"That's not George Bush!" a disappointed high school girl shouts when she spots the bald, portly ex-defense secretary.

Cheney, 59, makes his way up to the press booth, where a local radio host reportedly forgets his name in the midst of introducing him, turning over the microphone to, "Secretary, um, what's your name again?"

Then, after Cheney's genial, gracious half-time remarks from the field -- in which he urges the crowd to vote on Nov. 7, "whatever your political affiliation" -- dozens of East High teens unfurl a bleacher-length banner that reads, "We Love Dick." They begin to chant the message: "We love Dick! We love Dick!"

And yes, they are joking. I ask the three East High School seniors responsible for the sign and the chant whether they're swept up in Cheney-mania, or something else entirely.

"Oh, no," says Danny Stafford, barely able to suppress his laugh. "We love Dick. And we don't get many big Dicks around here."

In what one might think would otherwise be a grandiose campaign schedule in the days following his strong debate performance Thursday night -- the biggest moment of his candidacy so far -- Cheney is sent to events with little fanfare. After hitting the battle between the East High Trojans and their rival, the West High Wahaks (where the home team loses), and a small veterans’ morning meeting at Waterloo Memorial Hall, he scurries around some impromptu Iowa State-Nebraska tailgate parties outside Jack Trice Stadium in Ames (home team loses) as well as making brief remarks at smallish campaign rallies in Shreveport, La., and Fort Smith, Ark. On Saturday, he heads back home to Wyoming.

They're mostly manly-type events in B-list towns in B-list swing states. He's joined throughout the swing by retired Wyoming Sen. Alan Simpson, who spreads his story about Gore selling his Gulf War vote to whichever side gave him the larger prime-time speaking slot (why? So he could wow the viewers of C-Span?). And the whole tour is, like Cheney, smaller than life.

But this seems to be the way Cheney likes it. It allows him to revel in his homespun image, and get high marks for his anti-polish. "We must be in Shreveport," he says flatly on Friday morning, and the crowd goes wild.

Bush heralds him as an anchor to his unbearable lightness, and as a result, mild-mannered Cheney seems to be runnning for Chief Operating Officer of the United States. His staff lauds him as the ultimate example of who they are -- the folks who make the trains run on time.

He may actually be the ultimate staffer -- a former behind-the-scenes power broker in the Ford White House, the House GOP minority and the Defense Department. But this seems to have made him comfortable only in a system where he is accountable only to his patrons.

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