The Masters of Low Expectations

Via the Atlantic, “The president’s team has tried, in laughably transparent ways, to lower the bar for Obama’s performance.” Via USA Today, Romney’s team is circulating a memo that basically says the campaign will be lucky if Romney doesn’t end up with a pile of gooshy pudding in his sacred Mormon underware out of fear that standing on the stage with the President will turn this ball of self-tanner and hair with a Harvard MBA in to a blithering idiot that sounds like someone in the most severe stages of dimentia.

Oooh, hey, girl. I am so believing all of this. NOT.

Give. Me. A. Break. Please.

The WaPo’s Jena McGreggor gets it right when she tells both teams to stop lowering expectations.

Granted, I’d love nothing more to be sitting back sipping on my glass of fine Kentucky bourbon while watching Mitt Romney shit his pants and start crying in front of a live studio audience and millions of Americans through the maricle of TV (which I understand Mitt still calls the “talkie box”).

But we all know that won’t happen. Worst case scinario, President Obama rambles a bit and goes all “Constitutional Scholar” on us, and Mr. Self-Tanner will try to do nothing but land zingers, all of which will be more misplaced than a display of Zingers on the bleach and detergent aisle at your local HEB.

Let’s face it. Mitt Romney may be out-of-touch, may have had his ass kicked by Ted Kennedy back in the day in a debate, and is the Antichrist (yes, the real one), but a gazillionaire businessman and former governor who has already been through something like 2,182 Republican Primary Debates (I got that number because that is how many GOP primary debates it FELT LIKE I WATCHED) is probably not going to turn in to a puddle of mushy grits on stage.

By the same token, the most powerful man in the world, who has had to make tough decisions like whether or not to kill Osama Bin Laden (Yes, Republicans, the black, Kenyan, Muslim/Radical Reparations Baptist President you hate SO MUCH got that done while your boy W was trying to figure out how to use his iPad to see how many books would be in his as-yet-non-existent Presidential Library), isn’t going to somehow self-destruct, start mumbling, and pull out a pack of Kools and start chain smoking because he’s so nervous.

Bottom line–let’s please quit playing the low expectations game. If you want to play a debate game, how about one of the many Presidential Debate Drinking Games out there, like this one. Make no mistake, the President will wipe the floor with the JV team from Bain Capital, but neither he nor Romney will be experiencing yellow streams of warm liquid flowing down their pants because it’s an exercise in electoral politics they simply cannot handle.

[[OH YEAH, I just might be able to be talked in to still being sober at 8 p.m. CST when the thing starts and, if I am, and I can remember my password, I MIGHT, just MIGHT, liveblog it. Maybe. (I’m trying to manage expectations here, obviously).

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