Four years ago, my brother and I headed to the Ship Tavern in the Brown Palace to watch election results roll in across the country. We didn’t want to attend a “victory” party for either side and knew we could get good Scotch at the bar.
I kissed my wife goodbye, reassured my fretting step-daughter that Donald Trump would not win, and headed out. Obviously, she had a better grasp on the situation than I did.
I still remember sitting in the plush leather chairs, sipping on a single malt, eyes glued to the various television screens as election results began tilting the election to Trump.
A two-point win in Florida.
Edging out Hillary Clinton in Pennsylvania by less than 50,000 votes.
Michigan teetering into Trump’s column by just over 10,000 votes.
And, finally, just over 20,000 votes in Wisconsin, sealing Trump’s victory.
Going into Election Day, it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that Clinton would trounce Trump, declare an early victory, and become the first female president. Polls and professional prognosticators agreed, the outcome was not in doubt.
That made Election Night 2016 with my brother, Teo, one of the most shocking moments in my life. Utter disbelief seems to be an understatement. The memory falls somewhere between Buster Douglas beating Mike Tyson and Sept. 11 stamped into my mind’s registry of startling events.
Fast forward to Election Day 2020.
