After a Nasty and Costly Race, It's All Come Back to Iraq

In two days, Virginians get to choose between a guy who complains he's bored in the Senate ("It's too slow for me," George Allen said) and a challenger, Jim Webb, who says he's really first and foremost a writer.

In this wild, nasty and frightfully expensive campaign, we've learned way more than anyone ever wanted to know about what these two gents don't like: They're down on some combination of foreigners, blacks, women, Jews, Hollywood types, gays and sex. Oh, and each other -- big-time.

Which is a little odd, since in some important and odd ways, George Allen and Jim Webb are quite similar.

Both are fans of the Confederacy: Allen's idea of interior decor is the Stars and Bars. Webb named his son after Robert E. Lee. Both have spent most of their adult lives as Republicans.

Both are big on guns and symbols of macho toughness: Allen campaigns in cowboy boots; Webb, in combat boots.

Both have railed against political correctness, affirmative action and multiculturalism. Both resent Hollywood and other social elites, even though Allen grew up in Southern California and in the belly of American pop culture (the NFL), and Webb has built his career in the media worlds of publishing and, yes, the movies.

Both have run remarkably inept campaigns, but they have done so in dramatically different fashion: In a survey by the National Journal of campaign professionals in both parties, Allen easily landed the No. 1 spot in both the Democratic and Republican lists of which candidate has conducted the worst campaign in the nation.

Let's review: macaca, the Confederate pin in Allen's high school yearbook photo, the Rebel flag in his house, the hangman's noose in his law office, his evident repulsion at the notion he might have Jewish ancestors, his decision to accompany his acknowledgment of those roots with a joke about having a ham sandwich for lunch, his alleged use of racial slurs. At one point, Allen had damaged his moderate bona fides so severely that the apologies he issued spurred the Sons of Confederate Veterans to whack him from the other direction.

For his part, Webb played the role of reluctant candidate so convincingly that Democratic congressman Jim Moran of Alexandria felt compelled to note, "It would probably help if he'd be willing to shake a couple of hands."

Smiling wouldn't hurt, either. Nor would taking advantage of -- or at least noting -- Allen's missteps. Some politicians take the high road; Webb disappeared somewhere above Mount Everest's highest trail. His son went off to combat in Iraq, and Webb declined to make that part of his campaign. Webb wouldn't comment on allegations that Allen was a racist, wouldn't talk about the macaca moment, wouldn't get into the Jewish heritage controversy.

But don't get the impression that the Democratic campaign has been some university seminar. This fall classic has been filthy, clumsy and childish, too. A sample headline from a Webb press release: "George Allen, You Have Not Earned the Right to Question Jim Webb's Recollections of War -- So Just Shut Up." The Webb campaign chose to go clean: It left out the F part.

These two have spent the season remaking themselves at every turn. Webb now favors affirmative action and manages to share a stage with Bill Clinton, his new friend. And Allen is suddenly less eager to be seen as the president's loyal warrior.