Dear Governor Christie,
Well, you’ve had quite a week.
Indeed, you’ve had quite a six months. You gambled your entire political career, got humiliated long-term and short-term while the Trump team strung you along, and then you were dropped.
Though you and I don’t agree on much, I think we can agree that they did you wrong, sir.
And they’re not even finished doing you wrong. The Trump team is already leaking stories about how you called Trump to beg for the Vice President slot at the last minute. And, worse, that you were never really up for the spot in the first place.
Your political career is over. Whatever cachet you had as a bold, brash candidate, whatever street cred you had that might have let you claw your way back up is gone now, dissipated over months of standing quietly in the background and picking up pizza orders for a man who was only going to eat it with a fork.
Sure, you could hang on in the hopes that he might toss you the Secretary of State spot, but can you really trust anyone in the Trump campaign at this point? Do you really think he’s going to pick you over Newt? Or one of his sons?
It’s over, Governor. Your state won’t elect you again short of an interplanetary invasion, and your image in national politics has been reduced to “Get on the plane” and what must be an excruciating collection of hilarious gifs.
You can’t have been treated with any more respect inside the camp, not with such open contempt in front of outsiders. I know you’ve been swallowing the bile and patiently repeating to the press that you and Trump have been personal friends for 14 years, but you can’t really expect us to believe that the Manhattan developer with a narcissism complex the size of the Empire State building didn’t have a few choice jabs for the guy from New Jersey.
And, while you may have thought that the political gamble was worth it, you had to know that Trump the man is not.
One of your finest moments as a governor, maybe as a human being, was when you defended Muslim Superior Court Judge Sohail Mohammed, rightly telling the bigots that they were being ignorant and crazy.
It was a moment that made you a shining example of a politician. And now you’ve destroyed it by spending six months standing behind the right shoulder of a man who wants to keep Muslims from entering the country and is openly flirting with white supremacists.
And still that overgrown bile-spewing child screwed you over.
Governor Christie, it’s not my place to draw conclusions about what may or may not have happened with any bridges in your state, but I don’t think it’s out of line to suggest that you are a man who believes in getting his own back. And so I have one question for you, sir:
Are you really going to sit there and take this?
Because you literally have nothing to lose anymore.
Remember the last time you spoke at the RNC convention? When you were the keynote speaker and you had like a 20-minute intro video about how you were a shining Republican star being held aloft by eagles and it didn’t even mention Mitt? And they were going to cut it, so you threatened to drop an f-bomb on live TV unless they ran it and they totally did? It was good back then, back when you were feared and respected and you could snap your fingers and the whole damn party would hop to. Now they treat you like a joke, worse than Gingrich. Jeb’s getting interviewed like a grand elder statesman and when they talk to you everyone tries to think of more humiliating synonyms for “carrying water.”
As you know, Governor, you’re scheduled to speak again tonight.
The convention has already squashed the alternate candidate rebellion. Trump’s got a lock on the nomination. There GOP doesn’t have any more outs. Which means you can take down the whole damn party—and every last person in it who’s been laughing at you—in one speech.
You know what Trump’s like, you know what the inside of his campaign is like, and you know how to tear somebody apart with a microphone. You could probably take him down six times over before they can even pull it together to try to get you off the stage. You know you can do it, Governor, and you know you want to.
You can get up there, mouth a few meek platitudes, feel the searing mockery of an entire nation, and crawl away like the broken man you’ve been for the last six months. Or you can go out like Chris Goddamned Christie.
Think about it.