y small problem with Al Gore is that I don't know who he really is. My larger problem with Al Gore is that he doesn't know who he is.
The man has the foundation of a trailer home. He changes personalities the way Jimy Williams changes lineups, switching from condescending to obsequious to funny to waxen, all in any given week.
He will do whatever any of his transient consultants tell him is necessary to win, say whatever those consultants tell him to say. Earth tone clothes and a Palm Pilot in his belt? Sure thing. A ridiculously long kiss with his wife in front of tens of millions of people? Absolutely. Fabricate anecdotes in order to prove a point? Give me names and situations.
He has exploited personal tragedy in pursuit of public gain, whether it be a saccharine speech about the death of his sister to lung cancer at the 1996 Democratic Convention or his endless references to his son's brush with death when he was struck by a car in 1989.
Questions linger over which Al Gore we'll get in the final two weeks of the campaign - the brainy, experienced, and often funny understudy to a flawed president, or the petulant know-it-all who doesn't suffer fools gladly.
Darker questions linger over which Gore might enter the White House. Issue papers are helpful, and his I like, but the real test of a president is the makeup of the man. What will he do if Jiang Zemin lobs nuclear missiles at the coast of Taiwan and editorialists around the country and public opinion polls are savaging his diplomatic abilities?
With Al Gore, we don't know, because we don't know the man. And neither, it seems, does he.
George W. Bush's tax cut proposal - the centerpiece of his agenda - is a losing issue, and fuels every concern that his is a far too simplistic view not only of government, but the world.
I was covering the presidential race in 1996 when Bob Dole campaigned on his own plan to slash federal income taxes by 15 percent, waving to interchangeable groups of elderly voters, hollering into the microphone, ''It's your money. It's your money. It's your money.''
It might have been our money, but back then, at least, the country didn't mind spending it on a fiscally responsible federal government, one with a president who turned the massive deficit into a surplus that kept this economy ablaze.
Flash ahead four years. The Dow Jones average was at 6,061 on Oct. 23, 1996; yesterday, it was 10,271.72. The Nasdaq was at 1,220 then; yesterday it was 3,468.69. Yes, the outlook is more uncertain now, but the mindset remains one of relentless optimism.
Voters don't like pandering politicians. They also don't like to foul up a reasonably good thing. As Bush emphasizes tax cuts in the last two weeks of the campaign, it might well cost him some votes, and a few votes can cost him a race that he seems poised to win.
So the ultimate question for many voters isn't who's best, but who's the worst. And that's a difficult question.
One of the best things ever to happen to Hillary Clinton is the Subway Series in New York. Her campaign team is praying to the political gods that the Mets rise to the occasion and take the contest to the full seven games. With the city and state focused on baseball, her daunting lead against Rick Lazio is virtually frozen in its place. Unless she commits a mistake of Bucknerian proportions, she is a lock to be a United States senator.
If John Kerry is offered the job of secretary of state, secretary of defense, or attorney general in a Gore administration, bet the townhouse he'll take it. Then practice saying these two words: Senator Cellucci. If Bush wins, Cellucci's title will be ''ambassador.''
Either way, get used to saying these two words: Governor Swift.
Brian McGrory's email address
is mcgrory@globe.com
