Keystone Speaker

Oh, for the most part the governor sticks with the talking points, but once in a while he's inclined to discuss --

"God, the debate format just sucks," Rendell says. He's in his car in Pittsburgh and he's on a tear about presidential debates and how they're filled with "gotcha questions." This leads to a tear about television in general, which leads to a tear about shows such as "Big Brother," and something he calls "Does Your Mama Know How to Dance?"

"God, what a country. See, I think if al-Qaeda could spend time over here, they wouldn't bother. I mean the physical destruction of the U.S. -- we're doing a great job on our own. I mean just taking the top shows on television today!"

The surrogate is a funny animal. Whether he is a politician or an actor or a something else, he's supposed to pause his other work and travel around, sublimating his fame to the purposes of another person. His job is to serve as a unrelenting cheerleader, to stay upbeat! upbeat ! even if he thinks his team just made an embarrassing blunder.

But the cold truth -- as Bill Clinton himself has proved -- is that a surrogate sometimes goes off the rails. In the case of Rendell, being off-message is a matter of course -- it is his primal state. He often qualifies his praise with criticism, as if he just can't help himself: "She does great in a town hall format," he says of Clinton. "She can't give a speech like Senator Obama -- no one can -- but she handles the town hall meetings as well as he does, if not better."

This style is also what makes the governor so persuasive. He's the authenticity surrogate, equal parts blunt critic and manure-shoveling optimist. So when he says Clinton bowls him over, that her intelligence and command of the issues is "stunning," that a speech she gave about never giving up nearly moved him to tears -- you can't help but feel he's giving the straight, um, poop.

Back in the car in Pittsburgh, Rendell has now moved on to criticizing cable news, which, he says, is massively in love with Obama and massively biased against the Clintons, and which he finds himself watching because it makes him mad and "helps me vent, yeah, it's like very cheap therapy."

Is there any more transparent politician in America today? What else do you want to know about Ed Rendell? That he's not a morning person? That he ate a burger and fries last night, which he tried to offset with a salad? That he's well aware that "you don't want me for vice president," you want someone who'll "toe the party line"? That he's a slob, "a born-again slob"?

Someday they're going to invent a spray to make ties stain-proof, Rendell volunteers one afternoon. It will be "the day after I die."

Praise-Then-Qualify

Rendell knows this state, having been in politics for 30 years, going back to when he became district attorney in Philadelphia in 1977. He knows where the Clintons should appear, he knows who they should appear with, he knows when, he knows why.

He knows everything. Some councilwoman calls to vent about a Clinton event she's trying to help shape. He listens awhile and says, "Done. I will call you with the date." Some mayor tries to cozy up to Clinton and Obama at the same time; Rendell calls another mayor and says, "I need you to call him and tell him I heard what he did."

"Let's be crystal clear," says Clinton campaign chairman Terry McAuliffe, talking about Rendell. "He is running the state of Pennsylvania for us."