During the perilous days of the 2012 presidential campaign, as the Republican primary was gearing up, I published two op-eds focused on Donald Trump in the Portland Oregonian. The first, “Making the Case for the Donald,” was a breakdown as to why I thought Republicans should at least hear potential candidate Trump out. The second, “The Donald Trump Enemies List,” was all about the fallout from Trump’s stalled “candidacy.”
I was half-kidding with both submissions, and I thought that would be OK because my sense was that Trump was half-kidding too. That said, I thought The Donald had some good ideas, and I liked his delivery.
I took some heat in the comments sections, and I’m sure I would have been excoriated more if most people hadn’t figured that clicks and comments, even when they trash the writer, are actually a sign of success in internet writing. They didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of being excoriated.
After Trump got out, I remember sitting down in front of my television and realizing that the entire Trump candidacy was probably a public relations gambit aimed at drumming up buzz for the show I was preparing to watch, Celebrity Apprentice.
When the campaign moved on, I flip-flopped between Santorum and Gingrich, drearily aware of a gut feeling that it was all for naught. When the primary smoke cleared I bled all over my keyboard in support of Romney, and fell into a depression when he lost.
I understand now that my early infatuation with candidate Trump was actually a kind of pre-traumatic stress disorder. I’d seen four years of President Obama, and the idea of four more was freaking me out. I was flailing in the darkness.
Here we go again. Trump is out there, making familiar noises. But here’s what I would like to say to Mr. Trump, from the heart of a working-class conservative.
You don’t have to run for president to get my attention. I always listen to what you have to say, because I like your ideas and your style. When Greta Van Susteren has you on, I find your segments to be very entertaining. See, Americans are so starved for straight talk from the powerful that we’re willing to suspend our disbelief if somebody will just give us a riveting performance.
Running for president does not have to be part of the show. I will watch Celebrity Apprentice whether you run for president or not. I’ll never forget how Twisted Sister’s Dee Snider broke his finger when his horse reared up during the Medieval Times task—that’s good television, too.
So, Mr. Trump, Donald, please don’t toy with us. Don’t go out there and promise to take all the oil away from Iraq unless you plan to deliver. We still want to hear about how China is screwing us, and Putin is laughing at us, but we don’t need it couched in the context of you running for president and kicking a bunch of ass. Promises, promises.
Stephen Hayes, writing in the Weekly Standard, has called your presidential aspirations, if that’s what they are, “a clown show.” I never miss an article by Stephen, and never miss a segment with you, but maybe he has a point. Stop. You’ve just got to stop, unless you have every intention of delivering.
To borrow a phrase from Rush Limbaugh, we like you, Mr. Trump, and a lot of us might even vote for you. But we don’t need no plastic-banana-good-time-rock-and-roll fake candidacy.
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