Let’s start where every good convention starts — with a rumor that won’t sit still.
By late afternoon yesterday, we were hearing that the Diego Morales camp and Max Engling’s people had an understanding: whoever comes up short throws his support to the other. By evening, the story had changed partners — the deal was supposedly between Morales and Dave Shelton, not Max. By this morning, it had deflated into something closer to the truth. There’s no deal, per se, between the Morales and Shelton camps. There have, however, been discussions about possible discussions.
Shelton isn’t playing coy about staying coy. “I will not promise or offer anything to anyone,” he tells us. “I’m courting delegates, not rubber stamps.” It’s a good line. It’s also a convenient one, because at this hour nobody seems to have the votes to make a binding offer stick.
And that’s the actual story so far. In a four-way race, the magic number is a majority, and majorities are hard to come by on a first ballot. Which means the real campaign isn’t the speeches — it’s the math of the second and third ballots, when candidates start dropping and their delegates go looking for a new home or start heading home. All these discussions about possible discussions are everyone quietly working out where those votes flow. Morales, in particular, needs a dance partner to survive past the second ballot.
We spent last night working the hospitality suites — Morales’ included — and the split among delegates is clarifying. The folks who aren’t with Diego tend to break two ways: Shelton, on the strength of his qualifications, or Max, on the strength of being the youngest guy in the room. “We want someone younger” is its own kind of platform, and it’s getting traction. The Morales suite, for what it’s worth, had a lot of energy, but it seemed like nervous energy.
One thing every delegate seems to agree on: the texts have to stop. The campaigns have been carpet-bombing phones around the clock, and it’s wearing thin — especially with the delegates who brought kids and would like to get through a weekend without their pockets buzzing every ninety seconds.
Speaking of annoying: Jim Banks ruffled more than a few feathers when he used a Friday night floor speech — one that wasn’t meant for it — to nudge delegates toward Max for Secretary of State. The pitch landed badly. We’re told that more than one delegate who’d been leaning Max walked away leaning somewhere else. In a race this tight, an endorsement that pushes fence-sitters the wrong direction isn’t help; it’s friendly fire.
We’d offer a prediction, but the honest answer is that we can see a path for all four candidates to get there. Jamie Reitenour’s is a good deal narrower than the rest — narrow enough that we suspect she’d have better odds chasing the Democratic nomination in 2030. The other three? Pick your scenario. That’s what makes a four-way convention worth covering, and what makes anyone claiming certainty before the first ballot either an optimist or a salesman.
A few notes from the floor. We ran into Micah Beckwith and passed along that the devil sends his regards. He took it better than the registration desk took us.
Which brings us to the morning’s real outrage: we nearly didn’t get in. A glitch in the system swallowed our media credential requests, and it took the better part of an hour to sort out. Yes — me, of all people, stuck outside a GOP event, explaining who I am to people who ought to know better. Naturally, we asked who was running the show. Todd Rokita, perhaps?
We’ll be back in the hall shortly, once breakfast and grievances are settled. We’re also keeping an eye today on the Bortka crowd, which is working to derail Daniel Elliott’s nomination by disrupting it from the floor. We’re told to watch for extra security. Conventions are supposed to be coronations; somebody apparently didn’t get the memo.
The voting will tell us whether any of these discussions about possible discussions ever became anything at all. Our money says the convention starts on the second ballot.
