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same way the right was now lockstep and predictable, so too was the left. Each had their own media outlets and pundits who in turn had a stranglehold over politicians. In fact, not only did I suspect there was a left-wing Phil out there, it wouldn’t have surprised me if it wasPhil himself. He was all business, and in our many conversations he had never once pretended to have any real concern for the country, much less for its chief executive. Now, however, he was intently focused on the implications of the president’s decision on the talk radio world. For me, he had a plan.
    â€œStan…” he was breathless now. I thought I heard him gasp for air. “You’re the only one in the country for whom there could be a silver lining.”
    That line would be my hair of the dog. Phil Dean now had my undivided attention.
    â€œMy advice is that you immediately go on the warpath against Bob Tobias. He’s got a real shot to win the Democratic nomination with Summers out. He’s perfectly positioned to jump in quickly and grab the mantle. And you’re perfectly positioned too—to be his chief nemesis. Own that turf.”
    My head was still spinning so much from Summers’ LBJ move that I hadn’t even had a chance to think about who would replace him as his party’s nominee. On the Republican side, the race had already been going on for months, with the five candidates sparring in a flurry of early debates. But Phil Dean had just changed my focus. Bob Tobias had just been re-elected as governor of Florida, despite the unpopularity of his party nationally. He was a moderate guy who had survived due to a combination of constituent service and avoidance of the political extremes. Responding quickly to coastal storms and an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico had really earned him stripes with residents along the coast. It’s didn’t hurt that he was a football hero in a state where pigskin was king.
    â€œThink about it Stan. He’s the young, handsome governor of a swing state who defied the odds in a GOP year. When this hangover ends, both parties are gonna figure out that he’s the man.”
    Fuckin’ Phil was right. Sitting in that adobe shack in Taos, probably stuffing his 400-lb frame with Tex-Mex between calls, he had a more keen insight into the politics that were about to unfold than I did, and according to him, I was sitting at ground zero.
    â€œFocus on that wife of his,” he frothed.
    â€œSusan Miller? Floridians love her, Phil.”
    Susan Miller was Bob Tobias’ other half. She was a homegrown beauty he’d met in college who’d proven to be his greatest political asset. She was smart and assertive, but not in a way that was threatening to men. She had previously been one of the state’s top-notch lobbyists. Often I’d heard people say they’d rather have her running Florida than him. But to Phil, she was a talk radio prop.
    â€œShe’s a suntanned Hillary for Chrissakes! Get to it, Stan.”
    Phil clicked off, no doubt to go give marching orders in some other radio market. There was no way he could have known it, but he’d finally hit a wall with me. I could spout off all the conservative bluster he’d want, but there were personal reasons why attacking Susan Miller, Florida’s first lady, was out of the question. I drove home to get sick and grab a nap.

CHAPTER 3
    President Summers’ late withdrawal rendered the Iowa Caucus and New Hampshire primary meaningless for the Democrats. If South Carolina could print new ballots in time to accommodate the quickly emerging Democratic field, it would be the first real contest. But it was more likely that Florida would have that distinction.
    It was a different story on the GOP side of the aisle. The Republican field had been set for nearly two years, but now the calculus was about to change. Previously it had been about who was best suited to defeat a liberal,