New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie always is large and in charge, which makes him hotter than a waffle iron as a potential Republican presidential candidate.
His brash handling of the Hurricane Irene crisis in which he told people to “Get the hell off the beach. You’re done. It’s 4:30 p.m. You’ve maximized your tan,” only further increased the percussionist tempo of the drumbeats of a draft movement.
But apparently the Fat Man, who evidently goes through meals like they are piles of shaving cream, doesn’t want to sing that song.
“If I don’t feel it, then I can’t do it,” he said. “It’s really not a lot more complicated than that.”
Which must be a relief to Barack Obama, whose Caspar Milquetoast leadership skills would be in stark contrast to Christie’s my way or the highway style.
The Eagles keep emptying their maassive vault and now they’ve shoveled $100 million over six years, including a whopping $40 million guaranteed, to Michael Vick.
They totally overpaid for a 31-year-old quarterback whose risky style of play makes him more brittle than expensive china, who has a better shot at picking up a refrigerator than he does a blitz, and who only played like one of the NFL’s elite quarterbacks in spurts last year.
The former felon turned face of the franchise now is the third-highest paid QB in the league behind Tom Brady and Peyton Manning. If he’s the third-best quarterback in the league, I’m singing opera at Carneigie Hall next month.
As least the Vick deal clears enough cap space for the Birds to redo DeSean Jackson’s contract. Right now Jackson is playing for about $1.75 a game. Fry cooks at Denny’s make more than Jackson.
With the Eagles going on a spending spree that would even shock Paris Hilton, look for season ticket prices to jack up higher than the moon next season.
The White House is going to announce a major new jobs initiative after Labor Day. This is, of course, in response to jobs being placed on the endangered species list. We all know that the cobweb-dark economy has devoured jobs like so much barbecued shrimp.
To get things kick started today, President Obama named Alan Krueger, one of the nation’s top labor economists, next chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers.
Krueger’s Mission Impossible is to jump start the economy, thus tautening the strap that slingshots Obama to a second term.
Good luck with that.
Fixing the economic mess is a tad more complex than adding a little Rust-Oleum so everything looks better.
At the helm, Krueger will be restrained only by the injunctions of wind, tide and partisan politics.
When I finally went to bed early this morning, I expected to wake up dead — courtesy of a large evergreen tree crashing into my bedroom. Which certainly would have put a big crimp in my plans to have a chili dog for my Sunday brunch.
One chili dog later, I still am here and so is the East Coast. Imagine that.
Well, it seems as if Nostradamus has all our television folks licked in the prophecy department. No wonder none of them ever play my “Can You Beat Zeke?” pigskin prognosticating party. They apparently couldn’t predict sunrise or sunset.
Granted, Irene did knock out power to more than 4.5 million homes along its path, triggered physical damage and flooding, and caused a handful of deaths.
But Irene hardly was the apocalypse that television trumpeted incessantly and insanely.
The three major Philadelphia TV stations suspended all other programming so their news teams could sound like broken records for eternity. After hearing all that drivel, one almost would have welcomed being washed out to sea and into the belly of a shark.
While the airwaves sizzled with doomsday scenarios from platoons of anchors, meteorologists and reporters moored in the rain, all with a fiendish gleam in their eyes, Irene wasn’t bad enough to toss luxury ocean liners into neighborhood yards while shearing the Carolinas, Virginia, Delaware and New Jersey from the U.S. mainland.
No wonder we’ve become a nation of hysterics, guppies caught in an immense, violent wave of our imagination.
More than 300,000 people were told today to evacuate New York to dodge the wrath of Hurricane Irene.
Someone in the office asked where they all will go.
A question dumber than asking why Mafia dons don’t have email addresses or Facebook friends.
They’re all coming to Reading, of course. Don’t they all?
Wait until all 300,000 New Yorkers cross the Penn Street Bridge. It’ll have more cracks than a nightclub comic.
Been a helluva week in Reading so far, huh?
First an earthquake, now Irene and the massive exodus of New Yorkers coming to town.
I guess whosoever shall not fall by the sword or by famine or by pestilence will either be crushed or drowned.
Have a good weekend.
Granted, the Philadelphia Eagles did dominate the Cleveland Browns 24-14 in a soggy exhibition game at the Linc last night.
So what? That preseason scrum has as much lasting value as a dollar bill left out in a heavy downpour.
But what really was important about Thursday night is the Birds’ Dream Team will be a screaming nightmare, especially for Michael Vick, if rookie center Jason Kelce, rookie right guard Danny Watkins and stiff right tackle King Dunlap don’t quickly find the ability to block more than a hat.
Not saying we all should turn pulpy with fear, but apparently Hurricane Irene could plunge the East Coast into a world of deep doo-doo this weekend.
Batten down the hatches, because we could get walloped. Snorkeling, anybody?