Soccer Moms Wield Mighty Political Power

We’ve been hearing a lot about soccer moms this election season.

Both Clinton and Dole have been trying to woo that all-important soccer-mom vote, a voting bloc powerful enough to rival “Italians” or “labor” or “deceased Chicago residents” as a political force.

So, I decided to do some political research into the strange and exotic subculture of soccer moms. I wanted, if possible, to examine the hopes, dreams and aspirations of this powerful political sect; I wanted to find some genuine soccer moms and delve into their lives.

As it so happens, I have an undercover operative planted deep in SocMom territory. At great peril to herself, she has spent years collecting intelligence about soccer moms. I am not at liberty to divulge her exact location, but it’s in the suburbs, of course.

Suffice to say that this community has some special characteristics which enable it to support an especially large and hardy population of soccer moms. For one thing, everybody lives on a cul-de-sac. Also, everybody owns a mini-van. No exceptions. I am not sure why this is so, but I think it has to do with restrictive covenants. Cul-de-sacs are more than just a preference; they’re the law.

So I called my informant on a secure line and asked her, “What is the general mood of the soccer mom population as November approaches?”

“Frantic, anxious, uncertain,” she said. “A general feeling that they don’t know who to turn to.”

“Interesting,” I said. “So they’re still undecided about Dole vs. Clinton?”

“No!” she said. “I didn’t mean about politics. I just meant they’re frantic, anxious and uncertain. They’re in the middle of tournament season.”

“What about the election?” I asked. “Do you get the idea that they’re leaning toward Dole or Clinton?”

“Well, a lot of these women are leaning toward Clinton,” she said.

“Really?” I said. “They think his economic policies have worked?”

“Yes, that and the fact that they want to cancel out their husband’s votes,” she said. “But still, a lot of soccer moms are undecided.”

“Didn’t the debates help them decide?”

“Well, the debates, especially this last one, were held at an awkward time,” she said. “There wasn’t a soccer mom in this entire time zone who was watching. They were driving the mini-van back from practice, over to the grocery store, over to the take-out window.”

“Couldn’t they listen to it on the radio?” I said.

She laughed at my naivete. “Kids won’t let them. They demand Alanis Morissette.”

“So is there anything that the candidates can promise these women, anything that will really connect with their lives?” I said. “Something like Herbert Hoover’s, ‘A chicken in every pot’?”

Once again, she laughed at my naivete.

“Chickens won’t fly with these women,” she said. “You know what would be a real winner? A Boston Market on every corner.”

I had not yet run across Boston Market as a political issue. In fact, I had no idea what “Boston Market” meant. Maybe it was code.

“Take-out food,” she said. “Good. Cheap. The kids will eat it.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “But I don’t know if Boston Markets fall within the purview of the executive authority vested in the…”

“Snacks,” she said, interrupting me. “A strong statement about snacks would be good.”

“A snack in every pot?” I said, confused.

“No!” she said. “No snacks! A ban on snacks! An executive order against snacks! They’re the bane of the soccer mom’s life. You’re sitting there at work, or at home doing laundry, when suddenly you remember it’s your turn to bring snacks for the whole team. Life doesn’t get any lower than that.”

“Yes,” I said. “But is any candidate truly addressing these…”

“No, and we don’t expect them to,” she said, cutting me off. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Soccer moms don’t have time to obsess over who’s running the country. They’re too busy keeping the country running.”

, DataTimes MEMO: To leave a message on Jim Kershner’s voice-mail, call 459-5493. Or send e-mail to jimk@spokesman.com, or regular mail to Spokesman-Review, P.O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210.

The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Jim Kershner The Spokesman-Review