OK. I respect Fitsch. The way I respect Richard Nixon or Darth Vader. You may agree with what they say, but they have such a way of saying it as to make a nun swear, or the Dalai Lama turn violent. That takes a certain artistry, a certain je ne sais quoi of grass-molery. You gotta respect someone with game like that.
As I write this, my temples have just stopped pounding and my blood pressure just gone down. I’ve been Fritsched today.
I attempted to get a comment from Fritsch about the secretary of state fining the National Association for Gun Rights, of which he is director of the Mississippi chapter, for soliciting donations in the state without registering as a nonprofit.
Instead of just no-commenting, he Fritsched me, which entails numerous emails and texts in which he impugned my integrity, ordered me to email him any questions and insisted I “send any documentation that supports the premise of the question.” So I forwarded him a copy of a consent decree his own agency’s lawyer signed, after which Fritsch replied, “I’ll get back with you.”
Now, in this, Fritsch broke somewhat with our usual pattern, in which he would ask me what my deadline was, so he could be sure to respond hours after it. But he nevertheless sent his non-answer statement hours after I had contacted him and written a story, just like old times.
Also, he didn’t answer his phone when I called, so we couldn’t play this special game we have where he hangs up on me. Back in the U.S. Senate race days last year, Fritsch would sometimes hang up on me even after he called me. One time I called him back a little later from another line and he yelled, “You tricked me!” before he hung up again. But then, oft as not, he’d call back a day or sometimes only hours later and very Sybil-like act as if we were old chums, particularly if he wanted publicity on something.