Tom Stathis/AP
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Last night my editor asked if I was planning to liveblog today’s debate. Sure, I said. I always think I’m going to swear off this stuff eventually, but then I cave in yet again. So, yes, I’ll be liveblogging Donald and Ben and the nine dwarfs.
But wait! This thing is three hours long? And I’m promising to liveblog it? Whose lunatic idea was this?
I figure maybe this is meant as a destruction test, sort of like American Ninja Warrior. Sure, you feel fine at first. You’re halfway through and your arms are strong and loose. Then you hit the salmon ladder and start to feel a twinge. And then the swinging tires. You barely make it. You stop to take a breath, but your body just can’t take much more. Sure enough, when you try to take on the Psycho Chain, your body rebels, and it’s into the drink.
Maybe we’ll see the same thing tonight. After 90 minutes, everyone is still feeling pumped. After 120 minutes, they’re having a little trouble finding the right words. Finally, around the 150-minute mark, their minds are foggy and their legs are tired and the tension becomes too much. Everyone starts having their own “oops” moments.
Diabolical, isn’t it? If it doesn’t work, I recommend making the next debate an all-day affair, 6 a.m. to midnight. That’ll weed out the pretenders from the folks who really have the desire and commitment to become the next American Ninja President.
