I’m not sure when it died. I’m not even sure it was ever alive. But one thing I do know is that Fred Thompson’s campaign was never destined to survive. He was swimming in the shallow end of the political gene pool.
His late arrival to the party was a toe-dipping foreplay that drove the MSM nuts. They provoked, prodded, preened and pandered to the unannounced candidate in a manner that would make any pursuing paramour blush. Then like late in the evening of the first date, Fred pecked them all on the cheek and said goodnight. His campaign was his to start, his to control, his to plan, his to close. He refused to dance to the Media music and they spanked him for it.
In the beginning he ignored them, then they ignored him. It wasn’t that he was unqualified… he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a message or grasp of our challenges… he did. It wasn’t that he didn‘t have presence and stature… nobody else came close. And it wasn’t that he didn’t have a plan. The plan was spelled out in painful detail for the Media to dissect and dismember. But Fred’s “plan” wasn’t what they planned to dismember.
The Media has short attention spans, but long memories. And somewhere in the rooms behind the presses and cameras those memories were converted into a cohesive plot to ignore Fred just enough to see that he went quietly into the night. And if there ever was a requiem for a campaign it was written by the MSM for his. He was too late. He was too laid back. He was too lazy. And he was just a bit too lucky in love. The perfect rhyme for a swan dive into political oblivion.
It has been just over two weeks since Fred waved goodbye and walked away with our hearts. His departure left a hole that the remaining herd couldn’t begin to fill. He was a class act in a classroom of rodeo clowns, who don’t have enough collective wits to buy a noun much less than a clue.
John Gotti said it best, “You’re going to miss me some day”.
Well John, was right. It’s only been a couple of weeks and I miss Fred already.