In a rare win for the GOP establishment, Rep. Spencer Bachus holds off the forces of anti-incumbency in the most conservative district in America.

8:10 p.m.: Three fridge-sized TVs play each local station. The networks are closer to calling the state for Rick Santorum than they are to calling Bachus’ race. But Bachus is up by plenty, and the cameras need to be fed, so he walks out to talk to reporters.

“We’re at 67 percent,” he says. “That’s only from the first boxes of votes, but that doesn’t count areas where we’re strong. We had 200 volunteers, or more than that. We had over 100 donations, locally.”

I ask Bachus why the super PAC went after him. “They went after Fred Upton,” he says, nodding at the chairman of the energy and commerce committee. “They went after John Mica. They’re going after all the chairmen.” He’d criticized the immigration bill, and he’d been weakened. “My father, he hired black subcontractors. He was one of the first contractors in Alabama to really stand up for the rights of black citizens. I’ve been inspired by that.”

What about the TARP and trading stories? “Well, 60 Minutes—that turned out to be not true. They said I short-sold GE after they got into trouble. That’s absolutely false. A lot of financial news—you might expect it from the mainstream—but a lot of financial news, they fell for it.” A mustachioed handler named Lamar Lavender crooks his finger; Bachus goes to talk to some well-wishers.

9:04 p.m.: Rep. Robert Aderholt, a congressman who represents the area just north of Bachus, arrives to start congratulating. He had endorsed Rick Santorum, but he didn’t expect to walk into a hotel ballroom and see Santorum announced the winner in Alabama and Mississippi. “It was the power of positive thinking!” he says. He’d encourage Newt Gingrich to quit, but he didn’t want to be too negative about it.

A number of voters at the party had been saying they disliked TARP; they voted for him, they just hated the bill. Aderholt had voted against TARP. He didn’t see any friction with his friend Spencer.

“We’ve compared notes,” he says. “It was a tough vote. It was one of those things—you  hear the scenarios, you hear the Treasury secretary come in and propose a doomsday scenario, it’s tough. I respect people who voted the other way.”

10:00 p.m.: Bachus’ handlers come to the middle of the room, bearing campaign signs. They hand them off to anyone who wants to be on TV. Two dozen or so Republicans volunteer for the human diorama. Bachus walks out quickly, flanked by a red, white, and blue balloon arch that could have come from Captain America’s prom.

Bachus gives one of the least inspiring victory speeches I’ve ever heard. “It’s very important that your congressman—congresswoman—represent, represent your views,” he says, haltingly. “Never has the anger in this country been so great. I can certainly identify with those who voted for someone else.”

It’s dull and gracious. Beason hasn’t even called to concede. Bachus walked to the balloon arch only after an AP reporter called to say that Beason was breaking the bad news in his hotel ballroom. Local news has cut away from another Newt Gingrich concession in order to cover Bachus, now up 58-25 over Beason, as he bemoans money in politics.

“The people of Alabama rejected the special interest super PACs in a big way,” he says. “We sent a strong message to the super PACs that they can’t come in and buy an election.”

Stronger than a lot of Republicans wanted. Mitt Romney’s aligned super PAC bought 65 percent of Alabama and Michigan ads. He lost. Judge Roy Moore, the man who was chief justice until he tried to display a Ten Commandments monument in his court, is beating an incumbent judge, taking his old job back. Everyone at Bachus’ party has entered a time-distortion field, where the Republican establishment can hold off any challenge, where apologizing now and then for bad behavior can save you from voter anger.

Bachus leaves the stage and runs through media interviews. He spots a black cameraman whose dreadlocks spill down his back. “You look just like the new player from the university.” Is this a gaffe? No. The cameraman has a cousin who’s been playing for the Crimson Tide. Bachus is surviving. He pauses between handshakes, and I ask him what he thinks about Judge Moore beating the establishment to win his old job and share a ballot with Bachus and the rest of the GOP.

”Hah!” laughs Bachus. He puts a hand on my shoulder, encouraging me not to say anything stupider than this.

Why did he blanche? In his wilderness years, Moore had backed an earlier, weaker challenger to Bachus. The congressman had put the pretender away without much angst. And then came the Tea Party; then came the super PAC. I’d just reminded Bachus, accidentally, that things were never again going to be so easy for the Republicans who win power, use it, and occasionally compromise.