Yessir.
Nothing quite like a political reporter that is completely, utterly, and totally infatuated with a politician.
And a politician that's well outside of the sphere of what that reporter normally covers, to boot.
Watching U.S. Sen. Barack Obama give one of the most stirring and enriching speeches of my journalistic career fresh off his stunning 8 percent victory in the Iowa caucuses, I couldn't help but think of the parallels to the last president from Illinois.
Stirring? Enriching? Stunning? Aw, somebody's smitten and got a teenage crush.
Without Abraham Lincoln, there would be no Barack Obama.
Forgive me if I say that, without Abraham Lincoln, there wouldn't be a lot of politicians in America.
When a guy, you know, saves the Union, it sort of goes without saying that he makes a lot of stuff possible for the people that come after.
He became a great president. His Gettysburg Address and Second Inaugural speech resounded in biblical tones and essentially completed the Declaration of Independence and our Constitution.
Yes, yes. But enough about Lincoln. I know he wants to talk about how great Obama is, and hopefully make the Democrat seem glorious merely by making the comparison to perhaps the greatest American that ever lived.
We heard Obama say, "We are choosing hope over fear, unity over division. This is a defining moment in history. We are one nation, one people and our time for change has come. People who love this country can change it."
Left unsaid in this is that Obama was the only major candidate that read his victory and concession speeches on the caucus and primary nights from a teleprompter.
It's hard to sound that good in impromptu, particularly when you are throwing out phrases that are so hackneyed and shopworn and--to be blunt--focus-grouped to death.
I'm just surprised that Mitt Romney's focus groups didn't get to such phrases before Obama's did.
In late summer, the New York Times declared Sen. Hillary Clinton's inevitability. But then we began to hear Obama's deep voice. He went from an unemotional academic to a political figure that began delivering the resonance and passion needed for a nation that has spent the last seven years fighting the War on Terror and negotiating color-coded terror threats.
A culture of fear is firmly gripping America. We've seen it as we've turned away foreign college students, foreign tourists and denigrated overseas investors. Our government has flipped 180 degrees since the mid-point between Lincoln and Obama when we had a president who said, "The only thing we have to fear is ... fear itself."
Herein lies the great appeal of the Obama and Huckabee candidacies, the siren songs sung by politicians who whisper and intone the things that a public, war-weary and tired, disenchanted and disgusted, most want to hear.
"It doesn't matter anymore."
None of it matters, they say. The great issues of our day don't matter. Knowing those issues, being capable of addressing them does not matter.
Hell, even acknowledging that they exist and that such issues are important does not matter.
All that matters are the empty words of the focus groups, the words fashioned by consultants paid to determine what, more than anything else, the American people want to hear at this very moment.
These are the words that make political reporters like Brian Howey swoon.
You know the words.
You've been hearing them all throughout the campaign.
"Change."
As if merely declaring an opposition to the establishment, the present situation, and everything else is alone sufficient to give a focus-group-printed ticket to the White House.
"Hope."
This one worked well for the Democrats last time (remember the "Hope is on the Way" placards at the Democratic National Convention in Boston in 2004? yeah), so they'll obviously do what Democrats do, and reuse such proven material.
Of course, these words should also sound familiar.
In 2004, they wore flannel, traveled Indiana in a RV, and were supported by an army of people in green t-shirts.
Come to think of it, Howey sort of swooned then, too.
Last February, I journeyed to Springfield, Ill., to listen as Obama ignited his campaign. The day before Obama would give his introductory speech, I toured the Lincoln home. The day after, I visited his tomb. In between, I would hear Obama intone, "Blah, blah, blah."
Again, so magnificent is the figure of Abraham Lincoln, so towering is his presence over the landscape of American history that even today, almost 143 years after his passing, he can be used as verbal book-ends by doe-eyed political reporters to make anyone look good, even "community organizers" for infamously corrupt Chicago political machines.
In Iowa, voters took the anti-Washington, pro-change route, just as they had in 1860. There stood Obama and former GOP Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee as victorious change agents in the Great Midwest.
The less said in this column of those other people they picked in recent times (like Tom Harkin, Dick Gephardt, and Edmund Muskie), the better, I suppose.
This all comes as we've watched the cross currents of change and fear tug at the heart of our own state. Now there is a stir in the air, a gale from the West, and a message of hope. A whirlwind is upon us.
It wouldn't be a Howey column if it didn't end in some interesting and utterly irrelevant visual metaphor.