Watching the Final Debate with Boston's Young Republicans

I applaud Boston’s young conservatives. Thanks to a gentlemanly invitation from Rich Wheeler at the Massachusetts Federation of Young Republicans, I watched this past night’s debate with a herd of Alex P. Keatons at The Place outside Faneuil Hall. And while I expected to find a rowdy bunch of politically intolerant yuppies, they weren’t rowdy whatsoever.

Maybe the black men in the adjoining barroom inspired the mild temperament. Or maybe the conservatives on hand were uncomfortable jeering around my scruffy beard and tattooed forearms. Whatever the reason – I’ve seen more excitement in infomercial audiences.

The truth is that I wanted them to scream “Nobama,” and to shout that the distinguished gentleman from Illinois is Al Qaeda in disguise. Not just so I could report it back to Phoenix readers, but so I could justify the brutal vengeance with which I witnessed liberals watch the first three debates. Even though we know better, I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone torched a Sarah Palin effigy in Harvard Square two weeks ago.

If the purpose of their silence was to not give me – and the Fox 25 chick in the house – negativity to draw on, then they succeeded. But if they wanted to showcase how excited they are about candidate cadaver, then they failed hideously. Even I wanted to lambaste Obama for dodging questions about taxes and abortion, but I contained myself to avoid puncturing the mood.

I’m aware that conservatives enjoy complaining about how much hell they catch for having righteous convictions; I’m actually a Rush Limbaugh fan, as I genuinely enjoy hearing financially bloated cuff-link types allege that life is rigged against them. But Boston Republicans are true martyrs; even Beantown-bound Yankees fans can’t understand their pain. I always knew this, but, until I temporarily became the minority within their minority, I didn’t realize how lonely they must be.