I knew 2008 would be an election year, but I had no idea it meant we’d have an election every month. On February 9, while Democrats and Republicans in Louisiana will vote in presidential preference primaries, East Baton Rouge voters will also get a chance to approve or reject Pinnacle’s new casino.

Then a party preferential primary to fill the 6^th Congressional District seat being vacated by Richard Baker will be held on March 8, while another election will be held on April 5. That election might be the general election, but only if a candidate from each “recognized political party” involved in the race wins a majority of the votes on March 8. Otherwise, the vote on April 5 will be a second closed party primary, and the general election will be held on May 3. To top it all off, whoever wins the seat will have to do it all over again in November, and possibly again in December if a runoff is required.

Isn’t Louisiana great? It’s a good thing these special elections are cheap – right, Jay Dardenne? I mean, they can’t possibly be more expensive than a pair of LSU football season tickets.

As a political junkie, I’m looking forward to the rest of 2008. Besides monthly trips to the polls, we’ll have up to three legislative sessions, one regular and two special. Special sessions are also called “extraordinary,” but I’ve been there before. Trust me, there’s nothing extraordinary about them, except they usually waste extraordinary amounts of time and money. I prefer the term “special” because it sounds like the legislators arrive at the Capitol in a short bus.

The first of these “Corky” sessions gets underway this month. Our newly elected governor, Bobby Jindal, called it with the aim of toughening Louisiana’s ethics laws and increasing the transparency of our government. To quote Jerry Seinfeld, “Good luck with all that.”

Then, of course, we’re in the midst of a heated presidential race, which is great for my addiction to nonstop political news coverage. Without a doubt, the best part has been watching Bill Clinton campaign for his wife. I thought he was entertaining as president, but he apparently saved his best stuff for the Hillary ‘08 White House crusade.

Whether Mr. Clinton is calling Barack Obama’s record on the war a “fairy tale” or marginalizing Obama’s blackness to protect his own “legacy” as America’s only “black president,” it’s all good to me. Watching Bill and Hillary tag-team Obama has been like watching the Legion of Doom (aka The Road Warriors) in action. While Hillary “Hawk” Clinton has the junior senator from Illinois on her shoulders in the electric chair position, Bill “Animal” Clinton wipes him out with a flying clothesline off the top rope. Of course, while they’re applying this “Doomsday Device,” the Clintons’ manager, “Precious” Paul Begala, is distracting the referee.

The Clintons better be careful, though. The way it’s been going lately, Obama could very well reverse Hillary’s electric chair position into a victory roll.

I also have a hearty chuckle whenever Hillary Clinton tries to insist that she’s the best candidate to bring about change. Yeah, right, and Mitt Romney’s a populist who’s in touch with the little guy. (He actually asked, “Who let the dogs out?” and barked a timid “woof woof” while posing with some black children on Martin Luther King Day in South Carolina. Could the man be any whiter?)

It doesn’t matter how much you try to say you embody change if people see you as just another cog in the Bush-Clinton Dynasty. I think most Americans realize Senator Clinton couldn’t offer change with a sack full of quarters, dimes, and nickels.

I, for one, am glad that Obama is doing well, if for no other reason than people in the national media are compelled to discuss the dynamics of race without a requisite scandal. It seems like the only times race relations get covered are occasions when someone does something wrong, like calling female basketball players “nappy-headed hos,” persecuting the Jena 6, or suggesting that young golfers who wish to challenge Tiger Woods’ supremacy should “lynch him in a back alley.”

For me, it’s refreshing to have an open discussion about race in this country. The fact is, most white people treat such frank dialogue in mixed company the same way married men treat the question, “Does this make me look fat?” They try to avoid it like the plague for fear of being labeled as racists if they respond truthfully.

As a result, discourse about the subject has devolved into the intolerable state of political correctness that currently exists. If you think I’m completely wrong on this, why were pundits covering the Obama campaign addressing the Bradley Effect last month?

The Bradley Effect occurs when voter opinion polls prove inaccurate in a political election between a white candidate and a non-white candidate. It was named for former Los Angeles Mayor Tom Bradley, who’s black, after he lost the 1982 California gubernatorial election to George Deukmejian, who’s white.

Leading up to the election, polls consistently showed Bradley with a lead. Exit polling data on the day of the election even prompted a number of media outlets to project Bradley as the winner of the race that night.

Why were they wrong? Research indicated that a percentage of whites who voted for Deukmejian actually told pollsters they were either undecided or Bradley supporters.

Now why in the world would a white person express one opinion about a black man but hold a completely different opinion in a voting booth? Maybe for the same reason some white people say one thing in front of their black friends and coworkers but say completely different things behind closed doors. Whether you think that’s good or bad, it stifles the ability for every American to “keep it real,” something we strive to do in this humble rag.

Maybe it wouldn’t be this way if the “racist” label weren’t so permanent and arbitrarily administered. Other than “sexual predator” and “child pornographer,” I can’t think of another label with more shame and sticking power. It’s like the herpes of public branding. No matter how much you try to hide the symptoms with societal Valtrex^®by performing non-racist acts of goodwill, once you’ve got that label, you’re stuck with it for life.

Need proof? Consider this: If Fuzzy Zoeller cured sickle-cell anemia tomorrow, a nominal percentage of Americans would still insist he hates black folks.

Our politically correct climate is so bad that sometimes I get nervous when I find myself using a word that sounds similar to a racial epithet. For instance, just a few months ago, I was officiating a football game as a line judge with an African-American referee. There was a fumble, and a big pileup of players trying to acquire possession of the loose ball quickly ensued.

My referee was the first on the scene, and he started vigorously digging into the pile as prescribed by our mechanics. He swiftly managed to ascertain who had possession of the coveted pigskin so the game could proceed.

Since some of our crew chiefs are reluctant to perform such duties, I felt compelled to pat this veteran official on the back and commend him on the job he did. I told him I was impressed with his performance as a “digger,” a term that is used in Referee magazine. (Yes, there is such a publication.)

It didn’t matter that such a trade publication had used that term before. All I could think about for the next 30 seconds or so was that I had just called a black man a digger…to his face.

My pulse spiked by about 30 beats per minute. It went back to normal after the next snap, but I’ll never forget how saying an innocuous word like “digger” made me feel like I should have been wearing a white hood instead of a black hat.

There are other words like digger. In fact, I’ve compiled a list of the top ten ordinary words that can almost make you sound like a racist:

10. Boyhood

9. Engine

8. Kite

7. Setback

6. Whopper

5. Chigger

4. DayGlo^®

3. Spic and Span

2. Sand chigger

1. Knickers

In fact, number one should only be used with extreme discretion. If you do insist on using it, I have one word of advice: enunciation.

If you have a speech impediment or have been drinking, you should most certainly steer clear of even thinking of uttering that word. A lazy or inebriated tongue trying to articulate that word could easily get its owner’s ass thoroughly kicked and labeled a racist for life.

The most ironic part is that, when I told that African-American official that he was a good digger, I was wearing knickers as part of my uniform. Even more ironic – they were white.