Fourth Estate The Truth Behind the Biden and Gore Bubbles They’re the candidates the media loves to cover the most.

Jack Shafer is POLITICO's senior media writer. Previously, Jack wrote a column about the press and politics for Reuters and before that worked at Slate as a columnist and as the site's deputy editor. He also edited two alternative weeklies, SF Weekly and Washington City Paper. His work has been published in The New York Times Magazine, The New York Times Book Review, The Washington Post, the Columbia Journalism Review, Foreign Affairs, The New Republic, BookForum and the op-ed page of The Wall Street Journal.

Over the last week, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Joe Biden and Al Gore were two of the leading candidates in the 2016 presidential race—charismatic, principled leaders that voters wanted, nah, demanded, lead our nation for the next eight years.

After all, political reporters swooned last week at the news that Al Gore might make another run for the presidency. Reuters chased the BuzzFeed scoop, as did ABC News, the Christian Science Monitor, and other outlets. But several accounts quickly downplayed such a possibility, with a Gore spokeswoman saying there was “no truth” to it. The disappointment of reporters was palpable, not because the press likes Gore—they actually despise him with a passion—but because he is a known quantity on the campaign trail who, when milked, produces excellent copy.


The Gore episode (and the Biden one, which we’ll get to in a minute) inadvertently illustrated the press corps’ deepest prejudice. It’s not for liberals or conservatives—or even for declared candidates. What reporters lust for are contenders capable of generating usable story material, and these contenders are almost always the candidates who enjoy high voter recognition, often for a previous run for the presidency. Mitt Romney likewise moved the press corps from exhilaration to despondency in January when he flirted with a third run for the White House. The press wasn’t hankering for a Romney campaign any more than it was hankering for a Gore campaign. But their political longevity has produced giant flumes of coverage over the years, and that coverage can be captured and reused by reporters to write new stories. Veterans of previous Gore and Romney campaign are the greatest beneficiaries whenever rumor or scuttlebutt has it that either intends another run: a spin of the Rolodex, a few phone calls, and voilà, the reporter’s old notes are refreshed and a new news story is created.

The press corps’ preference for thoroughbreds—have not Mitt Romney’s presidential musings gotten more coverage this year than those of announced candidate George Pataki?—helps explain the disdain reporters have long-shot candidates. By necessity, presidential campaign coverage this far out from the general election must be of the horserace variety. The leaders must be handicapped only if to cull the field to a manageable size. No newspaper, magazine, TV network or Web site has the resources to cover in depth every declared candidate. A reporter could, I suppose, write a series of compelling stories about James Webb or George Pataki if he put his mind to it. But who would read it? Few journalists are willing to write about the presidential candidates who can’t possibly win unless it’s to point out that the candidates can’t possibly win and that their every gesticulation is futile. Still fewer outlets are willing to run such coverage.

The ideal candidate in the press corps’ view is a veteran candidate who has kept his (or her) place high in the news since his last campaign. For Campaign 2016, the ideal candidate is Hillary Clinton, a previous loser in the presidential derbies who is always giving reporters new material to write about. Better to write in depth about one controversial Clinton email, the political reporter knows, than the entire policy platform of a Lincoln Chafee.

This ideal-candidate formula isn’t perfect. Long-shots sometimes have a way of becoming ideal candidates, even if they haven’t run before and sun-bathed in the news. During this campaign cycle, Bernie Sanders has turned the formula inside out. He’s neither run before nor been much of a newsmaker outside of his progressive mini-circles. The press has begrudgingly elevated his status from long-shot to contender because of his success in the polls and his skill at drawing crowds. Another outlier, Donald Trump, whom the press keeps predicting will pop and crash, has earned his way to contender status by virtue of his polling numbers. Given its druthers, the press would like to snub him and his gauche ways because there seems no way the current system could elect him president. But the press has proved powerless to suppress him. As with Sanders, the press must cover Trump because he has achieved notoriety that can’t be ignored.

Which brings us to the other long-shots. So crowded is the Republican field, and so dispersed is the response of polled voters, that we may never learn from the press what Bobby Jindal and Lindsey Graham have on their minds. The bunching of these also-rans into a compress pack has, however, created news-making opportunities for them. Should, say Carly Fiorina rise from her current 5 percent in the polls to 10 percent, the press would interpret her modest gain as a huge surge, just as it parlayed her mouthy performance in the undercard debate into a “victory,” and awarded her with more coverage. (N.B.: I consider “mouthy” a compliment, so spare me the angry email.) For this reason, the press can never completely rule out long-shots. Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton and, well, Barack Obama, were all once long-shots, too. Whether it’s fair or not, it’s up to the candidate to lift his or her status to the plateau that earns press corps attention, not the press corps’ duty to lift him or her up.

The presidential candidate capable of hypnotizing the press is the one who could stage a credible run but who dithers instead. His reward is endless coverage. In 2012, Chris Christie made himself attractive to the press by sniffing around a campaign but never biting. In 2008, Newt Gingrich did the same, in 1996 the top ditherer was Colin Powell. Mario Cuomo famously committed a double-dither in 1988 and 1992, and the press was still fascinated about his vacillation when it wrote his obituaries this year. Our leading contemporary ditherer is Joe Biden, who has been unable to commit to a candidacy or rule it out all year long. Biden conforms perfectly to the press corps’ ideal of a coverable candidate: He’s been running for president for decades, he’s been above-the-fold news for the past eight years as the vice president, and reporters don’t even need to milk him for copy. He lactates at the first sign of a tape recorder.

Today, CNN reported that Biden advisers are telling him his dithering must end by Oct. 1. After that late date his candidacy would not be viable, they tell him, and they’re probably right. If he doesn’t go too Hamlet on us, Biden could own the front page for the next six weeks with hints about his possible candidacy and leaks from his supporters about his plans. The interest-building properties of the big tease are limited, however. If he declares, he must prepare himself from being regarded by the press as the most interesting man on the political landscape to just another vote-grabbing chump.

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