The Republican field of had-beens and side-show fire-eaters is blessedly narrowing: Huckster Huckabee declines, Trump opts for tinsel and tap-dancing, Romney and Gingrich stay technically in the race, but choose political calculation over principle and assume kami-kaze mode.
The day is fair, the plain is wide and green -- look to the high ground, and see where the young lions cast their eyes across the expanse, in anticipation of sauntering down the hill through the tall grass and into the fray: Ryan, Bachman, Christi
e, Rubio, West, go forward to nudge their noses up against the waiting Pawlenty and sharp-toothed Cain -- amid Palin's roars of encouragement and zeal issuing from the Alaskan heights [above and to the left on the map, but standing shoulder to shoulder and to the right among the Party].
Snarl, stalk, pounce.
Anybody seen Fred Thompson?
