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On Tuesday morning, I awoke early, put on my game face, and followed my usual routine despite the enormity of the day.

“Welcome back to
Morning Power
,” I began, “and greetings to our Republican guests in town for the convention.

“This morning, we really do hold the power. Friends, tonight I have the distinct honor of representing the great state of Florida during the roll call. I'm sure you know the normal drill. Each state is afforded a short time to announce their delegate votes and tradition holds that you say something nice about your state when you do.

“I'm thinking that the stakes are too high in this election to let the moment pass without a serious comment about the choice the nation faces. And I'm wondering what advice you might have. What is it that you think I should say tonight when the eyes of the nation are upon me? Call me now, toll free, and give me your ideas.”

Rod was festooned for the second day in a row in red, white, and blue and a big button on his lapel which said “Let Molly
take a Hatchet to Washington.” Alex sat screening calls in a black t-shirt that said “Keep Out of Direct Sunlight.” Over her shoulder were two network affiliates from out of town shooting some B-roll for tonight's news. The call board lit up immediately.

“Why not say, Florida, the state that gave America Anita Bryant, casts all it votes for another great lady, Margaret Haskel?”

“Great suggestion. Let me think about it.”

“Hello, Stan. It's an honor. Remember what the Seal said when he shot bin Laden? ‘For God and country.' That's what you should say. For God and country, Margaret Haskel.”

“Amen, thanks for the call.”

I actually thought that could work with what I had in mind.

By the time my air shift ended, I was feeling punch drunk and knew I'd never get any sleep without a mother's little helper. All morning long my phone wouldn't stop vibrating, mostly, I was sure, with media outlets wanting a few minutes. But there was no escaping one last call with Jules before the big night arrived, so I figured I'd better get it over with before I tried to rest. Of course, he was tied up when I called, and then, back at my condo, after I had just popped two Ambien in my mouth, the phone rang. I debated whether to answer it but curiosity got the better of me. Right now I really needed to crash, but I recognized Jules' number.

“Please hold for Mr. DelGado,” Philippe said.

I hated that. I made a mental note to never have my calls placed for me if I ever became a big shot. Well, a bigger shot.

“Stan, are you sitting down? I have an offer from Chuck Schwartz. The deal points are in writing and if you approve, a contract will be drafted. There are some things we need to work through, but this is going to happen, and fast. They want you syndicated immediately to take advantage of your role in this election cycle. You will be rolled out in just 30 days!”

He probably expected me to shout “Hallelujah.” But I was feeling a bit numb both from the meds and from the stress about what was to unfold tonight. I tried to mask my sudden ambivalence by thanking him for his work, and asked that he email me the deal points. And then I crashed.

I awoke, showered, ate something and waited for my car. Margaret Haskel wasn't taking any chances that I wouldn't get to the church on time, so they sent a Town Car at 5 p.m. for me and a guest. But I had no guest. The only person who would've been personally appropriate was Debbie, but then again, she would have been entirely inappropriate given the professional nature of this mission. I couldn't do that to her. Frankly, there was no one—no family member, personal friend, or significant other—who I would have felt comfortable bringing with me to what was supposed to be one of the biggest nights in my life. Which should have told me something.

Every night the convention had a different headline event. Last night it had been the keynote address. Tonight was the roll call vote and formal nomination. Wednesday would be the vice presidential acceptance speech and Thursday was the finale, when Margaret Haskel would accept the nomination and the balloons would drop on her and Finn O'Malley. Of course, those were the highlights, and there was plenty of other filler. Tonight's climax would be preceded by prayer, music, speeches by elected officials and what passed for convention business but was really intended to give the events a feel of authenticity.

Upon my arrival at the arena, I was escorted into a green room where a table full of food, drink and convention nicknacks awaited me. Sadly there was no booze. But amidst the buttons, bumper stickers, a straw hat and a bottle of Molly Hatchet Salsa (labeled “Hot enough to be president”) was the official party platform that was being ratified before the roll call
began. I thumbed through it with one eye on the TV monitor as I sipped a Coke. Reading it made me nauseous.

There was the “human life amendment” which opposed abortion with no exceptions for rape or the health of the mother.

Marriage was defined as being between (only) a man and a woman.

The drug policy opposed the legalization of marijuana.

And the party stood for opposition to any limitations on business in the name of climate change.

I closed the pamphlet and stared at the notecard Jackson Hunter had handed to me. All alone in my room, I looked up at the TV monitor as the roll call began. The order was alphabetical so Alabama went first, and Wyoming would be the clean up.

“Mr. Chairman, the great state of Alabama, with one of the most diverse delegations in this hall, is ready to cast the first votes for the next president of the United States, Margaret Haskel.”

“Mr. Chairman, Alaska, the great battleground state, the frontier state, proudly casts all its votes for Margaret Haskel.”

“Madame Chairperson, on behalf of the 600,000 American citizens who seek equal treatment as American citizens, who pay federal taxes and who have fought and died in every war including the war that established the United States, the District of Columbia proudly casts its votes for Margaret Haskel.”

From what I watched, it looked like I was the only participant without a portfolio. Every other spokesman was an elected official or a party representative. Governors, senators, congressmen, and state party chairs were the norm. And just as I remembered from when I'd first watched this as a kid, mostly they offered commercials for their states. It had been years since the process was anything more than a formality;
more than one roll call vote hasn't been needed by either party since the early 1950s.

The Haskel campaign had done the math and knew exactly when she would exceed the number of votes needed to formalize the nomination, and when that moment arrived, I would be center stage. Because of the alphabetical structure, Florida would be called upon before Haskel had enough votes and the plan was for the state chair, Herb Barness, to deliver his own commercial, but then to “pass” and not offer the state's delegates. When it came time to close the deal, I'd be the one with the microphone. That the order would be juggled around like this was normal. But typically, it was done so that the presidential candidate's home state could be the delegation to make the nomination official, which in this case would've been Texas. What was unprecedented was juggling the order for another state. But such was the importance of Florida in the November election, that Barness stood at the ready when the spotlight first hit Florida.

“Mr. Chairman, it is an honor for the great state of Florida to host this convention where Governor Margaret Haskel will be nominated and eventually elected president. The Sunshine State, birthplace of Tim Tebow, home of the Super Bowl Champion Dolphins, and the world's best stone crabs elects to pass at this time.”

That was my cue. Like clockwork there was a knock on my door, then it opened and an intern whose daddy had probably written a huge check told me it was time. I put the note card I'd been thumbing in my pocket and walked out onto the convention floor. The count continued. Each vote was greeted with thunderous applause.

“Maine, a state with great tourism, great people….”

“The free state of Maryland, home of the wonderful Chesapeake Bay and blue crab, home of the 8
^th
wonder of the world, the Terrapins and the United States Naval Academy….”

“Michigan, the Great Lake State, home of the American Automobile Association, home of Gerald Ford and the Red Wings….”

“Minnesota, the North Star State, the state of 10,000 lakes and five million people, and the most productive agricultural lands in America….”

“Missouri, America's bellwether….”

“North Carolina, the home of Billy Graham, ACC basketball, and Nascar, and the most military-friendly state in the United States….”

This sort of happy horseshit was perfectly fine with me and I'd have been thrilled if I was just following every other state's lead. That alone would've put me in prime time and reaffirm my position as a presidential power broker. Phil had always been convinced that if Haskel won Florida, I'd get credit whether I deserved it or not. I could've just used my platform like every other one of his clients and gone through the motions. But me, they were not letting off so easy.

I was greeted amidst the Florida delegation like a conquering hero. People were backslapping me and shaking hands and several wanted to snap pictures on mobile phones. At any other time, my ego would have soaked it in. But I was too preoccupied with the microphone that sat on the aisle. During the walk-through on Saturday, I'd been shown where it would be. I continued to smile for photographs and shake hands while the vote count progressed. When it got to New Jersey, the Garden State passed, lest Margaret Haskel would pass the threshold and pass the 1,144 vote mark based on a blue state that Bob Tobias was already certain to win.

“Mr. Chairman, the home of Jersey tomatoes, the country's best corn and prettiest beaches, the state that makes what America takes, the state that not even Super Storm Sandy could
slow down—the great state of New Jersey passes and calls upon the great state of Florida.”

The events in Tampa were now in prime time, and a nationwide—hell, worldwide—audience was streaming or tuning in. Above me, a giant scoreboard normally used to tabulate sports scores posted a delegate count that made clear that the nomination was about to become official, the end to a nearly two-year campaign. And as the hall filled with 20,000 began to get silent in anticipation of an eruption, I stepped toward the microphone. What a country. A former slacker and perpetual stoner, with no regard for either party, was nevertheless about to formalize the candidacy of a woman to run against the husband of his former, and recent, fuck buddy.

“Mr. Chairman, my name is Stan Powers.”

I actually had to pause and wait for the applause to die down. While I waited, I saw that it was my image that now adorned the video monitors scattered throughout the arena. Florida delegates suddenly produced placards on sticks that read “
Morning Power
for Molly.” The ego boost provided by the personal acknowledgement gave me the final bout of courage I probably no longer needed.

“It is my great honor to cast the ballots of the Florida delegation.”

The members of the delegation, having encircled me in anticipation of this moment, now roared.

“But before I do, there is something that needs to be said.”

I heard shouts of “quiet” and things got soft.

“This country was founded on Judeo-Christian values and we need a president who will return it to these principles.”

There was another burst of applause and I needed to wait until the room got quiet.

“We need a president who fears God, not the head of a Galactic Confederation. A president whose good book was written by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, not a failed science fiction writer. A president whose actions are guided by his heart, not his thetan.”

There was no way this crowd knew, literally, what the fuck I was talking about. But they got the message. Bob Tobias wasn't one of us. He was some kind of other. I knew that within minutes, the photograph would be posted online that would fill in the blanks. But this crowd didn't wait for any frayed picture. They roared their approval. So much so that as I finished the official part of the nomination that put Margaret Haskel over the top, the crowd was deafening. While I know the audio was heard through televisions across the country, in the arena I was being drowned out. I was screaming now and the only thing that could be heard was:

“For God and country…the great state of Florida casts all of its ballots for the next president of the United States, Margaret Haskel.”

When I said her name, there was an explosion from up above, no doubt orchestrated from the booth where Jackson Hunter and his colleagues were choreographing everything. The sky opened and balloons and confetti fell. At a deafening level, Lee Greenwood's “God Bless the USA” blasted through the sound system, and when the sky cleared, standing on stage was Margaret Haskel. I hadn't seen a place go so batshit since I caught Lynyrd Skynyrd making a stop in Ft. Myers in support of
Street Survivors
just before the plane crash. It was bedlam. Margaret Haskel didn't speak, she just waved for about five minutes, and then exited the stage. I'm sure that at that precise moment, it was time for a TV break. All I wanted to do was go home, but I was mobbed as I looked for the intern who'd delivered me
to the floor and hoped she'd find me a quick passage. After 30 more minutes of posing for pictures and signing autographs, I was finally in the back of a Town Car and headed for home.

Now, for the third time in a month, I looked at my iPhone as a form of flash returns. All the usual suspects were voting via texts.

“Balls” was Phil's text.

Not exactly congratulatory, but maybe I was reading too much into it.

“When are we signing?” from Jules.