I don't want my international tyrants looking like a guy who once asked me for bus fare to Woonsocket.

I don't want the face of evil, the face that sent young Americans charging into the desert, to be the face of someone who might have been homesteading on a heating grate.

I could swear I once saw the man identified as Saddam Hussein on the front page of the Monday paper nodding off next to a pitcher of beer at an Empire Street bar in Providence.

All that was missing from the list of goodies taken off Saddam after he emerged from his subterranean digs over the weekend all that was needed to fill out a complete derelict profile was a half-empty pint of Four Roses.

What happened here? All the file footage was so wonderfully puffed up and menacing. Saddam drawing a sword. Saddam firing a rifle into the sky. Saddam in a uniform dripping with hard military authority.

And then the front page on Monday morning. The devil turned groveler. The man with $25 million on his head being checked for head lice.

This guy is about as threatening as a hamster.

He wimped out. He didn't go down shooting, snarling anti-American expletives as he crumpled to the dirt.

Instead of a heroic final scene, he hid in a hole and then gave up.

He's a tough sell as a figure to rally around. And a major disappointment as an international symbol of doomsday menace.

Saddam failed his own legend.

Which just goes to show that it's easy to dress the part and look the part while among friends and under the protection of well-armed troops.

But there's just no way to know what will happen at crunch time.

We have seen these people before, close to home and on the other side of the world. They are princes, presidents and run-of-the-mill dictators.

And they can't resist the uniform. They rise to power, and, even if they've never served a day in combat, they start dressing up in soldier suits and reviewing the troops and draping more and more gaudy insignia on chest and head and shoulders the Order of the Ocelot, the Order of the Great Horned Owl, the Order of the Hooded Falcon, The Good Doobie Medal ... .

It must be an incredible rush, moving from civilian non-combatant to the top military dog without even going to boot camp. The uniform, the salutes, the ceremony. And there is the chance to play with the hardware to get in a plane or tank or take the wheel of a great ship and assume the role of people who have actually known the ugly smell of battle.

It might seem silly and a little bit empty to those who earned their stripes the hard way. But there is apparently something irresistible about the opportunity to rise instantly through the ranks for a day or even an hour. For most heads of state who play dress-up soldier, there is little chance they will ever hear a shot fired in anger. They put on the duds, maybe even take a weapon in hand. But after the pictures are taken, they get back to civilian safety.

But Saddam Hussein got called. He was forced to show what was behind the uniform and the strut and the gunslinger bravado.

It turns out there wasn't much. He went as low as he could, down in a hole with some cash and candy bars.

There is an expression for those who wear the clothes and talk the talk but can go no farther.

It comes from Texas, I think.

It's "All Hat And No Cowboy."

And Saddam Hussein is not the only one it fits.