While the former Massachusetts governor and onetime Olympic savior was reliving the "best years of his life" with cheering throngs of Utahns, Republican president-makers fresh from Romney's wooing started looking for a better date: a third-party candidate.

It was a cold way to end a romance that had barely begun.

Romney passed all the super-secret Council for National Policy's initial relationship tests. Like Vice President Dick Cheney and Deseret Morning News Editor Joe Cannon, he learned the intricate handshake, the passwords for entry. He agreed not to name names and delivered his "family values" stump speech behind closed doors at the Grand America Hotel.

And then they up and ditched him the next day.

For a candidate who is more political windsock than compass, the quick and embarrassing jilting was almost karmic. This is what happens when you make deals with the princes of darkness.

During four days in Zion, the princes heard how we're winning the war in Iraq, gave John Bolton the "Thomas Jefferson Award" and tried to figure out how the news media work (with Cannon's help) while simultaneously cutting off interviews and showing reporters the door. When their mountain retreat ended, the only thing council members would talk about openly was their angst over Romney's flip-flops on topics such as abortion and gay rights.

While "still open" to anointing the devout Mormon over Rudy Giuliani, the twice-divorced, pro-choice former mayor of New York City, Richard Viguerie, a direct-mail expert, told The Associated Press that the Christian conservatives who lead the council still have some doubts.

Those guys have exacting standards, apparently. After mom and apple pie - and secrecy - they value constancy. They do background checks on potential members to check their conservative credentials. And they've realized Romney is all bounce.

When he was running for the U.S. Senate in 1994, Romney was scarred by a relative's botched abortion, wanted campaign spending caps and had blocked out a halcyon day of hunting small game. While "saving" the 2002 Winter Games, he promised to open up the Salt Lake Organizing Committee.

So much for all that. His feelings about abortion and campaign finance have changed. He's got a shiny new lifetime membership in the National Rifle Association. And the man who was going to cleanse the scandal-plagued Olympics with sunlight scurried around in the dark with council members.

"We haven't seen anything that guarantees that he will hold to the positions that he's articulating," Viguerie said.

Never thought I'd say this, but I agree with him.

walsh@sltrib.com