Politics takes itself very seriously. It shouldn’t.
Yes, politics can be sublime. But it can also be ridiculous. Very ridiculous. I’ve spent the last decade covering campaign politics at the so-close-to-the-picture-I-am-getting-a-headache level and, in that time, have seen a Republican governor turn “hiking the Appalachian Trail” into a euphemism for an extramarital affair, a congressman—and aspiring mayor of New York City—accidentally post a picture of his junk on his Twitter feed, and a North Carolina senator (and would-be president) lie about, then admit to fathering, an out-of-wedlock child.
I’ve also stood three hundred feet from the historic inauguration of Barack Obama as the country’s first black president (my god was it cold that day), gone without sleep as the country tried to decide who had won Florida—and the presidency—in 2000, and reported on the attempted assassination of Arizona’s congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords.
I’ve also driven through the snow-covered streets of Des Moines more times than I care to remember—and even got my rental car stolen in downtown Des Moines once!—spent untold sums on the Dunkin’ Donuts in the Manchester, New Hampshire, airport, and eaten barbecue by the pound, literally, in South Carolina.
I’ve done all of this in service of my stomach, er, blog—The Fix—which began in 2005 and has been with me (in a good way) every day since. My goal from the very first post until today has always been the same: to serve as a tour guide for people through the increasing cacophony that is the political world. I am the Kenneth the Page—without the southern accent or hokey southern-isms—of the political world.
Every time I talk to people who either cover politics as their job or follow it as their hobby, I hear the same thing: there’s too much news. It’s impossible to keep up. My job is to keep up for you. To be the guy who obsessively checks his iPhone (hip!) at 2 AM, monitors his Twitter feed while feeding his infant son dinner (guilty), and would rather watch cable chat shows than Two and a Half Men. (Do people really watch that show?) I am the keeper of the political flame.
The fun of The Fix is that people pay me—thank you Don Graham and the Washington Post!—for doing just that. But I’ve always wanted to go longer, think bigger, use even MORE parentheses—to bring the love and passion I have for politics to more people who would love it if they only got to know it a little bit. (That line, by the way, was my [un]successful argument to my [unrequited] high school love.)
That’s where the idea for The Gospel was born. To take what I loved about The Fix and make it bigger and better—kind of like Coke and New Coke. Wait …
Anyway, I hope this book radiates the joy I get from covering the political world in all its seriousness and silliness—hopefully both in equal measure. Politics is the greatest sport in the world with the highest stakes for those willing to play the game. I have been lucky enough to sit in the stands for the last decade. This book is my attempt to show you what I have seen.