Such sweet folksy music is present in the ritual of the roll-call, when the different states that make up the United States of America address the Chair and offer their electoral votes to each nominee. “Madam Secretary, Maine, the sun comes out in Maine the first in the nation….”

“Illinois, home of Abraham Lincoln.” “Mississippi, home of the blues.” “New Orleans, home of gumbo.”

Each invocation loudly offers the electoral vote-count (“15 votes for Senator Clinton, and 55 votes for the next President of the United States, Barack Obama”) as a proud, hospitable act. But the bland and cheerful tribute to homeliness barely hides the battles over political real estate that have preceded this glorious moment.

And today, in the afternoon, when the roll call started inside Pepsi Center, the tension was palpable. It dissipated amidst cheers when the delegates from Arkansas, in a spirit of unity, cast all their Clinton votes in favour of Obama. Later, New Mexico yielded their votes to Illinois, and Illinois yielded, in turn, to the state of New York. And amidst the mystery of this procedure, Hillary Clinton appeared, electrifying the crowd. Or perhaps more than her, it was her act, asserting unity, soothing fears and jangled nerves.

Any event that catches the imagination of the audience is as welcome as a drink during a dry month. But such moments are rare. The floor of the convention is always chaotic, full of people talking to each other or posing for pictures.

The speakers that the viewers at home see on their television are usually addressing only the camera. The viewer at home is saved from the tedium of dead speeches and a circus of self-commemoration — a delegate having a photograph taken with a celebrity like Charles Barkley, or dancing in the aisle with an outrageous hat on the head till the cameraman from NBC looks her way.

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