Rocky meets Taz in Howard Dean

Democratic presidential politics in recent years often have included a single moment, which as history moved forward, served to help define a candidate. They have come to be known succinctly as "The Kiss" (Al and Tipper Gore at the 2000 Democratic Convention), "The Dress" (Bill Clinton and the impeachment) and "The Tank" (Michael Dukakis in the 1988 campaign).

In each case, there was at least some negative response from the electorate that ultimately tarnished these political stars.

Following this week's Iowa caucuses, Democrats have another definitional title: The Yell.

Howard Dean, who has professed to have difficulty with anxiety, must have been overcome with emotion as the caucus results showed him limping into third place. Only a week before polls showed he was running smartly in first place. The slings and arrows tossed his direction would have delivered an emotional charge to anyone.

Pundits will -- at least before the New Hampshire primary -- disagree about how it was that Dean achieved such a fall from grace. What will not be in dispute is Dean's embarrassing behavior as he took the microphone Monday night.

With all the emotion of Rocky Balboa, and self-awareness of the Tasmanian Devil, Dean screamed out to adoring supporters. It was as if he were the quarterback of a state championship football team speaking before a high school assembly. It was also as if he were not aware that the world was also watching.

Voters, supporters and cynics -- in this crucial moment after having been served humble pie -- were looking to see how Dean would respond. What occurred was something I could not have imagined only moments before.

It started with Dean demonstrating his ability to memorize U.S. states by listing battlegrounds in which he expects to compete. "And then we're going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House!"

Then it happened. "The Yell." As quoted on one Web site, the spelling of "The Yell" looks like this:

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRHHHHHH!"

For that moment, for that single enduring period of time that may well become the caricature of Dean's candidacy, I apologize to my fellow citizens. I apologize for ever having promoted Howard Dean as a moderate, level-headed, centrist Democratic governor. I apologize for ever arguing that he has a number of positions besides antipathy for George W. Bush and that folks should look at his record as governor. I am sorry to have helped bring this fellow along, albeit in my small way.

I don't overestimate my importance, mind you. After all, I've never won an election. The only power I may broker is among my friends who are patient enough to listen to me.

But, in that small way, I have joined tens of thousands of others in promoting Dean, and by so doing, have felt that I was part of something larger than myself. I am no one in particular, but I am just like everyone involved in Dean's campaign.

"The Yell" has changed everything for me. It has removed any veil of hope that Dean would evolve into the candidate I hoped. It has struck down the excuse that he speaks plainly and "like America." "The Yell" doesn't sound like America to me, nor did Dean at that moment sound like the presidential candidate I want to support.

I am embarrassed to ever have thought he should be president. "The Yell" made it evident that he never really could have been.

Lose in Iowa, Howard, and I will stand with you. Be more brazen than my taste in your attack on the war, and I still have your back. Scream like you are a 13-year-old girl at a Justin Timberlake concert, and you've lost me.

D.J. Wilson teaches political science at a community college near Seattle.

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