It appears that in the heady glamour of the early stages of this presidential race, we’ve forgotten one key element: the running mate. Some might say that such a decision could wait, oh, twenty years or so to see which vaguely good looking senator could carry a random swing state—but the time to plan is clearly now. After all, Washington had his Adams…Bush has his Cheney…Polk had his That Guy. Your administration is only as strong as the shadowy dude who’d stand over your dead body and take control of the country.
The Wirsing campaign can do better than that. We need more than a mere VP candidate, and I believe we can deliver not just a fantastic Rhoda to Karl’s Mary Tyler Moore, but also a manly, platonic love story for the ages. Political scientists will marvel at the perfect interplay of brains and brawn, fame and humility, when we announce our choice: “Shaquiiiiiiiiiille O’Neeeeeeeeeeeeal!”
Shaq will bring many of the things that some might argue we don’t quite have yet: that engaging O'Neal smile, the votes of everyone who’s not Kobe Bryant, and scads of cash. If the punditocracy is to be believed, the tallest guy in the debate usually wins. And unless the Republicans run Yao Ming as their VP-to-be, nobody’s gonna out-tall Shaquille O’Neal in that auditorium.
In Shaq, we’ll have the popularity of Michael Jordan, but with fewer gambling debts; and the ambition of Charles Barkley, minus most of the, uh, personality issues. Karl and Shaq. Shaq and Karl. Shaq is America, people.