Of course Paul Ryan wants to be Mitt Romney’s vice presidential running mate.
The hyper-ambitious political careerist—who has spent his entire adult life as a Congressional aide, think-tank hanger-on and House member—is looking for a road up. And he is sly enough to recognize that, like Dick Cheney with George Bush, he could be more than just a vice president in the administration of so bumbling a character as Romney.
Ryan figured Romney out months ago.
The two men bonded during the Wisconsin presidential primary campaign in late March and early April. They got on so well that Ryan was playing April Fool’s Day jokes on the Republican front-runner—giving Romney a rousing introduction before the candidate came from behind a curtain to find the room where he had expected to be greeted by a crowd of supporters was empty.
Romney loves the prep-school fraternity that he has with Ryan, and every indication is that the former governor would be delighted to add the House Budget Committee chairman to his ticket.
The conversations have occurred. The vetting has been completed. It could happen. And, indeed, as the time for choosing nears, the Ryan buzz has been amplified—mainly by the Wisconsin congressman’s friends at The Weekly Standard, which has editorialized enthusiastically on behalf of his selection, and other conservative media outlets. But, now, even ABC’s “Veep Beat” headlines “Paul Ryan’s Rising Momentum.”
There’s just one problem.
Vice presidential nominees are supposed to help tickets, not hurt them.
Romney clearly needs help. Just back from a disastrous trip to Europe and the Middle East, mired in controversies about the “vulture capitalism” he practiced at Bain Capital and his refusal to release tax returns that his dad—former Michigan governor and 1968 Republican presidential contender George Romney—said contenders for the Oval Office had a a responsibility to share with the voters, Romney could use a boost.
But Ryan would be a burden, not a booster, for a Romney-led ticket.
Like Romney, Ryan is a son of privilege who has little real-world experience or understanding. He presents well on Sunday morning talk shows and in the rarified confines of Washington think tanks and dinners with his constituents—the Masters of the Universe on Wall Street—but his record in Congress and the policies he now promotes are political albatrosses.