Remember back in 2012 when Chris Christie was such a hot item that the Mittster had him picked out first choice for Veep?
That was before Pufferfish and Romney’s vetting team dug up the more unsavory parts of Christie’s history that made them stay away.
That was before American found out Dem mayors who refused to endorse him got really bad things happen to their bridges.
Remember when the Ledger seemed to get that Christie was an awful governor, but they endorsed him anyway?
And then had to take it back?
And then, weirdly, the New Hampshire Union Leader had to do the same thing, and take back their endorsement of him for president?
Remember when Christie was so powerful he pounded the Democratic woman who dared run against him into the electoral pavement?
Yeah, that was bad.
Christie used to be an outsized character; bigger than his size, exempt from the usual requirements of national politicians to be politic, effortlessly intimidating and mocking mere mortals who dared disagree, generating national attention as America’s gubernatorial jackass, but just maybe a jackass the Koch Brothers could use to discipline angry but timid Republican voters into obedience. That was before Donald Trump came along and was an even more entertaining jerk, before Christie’s favorables dropped into the toilet, and before Christie’s presumed frontrunner status devolved into being sent down to the kiddie debates, and dropping poll numbers, and the valiant king of the NJ GOP was unmasked as an AWOL day job failure.
If you spent any time reading Blue Jersey, you knew this moment was inevitable. Plenty of other people knew it too, as they saw one national story after another with the word “scandal” in the first paragraph. But even with all that, good people, I wasn’t prepared to see my powerful teflon governor – who once pointed at me at a “Town Hall” and menacingly said, “I know who you are.” – as the target of an Andy Borowitz takedown at The New Yorker. It’s great. It’s about freaking time. And you should read it: