(NYmag.com) -- By Kurt Andersen
People with the slightest interest in politics, especially journalists, spent 2006 and 2007 smacking their lips and rubbing their hands in anticipation of 2008, relishing the prospect of gorging on the story of a lifetime: no incumbents running, a free-for-all of mad-interesting candidates, world-historical issues at stake. Mmmm!
Be careful what you wish for. This election cycle now reminds me of the one Looney Tune that terrified me as a child, where a selfish and gluttonous Porky Pig is subjected by a mad scientist to a nightmare of unending force-feeding. Enough already. Please. Enough.
And yet, being a glutton, I find I can’t kick my present addiction to political data and chatter, even though gobbling it no longer makes me feel good. That jones is partly a function of this year’s gripping Terminator battle between the Democrats—earnest young would-be savior-leader pursued by staggeringly destructive and nearly indestructible shape-shifting automaton. But it’s also because in this election, as never before, I’m not a disinterested observer, not even pretending to be, but rather an unapologetic believer—I’ve been an Obamaphile from the get-go. My whole life, I’ve never cared about sports, never experienced that intense, emotional, extra-rational rooting interest in any team’s struggle to win the championship. I figure this must be what it feels like to be a hopeful, fretful, stressed-out fan during the Super Bowl or World Series.