Every four years Newt breaks my heart. He flirts with running for President and bringing his own special brand of wacky policy wonk and soulless money-grubber. He just reeks of massive potential for an entertaining President run. The kind of disastrous spectacle best selling novels and a flood of blog posts are made of. But as part of a truly epic and highly recommended profile of Newt in Esquire, someone who's been even more disappointed than I makes it clear that I will never see my dream realized: His ex-wife Marianne Gingrich.
She gives a jaundiced look. "There's no way," she says. She thinks he made a choice long ago between doing the right thing and getting rich, and when you make those choices, you foreclose other ones. "He could have been president. But when you try and change your history too much, and try and recolor it because you don't like the way it was or you want it to be different to prove something new ... you lose touch with who you really are. You lose your way."
Marianne, by the way is Newt's second wife. He divorced her in 2000 to marry a much-younger aid that he was boffin while he tried to impeach Bill Clinton for...well...that.
Deep down, I know she's right. Newt just can't do it. But still, hope lingers