t had to be the governor thing. Only one of the six people up there on the stage was actually one. You could see it in George W. Bush. The tongue was a little quicker. The eyes were less nervous. The body gestures were firmer (except for the silly holding up of his right hand during his closing comments, as if he were accepting the oath of office).
I am no fan of George Bush, and I'm not likely to become one. But given the sad competition, he was the only one who looked as if he could run something. It helps that he has.
As the 90 minutes of last night's Republican debate dribbled on, most of the other candidates shipwrecked on political islands: Gary Bauer was trying to subsist on rations of abortion and family values. Alan Keyes was wailing about American sovereignty and a racist ignoring of his campaign.
Steve Forbes is still digging around trying to find people who will follow him on taxes. Orrin Hatch is trying to find his bus to cart around the other candidates after he bizarrely used his closing comments to call for a series of town halls.
John McCain had the best sense of humor, saying that Fed chairman Alan Greenspan is doing such a great job that even if he died, McCain would prop him up in his chair and put his glasses back on. McCain did a good job in discussing his temper and lack of support from other senators. His performance will keep him in the race and might even boost his standing.
But Bush had that governor thing. He still seemed canned except when he threw back a quote at Forbes on raising the retirement age. But at least his can was more of a balanced meal as Republican dinners go.
He did not look foolish on a tricky question about pollution in Houston. He mentioned education, something no one else volunteered. He may not be deep, but he was not fatally exposed as shallow.
When you are running something, it keeps you more on toes. It keeps your mind active and the eyes moving. The nomination is still Bush's to lose. He did nothing last night to lose it.
Derrick Z. Jackson is a Globe columnist.
