DES MOINES
At first George W. Bush - front-runner and president-in-waiting - planned to sleep in this morning, savor his expected Iowa rewards, chat with the press a bit, and then head toward New Hampshire around noon for a triumphal arrival in time for the early evening news in Boston and Manchester.
But then his people learned that the other front-runner, Al Gore, understood days ago that the only chance a front-runner has down the stretch in New Hampshire is to behave as if he were trailing badly and facing humiliation. It's not just a convenient pose; it's likely to be a fact.
The Bushies were also reminded, by their own as well as the media's relentless polling, that one tough hombre named John McCain awaits.
Then last night his campaign turned in at best a lackluster performance against a weak field to match his lackluster performance as a candidate.
The Bush campaign is a battleship - powerful, but very slow to turn - but on short notice it changed course as if it were a PT boat, in deference to what ought to be the first rule of Iowa Caucuses Night: Say thank you politely and sprint for the airport.
Both Gore and now Bush accordingly slipped into New Hampshire in the middle of the night, having preened for the late local news, so that at dawn this morning their flags were clearly planted. They won't slow down until after nightfall, and neither will their competitors.
The smart ones who have dough will have fresh ads on Boston and Manchester television by the evening news, and all will dash around the state - their motorcades literally passing each other on Routes 3 and 101 and the interstates - in the company of hordes of newspeople who will give new meaning to the word intrusive - in a desperate scramble to make a strong first impression.
When today mercifully ends, you might ask yourself two questions: Who was heard clearly over the din? And can you remember the essence of what anybody had to say?
If what you heard was mostly about Iowa or a candidate's political standing, chances are you were hearing a loser. If what you heard bore some passing relevance to you, chances are the guy understands what's ahead.
All this frenetic activity is in deference to what is arguably the weirdest and wildest of all the weird and wild days in presidential politics. To use a theater analogy, it's as if a major production struck its set in London one night and opened on Broadway the next. The difference is that this is more like the circus than Shakespeare.
It's been like this since 1984, when the Iowa caucusing and the New Hampshire voting were first compressed by sadists into an eight-day period that offers the storied winnowing of the field on the front end and the prospect of public deaths on the back end.
With time out for 1992 - when Pat Buchanan's brigades (foreshadowing McCain) decided to punt in Iowa and take on President George Bush in New Hampshire, and when an Iowan (Senator Tom Harkin) was running in the Democratic race - this is the fourth spin around the track and only the second after 1988 with legitimate races in each party.
Only this time, it will be even weirder and wilder.
After today's assault on the senses, some super-sadist has arranged for the candidates in both parties to hold their final debate before the primary on the same evening. Call it Debate-O-Rama, worthy (if that's the right word) of the World Wrestling Federation, but keep your seat belt fastened for this one. If you find yourself comparing Bill Bradley's health care plan with Alan Keyes's, you may not be alone.
And then, on Thursday, President Clinton will again confound the people in politics and my racket who have been declaring him irrelevant off and on with five years of monotonous inaccuracy. His final State of the Union address, with this guy named Gore seated above and to his right, will not only set most of the national policy agenda for this year; it will also set much of the table for the presidential campaign to succeed him, as will the response this week and in the months to come of the Republican congressional leadership (there's a contradiction in terms).
Along the way, the nationally televised address will both dominate and confuse another news cycle in New Hampshire. Everybody running will ignore it at his peril, but each candidate will once again face the challenge of being heard above the din.
And then, the final weekend will be upon them.
The days of long, almost leisurely New Hampshire campaigns are long gone. In their place are two phases: one, like Iowa, when you can put together an organization and make a decent impression; and the final week's sprint, dominated by quick bursts of media messaging, when almost anything can happen.
The post-1980 winners of the contested races (Gary Hart, Mike Dukakis, George Bush pere, and Pat Buchanan), forgetting '92, all had established themselves ahead of time.
But woe unto those who start the final week too slowly, too confidently or both. The ghosts of Fritz Mondale and Bob Dole (twice), of Pat Robertson and Lamar Alexander and Dick Gephardt and Paul Simon are as eloquent as Bobby Burns on what can happen to best laid plans.
The key is the transition game. Until yesterday Iowa seemed like everything; today it is nothing. Yesterday, the action was retail; today, it is irretrievably wholesale.
The setting may be New England, but it might as well be California.
Enjoy.
Thomas Oliphant is a Globe columnist.
