And so it begins. Well before the actual election year. The candidates report for their auditions like inmates volunteering for the asylum's talent show. Or maybe the prison rodeo would be a better comparison when you consider all the bucking and rearing involved in an American presidential campaign. Some of the riders will get thrown early, like Minnesota's former Gov. Tim Pawlenty, who's now also a former presidential candidate.
When it comes to seeking the presidency of the United States, many are called, or call themselves, but fewer and fewer are chosen, as the great winnowing-out proceeds from primaries to conventions to the final competition in the fall, when the morning after Election Day, the lone survivor must face an even greater challenge: being president of these United States.
What's remarkable is not that so many presidential hopefuls fall by the wayside but that so many volunteer for the bumpy ride in the first place -- despite all the slings and arrows sure to come their way. Those of us who sit up here in the cheap seats throwing darts salute you who actually enter the dusty arena and take your chances with that fickle Caesar, the great American public.
Some candidates eventually prove great presidents -- a Lincoln or Franklin D. Roosevelt -- and win eternal honor, or at least deserve to. Others are more like Jimmy Carter and the current occupant of the Oval Office. (Even as an ex-president, Mr. Carter has proven a flop.) Still others drop out of the race early and are never heard from again, lucky enough to spend the rest of their lives well out of the glare of floodlights.
Tim Pawlenty is to be congratulated. There are many advantages to being a former candidate no longer at the beck and insistent call of campaign consultants, big contributors, and any bore who's got a gripe, obsession, pet project or just stray idea he wants to share. At great length.
There is much to be said for the comforts of obscurity. Even if Emily Dickinson needed only a few exquisite couplets to sum up the joy of not being noticed:
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!