Perhaps I am an alarmist. Perhaps I am succumbing to the media-induced inevitability of a Barry Hussein ascendency. Perhaps I am just tired of fighting that same media and Hollywood and academia and the unions and all the various and sundry elements of the left. Perhaps it is all of the above.

In the end, though, what I saw last night was a man in desperate need of both runs and spectacle. He seemed to produce little of either.  A solid policy hit here and there may have satiated the policy wonks and talking heads, and the base on balls allowed by moderator Bob Schieffer helped keep the feistier-than-normal candidate in the game.  

Unfortunately, when you are playing against a mega-watt star, wins, losses, and runs never count as much as the tape-measure shots of your opponent no matter how vacuous, improbable, or untrue his claims.  The occasional ground-rule double (“I am not President Bush. If you wanted to run against him you should have run four years ago.”) did little more than whet the appetite of both the bleacher bums and box seated fans alike. 

In the end, what most will remember is a series of softball lobs that Obama hung in the air long enough for a collective nation to hold their breath to see if this time the Arizona senator would swing for the gates. Many would have been happy to simply see warning track power. But, like the fictional Casey, each time these beach balls crossed his plate, McCain left an anxious crowd deflated, dejected, and unfortunately probably defeated come November.

Tax breaks for 95% of all Americans including the thirty-plus percent that don’t actually pay taxes? Strike. Unsavory alliances? Strike. An economic policy that will be impossible to fund simply by rolling back tax cuts for a certain segment of the population, ending the war, and trimming some political fat? Strike.

He did not do it in the fashion of Bugs Bunny, corkscrewing himself into an inhuman pose wrapped round and round his own torso. That would have at least signaled an attempt. Instead, Obama seemed to paint the corners daring McCain to swing. And each time, the elder statesman left the lumber on his shoulder.

Winners go down swinging. Champions connect. Lately, McCain does precious little of either. So, while it may not be the bottom of the ninth, it sure is late in the game.