McCain went to court and got a good judge, but he also trotted down to the Russian consulate in Manhattan to remind New Yorkers that voters in Moscow would have more presidential choices than they would. New Hampshire loves to do things like that to front-runners. For the Fourth Estate, the first primary is the high point of a presidential year. It isn't just the outcomes. Cameramen praise the clear light.
Reporters love the clear quotes.
The press is never happier than when it gathers at the Wayfarer, a cozy, psuedo-authentic country inn with a fabled bar where junkies joyfully overdose on the day's events into the night. They see the candidates every day close up. Where else can you go to an outdoor rally in beautiful Dublin, the headquarters of Yankee magazine, where the temperature is five above and the lips and fingers of all present are so frozen that even if something were said, stiff fingers could not write it down. A smiling Bill Bradley joins the people huddled around a bonfire, until it starts shooting sparks and the only comfort is to be found in jugs of hot cider spotted around. Only in New Hampshire do you go to a Rotary Club lunch and sit beside the police chief.