The suggestion Mitt Romney might make another run for the Presidency of the United States made me think of a line from one of my father’s novels: ‘There’s nothing so sad as the memory of lost fucks.’ There’s a measure of wistful sadness but also some wry resignation.
The obvious reaction is that, hey Mittens, third time ain’t no charm. Because that’s the way it’s supposed to work these days. You’re supposed to accept being beaten, supposed to retire gracefully from the fray, supposed to recognise it’s someone else’s turn. This ain’t Richard Nixon’s America and it’s not Ronald Reagan’s either.
And yet, in one sense, why should Romney accept it is someone else’s turn? It is not as though the Republican party is over-freighted with stars likely to defeat Hillary Clinton. Who can blame Romney for thinking he’s got as good a shot as any of these other schlubs?
He has the advantage of being familiar with course and distance and it’s hard to make a credible case that a Romney candidacy is vastly more backward-looking than Jeb Bush’s putative tilt for the nomination.
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