The eve had finally arrived for the long-awaited Mayoral Debate. Held at White's, the largest and most suitable convention center in the area, a handful of television cameras focused in for the big event. Fall River, the entire "Spindle City," was expected to be watching.

As if enemies since birth, Republicans filled one side of the hall, while Democrats staked the other. They were actually split down the middle like the Red Sea. This was done, however, not for the passage of Moses, but to insure that the strongly opinionated constituents didn't kill each other. In turn, their only duty was to decide the best man for the job. It wasn't going to be easy.

Bobbing picket signs revealed no majority. If there had been a preliminary vote, things looked like they would have tallied up just about even. The outcome of the mud-slinging race appeared to hinge solely on the debate.

With only 20 minutes before the well-known opponents hit the stage, Jonathan O'Shane paced his dressing room like an expectant father. He and the incumbent were separated, as each politician was expected to use this time to prepare for the best heavyweight match in years.

At last, the door flew open and in rushed Richard Roberts. He was Jonathan's zealous campaign manager and until now, had gone above and beyond the call of duty to see his man in office. He shuffled through some paperwork and with a quick flick of the wrist, dismissed the hairdresser as if she weren't even human. Appearances were one thing, but presentations were something altogether different. It was time to tape up the hands, put on the gloves and if possible, conceal a roll of steel that would be felt in every punch. Jonathan looked up and noticed that Rich was still panting.

"So?" Jonathan asked. There was a sharp edge to his voice.

"O.K., I got Bob's complete background and the surveys finally came in…" Rich was still sifting through his thick folder.

"And?"

"And it looks like our opponent is as clean as an Eagle Scout."

"Impossible! That lying sack of shit must have some frigin' skeletons in his closet?"

"If he does, Jonathan, then they're dressed in disguise. I looked everywhere and…"

"And what about his stay at the detox center?"

"We both know that wasn't him. It's Bobby Junior who has the coke problem…"

"Does it say Robert Jr. on the paperwork?"

"No…" Rich was still scanning his arsenal.

"Then we can use it!" Jonathan insisted, "and if nobody buys it, I'll just bring up the fact that with Daddy's help, all charges were coincidentally dropped for Junior."

"O.K., but what if he counters, claiming that you're the one with a history of drug use?"

"I'll play it cool. Tell'em I experimented with marijuana in college, but never inhaled!" Both men paused to share a hearty laugh. "Hey, it's worked before. As far as the cocaine… the hard narcotics, there should be no record of it."

As if he'd just discovered the solution to world peace, Jonathan's eyes lit up. "Yeah, that's what I'll do," he continued, "I'll just go with the social drinker routine. The blue-collar stiffs can relate to that. In fact, they'll probably even love me for it!"

"What about the extra-marital affairs?" Rich slipped in, his face concealed behind the dark folder.

"Mine or his?"

There was a shrug.

"Have you seen Bob's wife? Of course he's screwed around. Either that, or he's dead from the waist down." Thinking further on it, Jonathan shook his head, "It doesn't matter. As far as we're concerned, Bob's the biggest whore master in the city!"

"And yours?"

"Richard, my boy, let me spell it out for you. Joyce walked in on me a few years back. The broad I was screwin' wasn't even off me and I was already denying it. In time, she was so sick of hearing the bullshit excuses, she finally let it go." Placing his hand on Rich's shoulder, Jonathan offered the wisdom of experience, "My father once told me, in all his years of public service, he found that there really is no truth. People believe what they want to believe and trust me, people don't want to believe I'm a cheat." Nodding, he concluded the subject, "Nope. Even if one of my flings jumps out of the crowd tonight, I'll vow she's a liar. Shit, I'll even agree to a lie-detector test. They'd never permit it anyway!"

Rich was preparing for the next issue, but wasn't quick enough. There was no time to waste. Jonathan blurted, "Aren't Bob's other kids messed up?" He never waited for a response, but went on, "Yeah, besides Junior blowing the family fortune up his nose, didn't Bob's little girl get knocked up in high school?"

Rich's eyes lit up. With pursed lips, he nodded. There were times when even he forgot how good his boss really was. Jonathan O'Shane was a true professional.

"Let's use it!" Jonathan pounded on the table, "If he can't run his own household, than how can the taxpayers of this fine city expect him to control their finances, or their children's futures?" He chuckled, "Either way, it's a winner. I'll ask his take on teenage pregnancy and from that, we can get right into his views on abortion! He'll never know what hit'em!"

Though he tried, Rich still couldn't maintain the pace. Jonathan was on a roll. "I'll also touch on his gambling problem…"

"I didn't know he had one," Rich replied. The politician-in-training still didn't understand completely.

"Sure, he does. A few months back, when I was visiting the Indians four times a week, I saw him at the slots twice. He must have a problem. So, let's exploit it!"

Rich giggled. It sounded so good, so convincing, even he was starting to believe Jonathan O'Shane.

Jonathan checked his watch and quickly steered the dress rehearsal to the hotter platform issues. "What's the word on the streets?"

At last, Rich could get into his long-labored statistics. "These are a working-class people, Jonathan, with the average of a ninth grade education."

"Great! Let's wash the stand on education reform…"

"BUT, recent surveys show they are most concerned with getting their own kids a better education…"

"As I said, education will remain at the forefront!" An unusual look of concern crept into Jonathan's face. "The veterans?" he asked, reluctantly.

Rich decided not to pull any more punches. "It's always been an issue with the vets that you frequented Canada throughout the late sixties and early seventies."

"How many veterans in the city are expected to vote?"

"We estimate no more than 8%."

"Screw the baby killers then! If they scream too loud, when I get in, I'll just close the shelters down." He paused for the proper reason and added, "Due to lack of funding!"

Rich jumped in. "Taxes are a sore spot with these people. Most can hardly afford…"

"Whah…whah…whah. Have you seen the numbers? The goddamn city's in over its head. Of course the taxes are getting hiked."

Jonathan's strongest advocate's reaction was not one of approval.

The sly fox grinned. "For tonight though, on the eyes of my own kids, NO NEW TAXES!"

"Bob will bring up the kickbacks you took while holding the Treasurer's office…" Rich tested Jonathan's reflexes.

"Alleged kickbacks! I was completely exonerated from that mess and let's not forget it! It never even happened!"

Rich smiled. His man was on. "O.K., Fall River is 68% Catholic and at least 10% more subscribe to another Christian faith."

"Good. We'll promise the bleeding hearts money for their charitable causes… food banks, soup kitchens and more homeless shelters. If it's going good, I might even dangle a few other carrots in front of the closet drunks."

Just then, the door flew open again. Jonathan and Rich went mute. Gregg Avilla, the debate mediator, announced, "We're on in five, Jonathan. Let's try to keep it above the belt, O.K.?"

Jonathan shrugged, as if insulted by the obvious implication.

"Good!" Gregg said, "and best of luck!" With that, he was gone.

There was still so much more to go over, but neither coach nor fighter was concerned. Jonathan O'Shane was a cunning and vicious contender. He had wallowed in the mud many times before.

Jonathan faced Rich as though he would actually hug him. "Not bad work, kid," he winked, "so what do you think?"

Rich straightened his boss' tie. He really believed in the man. Then again, he had to. His own job depended on it. "You're the best man for the job," Rich vowed, "The people will see that!"

"Well, let's hope so," Jonathan called over his back, as he headed for the stage, "because if the stupid bastards end up being blind, then we'll just have to file lawsuit after lawsuit until we bleed this city dry!"

Rich smiled. He'd never be unemployed. Jonathan was always thinking.

Three weeks later, a good percentage of constituents, never expected to vote, came out in droves. As a result, Mayor Jonathan O'Shane won by technical knockout and became the people's champion. "He's the best man for the job!" they insisted, "He's a real fighter… a role model for our children to follow!"

The political race had proven to be a low-down dirty brawl, along with the best entertainment the city had seen in years. The real price of admission, however, hadn't been set until the bout was over. In the political ring, that had become the American way.