OS ANGELES - Is there anything sadder in the world than a Texas Democrat?
Texans claim to love it when things get hopeless. Witness the religiosity of the Alamo experience that permeates the Lone Star culture. But how much fun can it really be to face the Bush juggernaut as it rumbles across the Lone Star state like Patton through France?
''Well,'' counters Representative Martin Frost, chairman of the Texas delegation here, ''How'd you like to be running as a Democrat in Idaho?''
That wouldn't be a barrel of laughs either. But this valiant effort to change the subject does nothing to alter the grim reality for Democrats in the home turf of George W. Bush: They wake behind enemy lines. Every day.
Their standing here is modest. Where their GOP counterparts in Philadelphia sat in the prime seats below the podium, these folks are off the floor near North Dakota and Hawaii. Where the Republicans stayed in the Marriott, first among the Philadelphia convention hotels, the Democrats are sequestered out at the Los Angeles airport, miles from civilization as we know it.
To survive, they favor one of the last refuges of modern psychotherapy: denial. Never is heard a discouraging word. Their smiles are frozen in rictus to deflect negative questions. They rely on the conviction that the other guys will get theirs sooner or later. And they still find life a hoot.
Take the Georgy Bush project. A group of former Bill Bradley stalwarts from Austin calling themselves The Publicity Seekers have produced a CD that lambastes their nemesis with tunes like ''Georgy Bush'' - sung to the sixties tune of ''Georgy Girl'' - and ''Gana Dinero'' (More Money), sung to the tune of ''Guantanamera.''
Delegation vice chairman Glen Maxie delights in The Barbie Question. Barbie Dolls were distributed to delegates in Philadelphia and Los Angeles. (Why is anyone's guess.) ''We got Anglos, Hispanics, African American Barbies,'' he notes. ''I'd like to know if the Republicans got any African American Barbies in Philadelphia.''
Doubtful, chimes in Jim Nickerson of Pittsburg, Texas: ''The minorities were there all right, but they were outside serving food.''
Amid the sniping, the Democrats think small. Frost maintains they can pick up the one seat they need to regain control of the state Senate, increase their six-seat edge in the state House, and pick up two congressional seats while absorbing the Bush tsunami in the presidential race.
Such talk may not be as absurd as it sounds. He points out that while Bush drubbed Gary Mauro with almost 70 percent of the vote in his 1998 reelection, Democrats gained a seat in the state Senate while holding the state house and their congressional edge. (He fails to mention that the Bush turnout destroyed all Democrats in statewide races.)
''This is life or death for us,'' said Frost about lesser contests. ''The Legislature will redraw the congressional districts, and the Republicans have already said ... they intend to erase eight Democratic districts in Congress if they take control.''
The Bush specter produces another ripple. ''The pressure is off at the top of the ticket so we're free to vote our conscience,'' says Kelly Holmes, a 22-year-old delegate from Austin, a hotbed of liberal activism, who carries the Georgy Bush CD. Translation: I might vote for Ralph Nader.
''My vote for Gore is worthless in a winner-take-all state,'' she said. ''So do I throw away my vote or help Nader get 5 percent so he can get matching funds next time?''
Such heresy exemplifies the Democratic penchant for hara-kiri absent in Philadelphia. Then again, many Democrats wouldn't wear the loud Lone Star flag shirts and huge cowboy hats favored by the GOP there. ''This is a political convention, not a costume ball,'' snaps Frost.
The Texas delegates confess to indulging dark thoughts earlier in the race. ''We kind of thought at one point about how demoralizing it is to be in this situation, but then we decided to turn it into a positive,'' says Karen Loper of Houston.
This transformation gave birth at the convention to the Texas Truth Rangers, a Democratic posse bent on telling their side of the Bush saga. But it's a crowded field. The Republicans have sent their truth squad to Los Angeles, led by the prominent Hispanic, Henry Bonilla.
Truth squads are fine, but they are no substitute for a good year that gives you bragging rights at the bar. ''It hasn't been our year in a long time,'' laments Ann Hubener of Duncanville. ''The last time we had a winner was Jimmy Carter.''
This dark thought doesn't stop Jim Nickerson from crowing, ''2002 will be a great year for Texas Democrats. We'll be coming back.''
