When I was growing up, the name “Perry” was very important to me. I was sports-mad, and in the spring, summer and autumn, I played tennis almost every day. I loved the game. I wore Fred Perry tennis shirts and a flashy Fred Perry jacket to match --- I may not have played the game brilliantly but I looked the bees’ knees.
Then, into adolescence, a drink, Babycham, became the height of British pseudo-sophistication. It was advertised as“the Champagne Perry”, something to buy the girlfriend and look good. The drink was sickly sweet and revolting but perception beat reality.
For 40 years, “Perry” played no role in my life --- until a recent weekend.
One of our guests at a Saturday night gathering could not complete a sentence without mentioning Rick Perry. I knew who she was talking about but as our other guests did not, she rhapsodised about his qualities. Actually, "rhapsodised" is the wrong verb --- "condemned" is more appropriate. And "qualities" is probaby out of place as well.
Evidently, Perry favours teaching intelligent design as a "science". He supports the repeal of the 16th Amendment, under which Congress imposes income tax. He is opposed to single sex marriage.
The conversation got me thinking about this year’s class of Republican hopefuls for the Presidency. I’ve lost count, but as Tim Pawlenty ducked out and Rick Perry threw his hat in, I believe there are 16. If Sarah Palin joins in, that will make 17. But, male or female, politically --- and despite all the current furour about Perry's distinctive style --- they look like Stepford Wives to me.
Until mid-August, there was one candidate who I thought might give Obama a run for his money but charisma-lite Pawlenty is gone. That’s a pity, not only because he appealed to moderate Republicans but he had a track record to be proud of as Governor of Minnesota, where he tried to look after all the voters.
What are we left with? There is a pizza millionaire, Herman Cain, who has run unsuccessfully for office over the past 12 years and who is unlikely to make much of a showing. We have Dr. Ron Paul, a perennial candidate and the intellectual godfather of Tea Party philosophy. There is the former Speaker of the House, Newt Gingrich, who started out by beating up President Clinton, then overreached and embarrassed himself when, puffed up by his self-importance, he complained bitterly and in public about where he was seated on Air Force One when attending the funeral of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin.
Righting his Presidency, Clinton saw Gingrich off with the greatest of ease, the Speaker's Contract with America in ruins. Gingrich remains a blowhard.
Before Perry's entry, the leaders in the Republican race were Michele Bachmann, Jon Huntsman Jr., and Mitt Romney. Romney deserves respect. He made it to the governor’s mansion in Massachusetts, a very blue state. However, he seems to have taken the extreme right-wing pledge. As for Bachmann, to say her politics are those of the devil incarnate would be unkind to the Devil. Huntsman? He is probably the most moderate of the bunch but that is not saying much.
If I was a moderate Republican voter, I would be wondering what had happened to my candidates. Are they waiting their moment or just hiding from fear, believing their time will come in 2016?
I thought President Obama was weak when dealing with the debt ceiling issue. The health care legislation suffered a setback when an appellate court found the obligation for individuals to insure was unconstitutional. Sovereign debt was causing all sorts of problems in the light of Standard and Poor’s down-grading. Suddenly, Obama was looking vulnerable.
Some will say, in light of recent polls, that the President is still vulnerable. I'm not ready to jump ship from my assessment: when you consider the field of right-wing Republicans and the limited constituency to which they will appeal, Democratic supporters are probably justified in confidence they will hold the White House next year.
If I'm wrong, and Rick Perry does put Texas pseudo-machismo back in the White House, I'll pay the approriate tribute.
But somehow, I think I will be able to spare myself --- and any unfortunate onlooker --- the sight of me, Babycham in hand, taking my aching body onto the tennis court in a now too-small Fred Perry shirt.