It's probably pretty obvious that we cats have been rooting a teensy, weensie bit for Ricky "Don't Google My Name" Santorum in the Republican clown-car primaries. (Thanks to Ricky himself, we have to stop calling it a clown "college.")
This is not because we like Ricky Don't Google Me, etc. It's because we want the GOP chaos to continue as long as possible. So far, we're not disappointed.
So you can imagine how pleased we were to find that both of those famously ass-backward realms of the Deep South, Alabama and Mississippi, fell into the Ricky Don't Google Me column last night. We used to hear the old saw that Alabamians would point to the Magnolia State and say, "Thank God for Mississippi." Well, they can't do that anymore.
And what does all this mean for Willard Mitt Romney? Well, Willard is soldiering on, and saying that the only game that matters is the delegate math — an assertion with which we cats actually agree. But the question now is whether Willard will amass enough of that math to sail smoothly into Tampa. And at this point, the answer is.... meh.
See, when the lead item in POLITICO's Playbook is "Romney's 5-Point SURVIVAL Plan" [emphasis ours] — which includes beefing up delegate selection trackers to wage a county-by-county fight for convention floor folks — it's not a good Willard day in Cheesy Grit Land.
Picturing that scenario, we cats were suddenly reminded of Presidential candidate Cliff Robertson in "The Best Man" — blitzing his unnamed party's convention, on foot and by helicopter, cajoling, hounding and threatening delegates into supporting him. Because that's what the Republicans are going to have to deal with if nobody reaches the magic number of 1,144.
We also are reminded that in that great 1964 film, neither Robertson nor opponent Henry Fonda received the nomination.
We cats PURR.
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