In the GOP debate spin room, the truth goes for a whirl

In the spin room, like the carnival, everyone wins.

Step right up!

Who won the debate? I asked top Jeb Bush strategist David Kochel, a spin room vet from Des Moines who worked on Mitt Romney’s presidential campaign.

“Gov. Bush, hands down,” Kochel said. “Great night for him.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I’m right,” Kochel said. “I’m sure on this. He shut down Donald Trump for 40 minutes. That’s not easy to do, by the way.”

A few feet away, Rand Paul’s campaign manager, Chip Englander, begged to differ.

“We won,” he said. “Sen. Paul is the only one who has a detailed flat-tax proposal that would transform how this country works and kill the IRS.”

After nearly five hours of debates, I was not seeking a tax policy riff. I told Englander I thought Paul seemed less ruffled by Trump than he was during the first GOP presidential debate.

“I think he was very statesmanlike tonight, and very presidential,” Englander said. “You can see how some candidates get under other candidates’ skins, but not the senator. He just lets the power of ideas carry it.”

Oh c’mon, I protested, your guy gets irritated all the time.

“No he doesn’t,” Englander snapped.

He was kidding. I think.

::

On Thursday night, the post-debate area at the Reagan Presidential Library had the fishbowl vibe of a modern-day Roman Coliseum. A balcony surrounding the floor was filled with spectators and talk radio shows that had schlepped their hosts to Simi Valley to broadcast live.

Standing at the rail, looking down on the sweaty crush of surrogates, campaign officials and journalists as they swirled around the room, I could only wonder why more people don’t carry breath mints on nights like these.

Ted Cruz was backed up against a glass door, evading the question of how to handle immigrants who are in the country illegally. “Once we secure the border, then of course we should have a system that meets the needs of America.”

“Last question!” yelled his handler, who hustled him away.

Carly Fiorina, who forced Donald Trump into a rare defensive crouch, must not have wanted to distract from her highly praised performance. No one from her camp even showed up.

Former Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott, misidentified on his sign as “Trent Vott,” testified in his velvet Mississippi drawl on behalf of his friend, Ohio Gov. John Kasich.

“Some people say he’s a dreaded moderate,” Lott said. “He’s a very solid conservative, but he’s also one that has a heart.”

Then Kasich walked into the room, and Lott, failing to understand the rules, kept talking.

No matter what anybody tells you, a loss cannot be spun into a win. Not even by Donald Trump.

“I think Trump lost the debate,” said Michael Reagan, son of the late President Reagan. He had wandered into the spin room without an agenda. “Tonight I think people saw a lot of hollowness there. Carly did great. And you saw some substantive stuff coming from the governors and the senators. If anyone loses support tonight, I think it will be Trump.”

Trump, who has floated above the other candidates like a gassy Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloon, showed up briefly at a spin room door and was immediately obscured by dozens of journalists with iPhones, heavy cameras and boom mics.

Nine in 10 spinners agreed that the Trump balloon is starting to go flat. (Warning: I made that up, but in the spin room tradition, it feels truthy.)

Trump had little to offer during the second, policy-heavy half of the debate, especially after he claimed the Bush family legacy was a failed war that led to the election of Barack Obama.

“He kept us safe,” Jeb Bush replied. (Kochel spin: “I think that was the moment of the night.” #Winning.)

Trump never seemed to recover.

After he left the spin room, the swarm of information gatherers swung their cameras back toward the action, raptor-like, and went looking for their next meal.

Getting caught in the directional shift of a camera stampede like that can be dangerous. “I’m just glad I didn’t get hurt on that,” said one relieved reporter.

::

Student volunteers stood next to their assigned spinners, raising signs with the pertinent information: “Chad Sweet, National Chairman, Cruz Campaign.” “Russ Schriefer, Senior Advisor, Christie Campaign.” “Bob Wickers, Huckabee Campaign.”

That Wickers sign was held aloft by Sahara Griffin, a 20-year-old USC junior who had volunteered for the evening with fellow students from the school’s Political Student Assembly. “I identify as a Democrat,” she told me. “But this side right now is more interesting than the other side.”

Her friend, Jenny Di, was holding a sign for Rich Beeson, an advisor for Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal, who had appeared in the undercard debate. Beeson was gone, and Di did not seem disappointed. “This was stressful for my arms,” she said.

“It’s a good workout, though,” said USC student Shawn Ren.

On the other side of the room stood the skunk at the garden party.

Her sign had gone missing, said Debbie Wasserman Schultz, chairwoman of the Democratic National Committee, but she wasn’t worried.

“I think people will find me,” she said. “I have a distinctive look. I’m like ‘one of these things that is not like the other.’”

A raptor reached toward her with his claw. Or maybe it was a reporter holding a digital voice recorder. By that point, it was hard to tell.

Twitter: @robinabcarian

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