Postmodern John McCain: the presidential candidate some Arizonans know — and loathe

"I don't know," he says. "He's a United States senator, and you ought to have respect for a United States senator."

We had no particular agenda, no immediate deadlines, though there was some talk about watching history being made. After all, Super Tuesday was going to put McCain over the top, making him the presumptive Republican nominee for president.

The huge ballroom was packed. It felt like every Republican in town was there. But not in a good way. I know people like to joke that Cindy McCain looks like a Stepford Wife, but really, she's got nothing on the group that night in the Biltmore's largest ballroom. Everywhere you looked, there were well-coiffed zombies, all dutifully mingling. And sneaking peeks at their watches.

A few of the people we chatted up — Congressman Jeff Flake, Tempe Mayor Hugh Hallman, former Maricopa County Attorney Rick Romley — did seem genuinely excited, but just about all the others were clearly there because they had to be.

Maybe everyone was tired from a long workday. But it seemed that, really, they were all profoundly bored and spending a lot of time looking around to make sure someone important from the McCain campaign noted their presence (just in case the Arizona senator wins, and a job opens up in D.C.).

From that night on, it has been difficult to find anyone who'll say an unkind word about McCain. Some did, obviously, for this story, but I know there are more.

Often, people wouldn't call back at all. Although he has plenty of harsh comments for McCain in his book, Barry Goldwater Jr. never could be reached for comment.

Some I tried to talk to were apologetic about not being able to spill. They work for ASU or the governor or a conservative think tank or a liberal think tank or they lobby Congress. Or, like John Hinz, the one-time executive director of the Arizona Republican Party, who recounted some tales of the senator's temper for the Washington Post this spring, they've gotten the message that it's not a good idea to say anything negative about McCain.

It's hard to keep track of the shifting alliances. Paul Johnson, former mayor of Phoenix, who spent much of the early 1990s publicly loathing the senator, is now a Democrat for McCain. But lobbyist Knox Kimberly, who once ran McCain's local congressional office, is a big Barack Obama supporter.

Grant Woods, McCain's first chief of staff, was very close friends with McCain, until a public falling out in the early '90s, when the senator shunned him for investigating his pal, Fife Symington.

Now Woods is back in the McCain camp. He was at the Biltmore on election night. I saw him from across the room. He didn't return my call for this story.

Nor did anybody representing McCain get back to me after I contacted his campaign for this article.

Maybe some of the dreariness of the Biltmore event could be blamed on the large area roped off for the national press — a group of sad-looking, credentialed folks who could clearly suck the life out of any room. Tucker Carlson stood watching the action, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Postmodern McCain is just not as much fun as his predecessor, the straight-ahead, shit-talking bad guy.

Watching him up on the stage, struggling with the teleprompter, Cindy looking miserable next to him, I almost pitied the GOP's presumptive nominee. No more nasty jokes, no public outbursts. He's reduced to talking about climate change and accusing Obama of being the media's flavor of the day.

"Don't feel sorry for him," a friend said. "The guy might wind up president."