During the final debate, John McCain said, in a response to a statement Obama had made about the importance of protecting the health of a mother in an abortion case, that the health of the mother is just a buzz phrase to promote an extreme, leftist, pro-abortion position.
The health of the mother EXTREMIST?
This comment will no doubt haunt McCain's post-election nightmares.
A callous slip of the tongue. It says a lot about McCain, as does his by-now famous smirk, a smirking guy who thinks destiny has chosen him for greatness, and who also thinks that he's done more for America than anyone else and is more of a hero (a constantly abused word) than anyone else.
McCain psychologically suffers from Joan of Arc Disease. This is a malady in which the sufferer sees himself or herself as too good, too pure for an evil traitorous world of subversives, a noble, chaste, heroic person locked in a struggle with ignoble people who are undeserving of the nobility the noble person is offering.
McCain can barely tolerate dissent, and often shows it in his mannerisms.
Obama on the other hand, actually seems to pleasantly embrace the right to have a different opinion.
The real Joan of Arc, a heroic girl, died in a fire, pure, free of the taint of the human foibles of failure, or sin. When you have Joan of Arc Disease, it's easy to get carried away, to see the world in terms of, it's them against me. You think that, except for a few cronies, I'm the only heroic man in town, the only good man in town, the only brave man in town, the only self-sacrificing man in town, the only intelligent man in town, the only holy man in town.
And on and on ad nausea.
Richard Nixon had a major case of Joan of Arc Disease.
Look at the way McCain smirked during the debates. That's another window into his soul. The smirk. That painful little bogus smile he gets when he grits his teeth and closes his eyes when his opponent says something. At other times, his eyes darted around nervously from side to side, and up and down.
Obama, on the other hand, offered a wide, full and genuine-looking grin.
This election will be decided not just on what the candidates said, but how they said it. Obama appeared confident and relaxed, or alternately thoughtful and reflective. McCain appeared as he often is, angry, erratic, and fearful.
Yes, fearful. McCain is capable of physical courage. But anger is driven, generated primarily by fear. What if I don't get the upper hand? What if I don't measure up to being the man? What if I don't put you in your place, you, who are not as good as me?
What if?
For all his boning up on the issues, spinning it verbally his way, McCain never bothered to study his acting style on camera, how he comes across. He was reminiscent once again of Nixon during the Nixon-Kennedy debate in 1960. John Kennedy looked charming and relaxed, and handsome. Nixon looked haggard, nervous and dishonest. He refused makeup, and had just come out of a hospital treatment.
His eyes blinked like McCain's.
McCain will always be remembered for the smirking little smile that was a not-very-convincing imitation of a smile, but was easily spotted for what it was, anger, a grimace.
Obama, regardless of political philosophy, came across as an inclusionist who is not threatened by other people. McCain seemed to view the world as white or black, good or bad; everybody who is not with me is against me. I think McCain sees life as a Darwinian contest in which a man to be a man has to measure up to a heroic struggle of some kind. Not the kind of painful, boring tolerance, the give and take, so necessary for progress in a two-party system where freedom of speech and the right to disagree is a center pillar of our Constitution.
Fear is what drives McCain, even though the persona he projects is one of physical courage.
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