I already miss Chris Christie, and he’s not even gone yet

One hundred and thirtytwo. That’s how many times I’ve dedicated my column space to outgoing New Jersey Governor Chris Christie over the years. It’s a big number, 132. And on top of those 132 columns about Christie, there were another 147 times when he was a tangential part of the column. For instance, once I brought his weight problems into a piece that had more to do with my desire to kiss Jennifer Aniston’s neck (desire unfulfilled, for the record). But 132 times over the last decade? The column was about Chris Christie.

First time I wrote about him was back in 2007, when he was the U.S. Attorney for the District of New Jersey. I opined that he needed a nickname because of all the crooked politicians he managed to lock up in his day. I settled on Spider-Man. It didn’t stick. What did stick was my prediction in that same column, made 20 months before the 2009 election: “You ask me, this guy has the voice (New Jersey in every way) the resume (locking up political criminals) and the look (he carries himself like a “Sopranos” heavy, with the swagger and the cufflinks) to sweep his way to the state house in two years.” Nailed that, eh? But there was also this, written two weeks before that 2009 election: “Gun to my head, some 13 days before election day? Corzine wins.” Oops. And since then, there’s been a lot of ink I gave the gov. Seriously: Put all my columns that were solely about Christie, you’re looking at a 300-page book. Add in all the columns that bring Christie into the conversation, and we’re over 600 pages. Doorstop material right there.

The book would have it all: Presidential runs, fake presidential runs, Bridgegate, Beachgate, NJEA fights, boardwalk fights, fleeces, diet battles — did you know Conte’s Pizza and Bar in Princeton saw their bottom line suffer as a result of Christie’s lap band surgery? — you name it, I wrote about it. And why wouldn’t I? Wherever Christie went, general hoo-ha followed.

The guy, quite simply, was a newspaper columnist’s dream.

I don’t want to speak for the other New Jersey columnists who have written about Christie, but I’d bet they all feel the same way as I do: Please stay Chris! Stage a coup!

Listen: While being a columnist isn’t exactly breaking bricks for a living, every single columnist I’ve ever spoken with suffers from the same affliction. Let’s just call it WhatAmIGonnaWriteAboutTodayitis. For me as a columnist, having Christie around was like having my favorite T-shirt washed and folded in the drawer. Not going to wear it everyday — that would be weird — but I know it’s there for me when I need it.

Christie was always there for me. Whenever the idea well was running dry, he’d go and awkwardly hug Jerry Jones while wearing a hideous orange sweater which would (obviously) provoke me to write a Q&A column with the orange sweater itself. (Choice quote from the sweater: “Let’s just say I’m sporting my own musky/ musty essence at this point.”)

For the last 8+ years, Chris Christie has been my old Tshirt. I fear our next governor, no matter who it is, will be more like my tuxedo: Classy, but never worn.

No way Murphy or Guadagno will be as controversial, charming, loud, intelligent, and obnoxious enough to warrant 279 (well, now, 280) column mentions/columns specifically about them. I have a hard time envisioning Phil Murphy telling someone to get the hell off the beach, a tough time seeing Kim Guadagno stand behind President Trump and look like she’s being held hostage.

Things aren’t going to be the same around here. I’m not going to have Chris Christie to kick around anymore.

I’m hoping for one last hurrah, one last go-round, one last slice of ridiculous pie before the curtain falls on the Christie regime. Maybe U.S. Sen. Bob Menendez will step down and Christie will name himself to the Senate. That would be fantastic. I hope Santa Claus reads my columns.

But I have a sneaky feeling the next 80 days will go by without much fanfare. Feels like it, right? He’s been quiet the last few months. Not much to write about. It’s like he’s got the “SOLD” sign out on the front yard and is moving to Florida. The end is nigh.

I’m going to miss Chris Christie. My job is about to get much harder.

Don’t go!