Veep Olympics

CHAPTER SEVEN

Select members of the Republican Party and the Mitt Romney campaign staff gather in the back room of an exclusive private club located on a golf course. Next to an electronic board giving the latest stock reports from Dow Jones is a giant closed circuit video screen. The screen shimmers on.

Shown on the screen from a secret location is the campaign's new advisor, looking like a slimmed-down version of Dick Cheney. The men and women in the room can't remember if Cheney is still alive-- or rather, how many times he's been brought back from the dead. The image onscreen carries the same gritted teeth, assurance, and arrogance about himself, as if explaining the world to five year-olds. They relate to him their dilemma-- their opponent, the President, is planning a global TV extravaganza starring himself.

"We'll simply create a better media show," the image tells them. "The Veep Olympics. We'll call it, 'Finding the Best.' It'll give us the opportunity to display front and center our party's entire cast. Unlike the Dems, we're not a one-man show. The only way the President could possibly trump it is by going to war, which he may well do-- he has no more scruples than I or you. War of course is always the ultimate media show."

The man basks in his idea for a moment before continuing. Unlike the President, he doesn't need to tell himself how brilliant he is. He already knows it.

"Actual competition for the Republican vice-presidential selection. That's what the audience-- er, public-- wants. I wanted to do that for W, you know, twelve years ago. Put all the veep candidates in the woods with loaded shotguns and let us have at it."

His eyes gleam at the thought. There's no doubt in him about who would've won.

"Maybe not exactly that, but we'll cook up a few unique contests to cull the pack."

"Keep in mind, sir," a voice in the private room responds, "that our goal is two-fold. To engage the public and win the ratings war, but also to ensure a safe running mate who won't overshadow the main candidate. Mitt, I mean."

"They may be mutually exclusive," the image says. "The first goal is to WIN."

The picture on screen shimmers away and the screen turns off.

"What do you think?" a man in the room asks, one of those tasked with producing the project. "Will any of the prospective candidates play along?"

Just then they hear a loud knock. The door to the room is kicked open. Filling to doorway is a very large man wearing too-tight white shorts and an agonizingly stretched white polo shirt. He has a whistle around his neck and a basketball under one arm while he clutches a tennis racket. Governor Chris Christie.

"Okay men," he announces. "I'm here! Ready to go."