 go, it’s not exactly a classic. But Joe Biden’s exasperated sigh towards Donald Trump in that not-so-super Tuesday debate was refreshing in its unlettered honesty. And it may yet prove to have some wider significance.

We have all longed to mutter the same to a prattling, self-serving bore, or a clownish, attention-seeking tweenage bully. In an otherwise stilted and fumbling performance, Biden’s off-the-cuff retort felt exciting, at least — a sign of something promising in the Democrats’ aged retainer. Defiance? Vim and/or vigour? Life in the old dog yet? We’ll see. But it could just be that it summed up how many almost-unemployed, fence-sitting, politician-doubting, covid-fatigued middle Americans feel at this moment — and that will count for something.

After all, presidential campaigns so often hinge on these tiny, off-hand, unpredictable moments in the thick of the fight. Here are a few of the more pivotal (and colourful) moments in American presidential debate history.

It’s 1960 and Richard Nixon is facing off against a (relatively) young buck named Senator John Kennedy — a 14 year favourite of congress, and a square-jawed, chowder-voiced scion of the 

. For their face-off, the pair agreed to the first ever presidential candidate debates in American history — all broadcast around the world using the relatively novel medium of television.

Many voters thought Kennedy was too young and green; others feared Nixon was too slippery. But it was the camera that would prove the deciding factor. John Kennedy appeared utterly at ease in front of the lens (and handsome, too!), while Nixon soon became a stilted, shifty mess: unsure of whether to look into the camera or out to the audience, his eyes flickered around shadily. Worse, in a pique of masculine pride, Nixon famously declined to wear makeup for the broadcasts — and ended up sweating profusely under the camera lights, often having to stop to dab his queasy brow. That was quite enough for the American public, who promptly voted John F Kennedy into the White House.

In 1984, Ronald Reagan — the elderly President incumbent and a former Hollywood cowboy — fared terribly on the debate stage. Pitted against the savvy Walter Mondale in the first of four debates, he became confused about the most basic campaign points and stumbled constantly over his words. In short: he looked like an old man.

But by debate number two, Reagan was ready. Asked about his geriatric performance, the President flipped the script: “I will not make age an issue of this campaign,” he said with a smile. “I am not going to exploit, for political purposes, my opponent’s youth and inexperience.” Defence was turned deftly into attack — and Reagan was granted another four years in office.

In 1988, the turning point of the campaign came, unexpectedly, in the vice presidential contest — and a huffy exchange between Lloyd Bentsen and Dan Quayle, the thoroughly useless running mate of George H. W. Bush. Quayle had just puffed himself up like some small town pigeon, and dared to compare his own record and experience to that of the late, great John F. Kennedy. Bentsen was having none of it.

“Senator,” Lloyd Bentsen intoned: “I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator — you’re no Jack Kennedy.” He brought down the house.

In 1992, the incumbent George H.W. Bush was seen by some as out of touch, distant, aloof — a lofty ivory tower dweller who has no idea about the economic strife of the average Americans. (In one telling scoop, it was revealed that Bush was absolutely enthralled and amazed by a supermarket bar code scanner — a basic piece of tech that had been around since the mid-seventies.)

Bill Clinton, by contrast, grabbed the emotional impetus when he told an anxious, upset voter on the campaign trail that “I feel your pain”. During the second of three presidential debates, held in a then-novel ‘town hall’ format, President Bush was caught by the cameras impatiently checking his wristwatch on several occasions — and looking, for all money, like he’d rather be on the golf course. Then, when an audience member asked a nervous, scrambled question, confusing the national debt with the economic recession, Bush told her that he didn’t understand the question. Clinton then walked over to the audience member, and once again empathised with her economic woes.

The next day, Clinton was painted as the compassionate challenger; Bush as the out-of-touch snob.

Sometimes actions speak louder than words. In the year 2000, after a string of petulant, huffy debate performances, Al Gore decided to try something different. During an open stage, town hall style-chat, his opponent George W. Bush strode nonchalantly out from behind his lectern while answering the moderator’s question.

Suddenly, Al Gore rose from his bar stool too, strolled up to Bush mid-answer — and towered over him like a regional nightclub bouncer or a particularly awkward tree. Had he practiced this moment of macho posturing in his bedroom mirror beforehand? Or was it just an ill-advised, off-the-cuff act of campaign hot-headery? Either way, the Democrat challenger didn’t look sincere and imposing — he just looked odd. George Dubya, with all his Southern frat boy nonchalance, simply turned to his rival and gave a subtle, devastating nod. And weird Al was finished.

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