If this is true, I have a question:
Millions of people watched Marco Rubio’s televised tailspin in the opening minutes of last weekend’s Republican presidential debate — but what, exactly, they saw depended on the viewer.
To rivals, Rubio’s reflexive retreat to the same snippet of well-rehearsed rhetoric — over and over, and over, and over again — was proof of the freshman senator’s status as a lightweight. To supporters, the wobbly display was a forgivable fluke, one bad moment blown wildly out of proportion by a bloodthirsty press corps.
But to those who have known him longest, Rubio’s flustered performance Saturday night fit perfectly with an all-too-familiar strain of his personality, one that his handlers and image-makers have labored for years to keep out of public view. Though generally seen as cool-headed and quick on his feet, Rubio is known to friends, allies, and advisers for a kind of incurable anxiousness — and an occasional propensity to panic in moments of crisis, both real and imagined.
Now, I represent a lot of disabled people, many of them with anxiety disorders of one form or another. I wish them only the best. But I would respectfully decline to support them should they seek my support in a run for the presidency. Isn’t it a bit unpatriotic to stay silent while someone you know to have “an occasional propensity to panic in moments of crisis, both real and imagined” edges ever closer to getting his finger near that button? We can all dispel the notion that Obama would panic in a crisis. He would know exactly what he was doing. I don’t always agree with him, but he’s a cool customer and pretty unflappable. And remember, unless I miss my bet, Rubio is still the guy to whom the media will turn as the sane alternative to the Donald.