e are now in the leveraged buyout stage of the Republican campaign for president, with the shadowy brain trust of Texas Governor George W. Bush using its financial muscle to shove vulnerable rivals out of the race.
Putting your competition out of business is a time-honored tactic. And the Bush operation, which amassed a colossal war chest of $36 million in six months, is dangling dollar signs in front of aides to competing candidates. Quit now, goes the pitch; fold up and go home, and we'll arrange for your bills to be paid. But if you stay in, if you knock Bush or make fun of ''compassionate conservatism,'' or if you refuse to go quietly, we'll hold it against you.
The Republican straw poll this Saturday in Ames, Iowa, is one of those essentially trivial events that loom larger than it should. Because Bush is so far out in front in a crowded, double-digit field, rivals who fare poorly in the $25-per-head straw poll beauty contest will find it harder to raise money and hold on to volunteers, staffers, and supporters they thought they'd already convinced.
Candidates like Elizabeth Dole and Lamar Alexander, who once boasted of the strongest on-the-ground organization in Iowa, and former vice president Dan Quayle, struggling to stay relevant in New Hampshire as well as Iowa, could get squeezed down the food chain. Bush is running number one in Iowa this week, and Steve Forbes, who is spending buckets full of cash from his private fortune, is thought to be running second by Iowa handicappers.
In anticipation of a window opening after the Ames event through which to defenestrate some of the opposition, the Bush operatives are discreetly dangling invitations to quit that have the distinct whiff of a bribe. It's all perfectly legal.
The pitch goes like this: We know you're hurting. Your money is drying up because we're so far out in front. Your campaign is running on fumes. If you don't show something in Iowa, that hurts you in New Hampshire. And after New Hampshire's opening primary, when the big state primaries come fast and furious, requiring millions in TV and travel costs, you're dead.
But if you quit the race now and say something nice about George W., we'll ease your pain. Remember, goes the pitch: One Bush was president of the United States and leader of the Republican Party. Another is governor of Texas. A third is governor of Florida. Any one of those can hurt you, now or down the road. And if by some chance your candidate managed to win the nomination, there's no way your guy (or gal) could win the White House without the active support of the governors of Texas and Florida, the Sun Belt bookends whose electoral votes are essential to victorious Republican campaigns. So think about it.
It's a compelling argument. One presumes, from the outside, that this argument, or one closely approximate to it, was what persuaded US Representative John Kasich of Ohio to abort his long-shot effort and show up at a news conference with a Bush cap and a ringing speech about why Bush will be a great president.
How does the Bush campaign divert cash to the coffers of a hard-up also-ran who's going nowhere fast? Easy. Bush has already maxed out with thousands of contributors who gave him the $1,000 limit. But it's strictly legal for those same Bush donors to write another $1,000 check to soon-to-be ex-candidate Joe Blow.
Of course, that check won't be mailed till the high command in Texas winks and blinks and lets the contributor know that he or she will get credit with the Bush operation for facilitating George W.'s path to the White House by essentially paying off the accumulated debt of Joe Blow's campaign.
It's not all nicely-nicely, of course. There's always some bad blood, hard feelings, and swallowing of pride and gall when it comes to folding your campaign and going quietly. To the pros, consultants, pollsters, and money people, it's only a seasonal defeat. Your team didn't make the playoffs, but you can maybe hook on with the winners in some fashion. It's only politics, right?
To the candidates, personally, the decision to fold is a bitter pill. No one enters the candidate's line of work who doesn't, in that heart of hearts, think there's at least a chance that lightning will strike. Look at how people buy lottery tickets. It is the job of the professional handlers to offer sage counsel to the candidate, to explain the implications of staying in and waging a costly and ultimately losing campaign.
If you quit and make peace with the Bush crowd, you get a better hotel assignment for the Philadelphia convention, maybe a prime-time speaking slot, and a plush job if Bush gets in. If you go without a fuss, the Bush camp can make life easier for you, giving some of your key people campaign salaries.
Quit without taking any federal matching funds, they croon, and you can save yourself the expense of a $200,000 mandatory audit of how you spent the taxpayers' money. These are the types of decisions that the also-rans in the Iowa straw poll will wrestle with next week and the week after. Jim Baker, campaign manager for Bush the Elder in a losing 1980 bid against Ronald Reagan, used to quote the country music classic of the gambler's lament: ''You gotta know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em.''
For some Iowa straw poll losers, that time may be at hand.
David Nyhan is a Globe columnist.
