Category: default || By jt3y

If Bill Peduto is making a tactical retreat, then it seems to me he should have just said so: "Look, I can't win the primary, so I'm going to work all summer at getting my message out and meeting voters, and I'm going to make a really strong, independent run in the fall."

But if he thinks he's going to pull a Ross Perot, "change his mind" and jump back into the race in a few months ... well, I don't want to call him any names, but if it walks around the barnyard, and it has white feathers, and it lays eggs, and it doesn't like Colonel Sanders ... buck-buck-buck-bwaacck!

As for "Everybody's Boy" Luke Ravenstahl, I'm sorry, but I have a really hard time disliking the guy. Would I vote for him? Probably not. But he doesn't seem so much like a liar as he does utterly hapless.

Ravenstahl, like certain presidents of the United States I could name, never had to work very hard to rise quickly in the world of politics. His family's political connections opened all sorts of doors. That doesn't make him a bad person, but it does mean that he never had to overcome serious adversity, so he never got a chance to make his mistakes quietly, behind closed doors.

It seems to me that he would have benefited from working behind the scenes for a few years as a legislative aide to some state representative or city councilman, learning how to play the game. Heck, from what I read in last night's Daily News (subscribers-only link), Ravenstahl could have gotten a master's course in political wheeling and dealing from attending some West Mifflin borough council meetings.

As for the man that John McIntire calls "Mr. Pedutohead," I'm inclined to agree with my friend and former cow-orker Jonathan Potts: "Assuming that Bill Peduto is being sincere in dropping out of the Democratic primary because he doesn't like the negative tone of the campaign, then I have three words for him: Boo-friggin-who."

You shouldn't bring a knife to a gunfight. But Mr. Peduto might be the first person who ever brought marshmallows and soft, fluffy pillows.

He might be a fine councilman for the City of Picksberg, but they'd eat him alive in West Mifflin.