as it only five weeks ago today? It seems like a year.
John McCain was holed up in the Manchester Holiday Inn, preparing to burst forth for his final, frantic weekend of New Hampshire campaigning. Texas Governor George W. Bush was atop the Republican world. McCain's crowds were building in size and fervor, like coastal chop before a thunderstorm. But no one knew then the Arizonan would blow the doors off the Bushmobile four days later.
Most politicians, particularly the first-time-arounders, are incredibly egocentric in the climactic stages of a grueling preprimary campaign. But McCain, who's survived enough scrapes and stress to enliven a dozen normal lifetimes, was curious about some pols other than himself when yours truly was hailed into his room to chew the political fat.
''What happened to Bill Bradley?'' was his opening query. Jarrin' John and Battlin' Bill were the Bobbsey Twins of campaign reform, one from the left, one from the right, joined in symbolic handshake at Claremont, N.H., pledging their troth to smite the evil of soft money in political campaigns.
Each started from Ground Zero in New Hampshire, but McCain's support built steadily as Bradley's faltered. Al Gore's own polls had him 11 points behind Bradley among most-likely voters. Bradley oozed confidence, money rolled in. But Gore closed the gap and then some, and with little more than a week to go, Bradley went down to what he now says was an 18-point deficit, a swing of nearly 30 percent.
Bradley says his mistake was not getting tougher sooner on Gore. ''I did correct that in New Hampshire,'' Bradley told a San Jose newspaper, eight days before the primary. We went from 18 points to 4 points behind, the margin of Gore's New Hampshire victory. ''If we had another three or four days,'' lamented Bradley, ''we would have won, because that's where everything was moving.''
Four points in the first primary may be as close as Bradley will ever come to Gore, whose methodical sweep through the rest of the calendar looks destined to doom Bradley.
In their 10th TV debate Wednesday on CNN, Bradley was dignified, polite, occasionally eloquent on lofty talking points like race, leadership, goodness in America, etc. But it will be remembered as the ''no mas'' debate: no more punches, no more jibes, no more harsh words about lying. Argued out, tired out, punched out, Bradley treads docilely to the guillotine, holding his head high, saying all the right things. but plodding glumly toward Jerusalem with no real hope of deliverance.
What happened to Bradley? McCain happened to Bradley. There was only one volcano this election cycle, delivering the white-hot lava of urgency on political reform, and that was Mount McCain. McCain has meant more to the process than all of the other candidates together. Bradley had some spark early on; his elocution on race and health care a vague appeal to a more seemly political morality than that of the Clinton White House struck a chord.
But for the lack of a lot of things that a successful campaign requires - energy, experience, allies, urgency, a break on the issues, and the absence of a charismatic rival whose star outshines your own - Bradley never got rolling. His challenge, his early media halo, and his brief New Hampshire lead rattled Camp Gore.
But campaigns are all about growing: your crowds growing; the media attention growing; the money flow; the interview requests; the number of camera tripods set up for your events. But the thing that has to grow fastest and sturdiest is your appetite for the fray, your ability to get rocked and roll with the punches.
Bradley didn't grow. His heart flutters didn't help; he seemed a quart low in the energy level department; Bradley never exuded the joy of combat that McCain radiates.
You can sample the McCain magic if you happen to be around Copley Square at 9 a.m. tomorrow when the Straight Talk Express blitzes Beantown.
Whatever happens elsewhere on Super Tuesday, whether McCain gets skunked in the South again, or gets jobbed in California because they won't count the Democratic or Independent votes when awarding the 162 convention delegates to the winner of Republican-votes-only-please, McCain is the man of the hour.
He won't get to be man of the year unless he wins the whole shebang. But he's already the man to whom most credit is due for enlivening the political year, elevating the process, inspiring the young and the disaffected, dragging the debate back to the center, and striking most boldly for reform of the corrupt money pit that rots out the foundation of our politics.
He's ahead in Massachusetts and the rest of New England, he's close in New York, and he's already flown higher and faster than most of us thought likely. Win or lose in the end, he's still the story now.
David Nyhan is a Globe columnist.
