Pity poor New Jersey governor Chris Christie, the onetime presidential hopeful who mortgaged his reputation in order to creepily stand behind Donald Trump in the early days of his presidential candidacy. Sure, it was depraved to see Christie lining up behind the ruddy, race-baiting, reality-TV huckster, but on the off chance that Trump did become president, he’d look like a genius. He might be Vice President Christie, or secretary of state! Risk nothing, gain nothing, right?
As it turned out, Christie risked it all and got fuck-all in return. He returned to New Jersey with no political appointment in the Trump administration as a lame duck governor widely hated by his populace. He has a 15 percent approval rating and is the least popular governor in the country. When he closed all public beaches on the Fourth Of July weekend, he and his family still went out to enjoy them, a classic image of the sort of low-key fuck-everything corruption that defines this, the late stage of Chris Christie’s career. Some very good beach men even sculpted a caricature of him into the sand, only for it to be washed away into the ocean along with the last of his political good will.
Why not go out to the old ball game, then? What could go wrong there?
Yes, even in catching a foul ball, Christie is met with an arena full of people booing him, a constant reminder of his unpopularity trailing him like a curse, followed by the lamentations of the broadcast announcers. “Nice to see him get from the beach here to the ballpark,” the commentator says, because there is not a single person on this earth who likes Chris Christie anymore.