work with the Biggest Democrat, Big Dawg, to turn this Economy around?
• "Would the Chinese really prefer to deal with a push-over, or a mature Business International whose "deals" benefit everybody?"

And, I feel lucky.   Google Gambles and gives it up for Mittens.  Not an iron fist in a velvet glove, but a "tied-to-a-full-metal-jacketed" bullet on his premature Hit Parade.  As the drone of the zone settled over the two of them, from which only one could emerge, the Governor explained how the transition would progress, day by 32 days.   Diplomatic, Face-Saving courtesies would be extended, but 44 is One and Done, 45 stands on deck.