Before it began, the very convention of conventions had seemed outmoded: why spend four days on something Clinton had wrapped up? The networks mostly gave it a miss, and Ross Perot’s abrupt withdrawal just before the Big Speech threatened to steal all the headlines. But by the time the Clinton and Gore families gathered for the closing tableau, Madison Square Garden was bristling with energy, and old-time politics looked like it had a little life in it yet. “Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow, don’t stop, it’ll soon be here,” Fleetwood Mac blared from the soundsystem, and Bill and Al were ready to seize the day. No vacations, no regroupings, no strategy sessions. With a sugar rush from the convention jolting the polls, the candidates dashed off on a rust-belt buscapade, courting Reagan Democrats and the Perot people set adrift. Clinton portrayed himself as the man from Hope, and Democrats scented victory. He’ll need all that enthusiasm, and brass knuckles, too: it’s just George Bush and Bill Clinton now, head to head in a take-no-prisoners fight.
