Obama's Enthusiasm Gap - NYTimes.com All the post-game punditry aside, President Obama didn't really blow Wednesday night's debate in any spectacular or memorable way, the way George H.W. Bush glanced at his watch, or the way Al Gore sighed dramatically. Mr. Obama's transgression was that he seemed to simply endure it. It was as if he had turned to his advisers at some point and said, "OK, I'll show up at this thing with Mitt, but I am not getting drawn into some kind of debate." In this way, Mr. Obama's performance, the first of three in any event, probably didn't change the essential arc of the campaign, which was always going to tighten in the final month. But it did tell us something about what many feel is missing from his presidency. Watching the president grimace his way through the restrained back-and-forth reminded me of a conversation I recently had with a friend in Democratic politics, who posited that Mr. Obama simply doesn't love being president. Not that he doesn't want the job or believe he should have it, or that its challenges don't give him plenty of cause for stress or solemnity - just that he doesn't appear to actually enjoy the daily business of running the country. Mostly, what Mr. Obama seems to get no joy from, and what debates really demand of you, is the opportunity to persuade people that you're right, by making complex arguments sound simple and self-evident. This is why Bill Clinton's convention speech stood out as it did - because it reminded everyone of how powerful an enthusiastic presidential explanation can be. Mr. Clinton can't rest until he's made the truth as plain to you as the sun and trees. It's always obvious how much he wishes he could have the big job for one more day, or one more hour. Mr. Obama can sleep just fine either way. It's hard to imagine him looking back five years from now with anything other than relief at being home. During his first campaign, this lack of neediness was a significant strength for Mr. Obama. The last two Democratic challengers had been men perceived, fairly or not, as political changelings, insecure candidates who would throw on earth tones or camouflage pants in order to be loved. By contrast, Obama seemed healthy, a guy who approached the electorate on his own terms. He didn't appear to crave validation or to be exorcizing some childhood memory at our expense. It turns out, though, that craving validation is a useful political trait. It makes you want to explain yourself and prevail in the argument. If you see every day as a new opportunity to prove to millions of people that your ideas are the right ones, then the presidency is downright fun, because there's no greater debate platform in the world. If you don't care to constantly repeat yourself or re-litigate the point, then the job has got to be sheer drudgery. There have been a few times in Mr. Obama's term when he seemed to genuinely enjoy having the big argument of the day. You may recall his appearance in front of the Republican caucus in early 2010, when he took the fight directly to his opposition in a sparring, good-natured way. He seemed to be winning. But these moments have been rare, which brings us back to Wednesday night's debate. The problem for Mr. Obama isn't that he seemed indifferent or peevish on stage, though he did. The problem is that it underscored what has too often been his countenance in office. He came to Denver with no larger theme he wanted urgently to get across, no story to tell, no apparent passion for the chance to make himself understood and make his opponent look silly. He was there to defend his policies, but he wasn't going to get all needy about it, and no one was going to make him have an ounce of fun. In contrast, Mitt Romney seemed eager to make his case, exhibiting some amount of apparent desperation, like the teenage suitor who has 10 minutes to convince his girlfriend's father to bless the marriage. That desire to be understood counts for something. And anyway, Mr. Romney's objective Wednesday was relatively modest. There's an old scene from the West Wing where the character played by Martin Sheen, running for his second term as president, pastes his flailing opponent in a debate. Afterward, as they shake hands, the opponent, a Southern governor played by James Brolin, tells the president: "It's over." To which Sheen replies, "You'll be back." Mr. Romney's only real goal was to make sure that no one walked away from the first debate saying it was over, and no one did. Mr. Obama's goal, it seems, was to indicate his continued willingness to serve in a job he believes he can do better than the other guy, but that doesn't really seem to enervate or enliven him. That's a problem, and not only for the duration of the campaign.