After 21 presidential debates, they may not mean much, but that doesn't mean there is nothing to learn ffromat another debate.

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Outside Constitutional Convention Center on a grassy mall within sight of Independence Hall, where the U.S. Constitution was hammered out, Hillary Clinton is stomping Barack Obama. That is, the Clinton machine is stomping the Obama team.   Ten times more Clinton supporters scream at least twenty times louder and the warm spring air pulsates, "Hillary! Hillary! Hillary!" (You don't need catchy chants when you're drowning out your competition.) The Clinton signs are larger and more and even more colorful. One enthusiast has a row of five signs tacked to a single long stick. A refreshment tent keeps the Clinton grunts' throats wet and strong while a folk singer lifts their spirits even higher. No doubt about it, Philadelphia's Arch Street on Independence Mall belongs to the Clinton gang.

And I suddenly I have a flashback to New Hampshire, a day or two before that state's primary, when Clinton volunteers were blanketing the Granite State and forced their way to victory. The prior week Obama had won the Iowa Cuscus, Clinton had come in a dismal third because John Edwards had squeezed past her for second place. In New Hampshire the pundits were saying if Clinton lost the first two contests, both the Iowa Caucus and the New Hampshire Primary, she would be forced to withdrawal from the race. It was crunch time for the Clinton candidacy. And her organization flipped the switch and there was victory.

    And on Super Tuesday, with twenty one states holding contests, again it was crunch time and the Clinton machine brought home victory. Then Super Tuesday II, she took both Ohio and Texas and the race continued. When show-time arrives, when its back is against the wall, when Obama is set to pounce on victory, the Clinton machine zips into every nook and cranny working the state and out comes victory. And today we have the "endless campaign."

With only one week before the Pennsylvania primary, the final large state primary before the Democratic Convention, again pundits are saying if Hillary losses the Keystone state, then she will be forced to drop out of the race. It's do-or-die again. And here in Philadelphia on Independence Mall the machine is roaring. 

Small groups of journalists stand around the Filing Room on the third floor of the Constitution Convention Center, waiting for the Clinton-Obama debate to begin. "No doubt about it, Pennsylvania is crucial for Hillary," a plump journalist sucking on a Diet Coke says in a tone of finality, "Yeah, this debate is critical."  

Yet, for journalists who have been on this brutal campaign trail since December, since the sheet-of-ice slide through Iowa, the words "crucial primary" simply rolls off our fogged-over minds, as does "critical debate." There have been too many "crucial primaries" to believe anything is crucial. And after 20 debates, we know this debate will have the same questions with the same answers and each candidate will know exactly what will be asked and know exactly what the other candidate will say. No, it's not a critical debate, and it will be as exciting as listening to a candidate's stale stump speech for the 100th time.

The numbed traveling media -- whether traveling "on the bus" with the candidate, or like me in my van as free-lancer -- are in one pitiful, exhausted state, yet are being pressed by fascistic editors to write something new and exciting. But what's new? Most will simply zero in on the candidates' styles, body language, a "gotcha you" sneak attack, any verbal gaffes, a "concession" that is supposed to be significant yet will be completely forgotten before the week is over, all stitched together by proper quotes. Some know no other type of writing, while others can't remember how they used to write.

It's a toxic mix of nothing new yet required to find something unique, bored stiff yet forced to write a stimulating article. It does not make for good journalism. Sometimes I think I'm wasting expensive gas roaring around the country chasing after campaign stories that don't exist, or that I can't catch up to. The endless campaign is not kind to our egos.

The Debate

"I should be president," Hillary Clinton says charging out of the debate's starting gate in response to the question of why she would be a better president than Obama, "because my positions are better." 

In the Filing Room just about the debate hall, there are long tables and rows of wide-screen televisions where more than 650 journalists in varying degrees of consciousness watch the debate. Journalists are not allowed inside the auditorium. After all, you never know when a free-lancer may decide to set himself on fire. Or do something worse.

Obama is asked about the Reverend Wight controversy -- an elbow gently pokes my ribs. A heavy set journalist with curly hair says dryly, "Bosnia has to be next. He [Charles Gibson, the anchor for ABC News and moderator for this debate] has to come back with Bosnia."

I laugh, "Yeah, even the order of the questions are now predicable."    "This is nonsense," he growls, his thick fingers fidgeting with a pad of paper.

Clinton is asked why she "misspoke" about coming under sniper fire in Bosnia and sprinting across the tarmac. Obama is asked -- but I'm off to fetch a dinner box at the other end of the room. The photographers, who generally consider the English language to be an alien form of communicating, and dangerous, hang around the drink and food tables stuffing themselves. In the rigid hierarchy of modern journalism, photographers are nearly as low as free-lancers.  

The candidates' replies are smooth, like pieces of silk drunkenly floating down the sidewalk. There are a few verbal stumbles, mostly from Obama, but without any serious disasters. It's as if both candidates had stolen the test questions from the teacher's desk. Back in my seat with a tasty looking roast beef and provolone cheese, the room temperature suddenly rises. Eyes all around me turn into sharp spears. "This is the kind of manufactured issue," Obama is saying in response to why he doesn't wear a flap pin. An elbow taps to my ribs, "Watch, Wal-Mart will be next."

"If you lost a leg in Vietnam, is that as good as a flag pin?" I ask the elbow journalist. My stump twitches slightly, I'm not sure if it's laughing or growing. The elbow journalist is off in another universe.

The questions are silly and trivial, not merely because the candidates have essentially the same positions on the issues, but because after all these debates I'm stuck somewhere between brain-dead and determined indifferent. I return to my roast beef sandwich, which makes me happy.

"That's incredible!" blurts a lanky journalists standing just behind my chair. "It's been 50 minutes and only now a policy question." He shakes his head, gray hair bounces. His blue eyes are glowing. "It's been 50 minutes!" 

With little or no light between their positions on the issues -- withdrawal from Iraq, no tax hikes for the middle class, energy independence, gun control (the "City of Brotherly Love" is today more like the "City of Brotherly Dead"), rising gas prices -- the debate limps from the trivial to the substantial; but with the same old, unimaginative questions. It is Q&A set in cement, questions from the center line, answers tied to extreme caution. And more journalists drift over to the food table where they face another question: ham and Swiss cheese? Chicken and lettuce? Or roast beef with provolone?

Meanwhile, there is a heavy question brewing, one that crushing boredom and food breaks will only feed. It's a question that will inevitably rip to the surface and unmercifully shoot a nasty hand-chewing fear through journalists. Well, me anyway. The question? What to write! In the empty mind and computer screens of journalists, panic hacks the mind to pieces. What do we do? Simple! Ask other journalists what they're writing. Not directly of course, but by drawing them into conversation, pretending each of their thoughts is a golden nugget, and then steal them. Enough about our trade secrets.

In fact the debate was packed with excitement, but with the excitement of anti-excitement. So the headline from the debate would not be Clinton or Obama, but those 50 minutes of silly and trivial questions. Our private boredom became public anger, the petty and asinine went too far in Philadelphia, and journalists had a great time stomping ABC and its Debate-gate. Obama then said he was through with debates. And not a few journalists celebrated that the death of American democracy may not be a sure thing after all.  

      The Spin Room

From the third floor of the Filing Room in the ultra-modern glassy Kimmel Center in the National Constitution Center on Independence Mall, debates are always held in long names, I peer down on a dark and nearly empty Arch Street. Where several thousand screaming Clinton supporters had been there is now only a few scattered city policemen and Secret Service agents. Wait! On a dark corner, all alone, are a few people holding signs. Ron Paul signs, of course.

At the Texas debate last month, or the month before, a young Paul supporter on the wire outside the debate hall said to me with passion-full eyes: "American democracy should be more than debate circuses and tiresome stump speeches." I don't remember what the candidates said in the debate, although it was probably the same they are saying right now, but I do remember his words. 

Soon the audience will begin filing out of the debate hall. There will be rosy colored cheeks, sharp looking dark suits and snuggly light dresses, few will be minorities, no one will be really fat, most will have gray hair and bleached blond hair and both will be combed precisely. The audience at the Philadelphia debate, like at the Los Angles debate, like at the Myrtle Beach debate, like at the Cleveland debate, like at the Austin debate, reek of money and power. The class disparity between those inside the debate halls and those outside on the streets is jarring. It's another uncomfortable thought about American democracy gone terribly wrong. 

With the debate over, 600 journalists in rocket form hurl themselves down the stairwell in the direction of the Spin Room, where immediately following debates, candidates send spokespeople to say why their candidate clearly won the debate. It's silly, of course. Yet, for hungry campaign addicts, it's red meat. After sitting for two hours, watching words drift back and forth like ping-pong balls and with about as much weight, after several journalists discussing flinging themselves out the third floor window for a little excitement, the Spin Room race is a heavy fix. Journalism is an adrenaline profession. But this campaign has turned the casualties into addicts.

Inside the Spin Room swarm addicts with narrow eyes and chests pounding for prey. They shove and weave, do sharp U-turns, anything to get close to the campaign talking-heads. Cameras blind the eyes, thick cords trip bodies, screams of horror pierce eardrums. Doesn't matter, this is war. Some journalists attempt to outflank the herd, others throw a professional snarl and barrel straight ahead. And there are the pointed elbows! An accidental kick! The news depends on it! Your editor demands it! The world demands it! 

Five signs on long sticks float about the swarming journalists, all announce "Hillary Clinton." Under each sign is a spokesperson for the Clinton campaign who is saying, "It's clear that Senator Clinton won this debate because..." Hundreds of pressing journalists scribble every word of the utter truth. Then interrupt with thoughtful and provoking questions such as, "What's that?" and "Why's that?" 

I do not see a single Barack Obama sign, which is strange. Yet, Obama representatives must be entangled in this Spin Room hysteria, delivering exactly the same utter truth but with a totally different conclusion. More "Hilary Clinton" signs float into the room, followed by more campaign truth-tellers. Like out on the street, in the Spin Room the Clinton campaign is stomping the Obama campaign.  

Of course neither Hillary Clinton nor Barack Obama "won" the Philadelphia debate; no one wins debates after 21 debates. You survive, and both did survive the debate. Yet, this is hardly exciting for a foaming editor. Still, there may have been a winner in Philadelphia, not with words in front of the television cameras, but with actions beyond the cameras. In New Hampshire Clinton came roaring back from the brink and won that crucial election, as she won Super Tuesday and Super Tuesday II because her campaign responded with an awesome performance. Not just the candidate, but her entire organization.

Will she now win this "crucial" Pennsylvania Primary and take her underdog campaign down the home stretch and right on to the floor of the Democratic National Convention in Denver? Stay tuned, this boring election isn't over yet. In fact, it might be getting exciting.

Authors Bio:
Stewart Nusbaumer is a journalist and writer. He is currently on the campaign trail writing a book on the "endless campaign." He has written for numerous print publications and online magazines.