I have covered this president from the White House grounds, from the pool rope line, from the back of rooms where the press corps is outnumbered by staff. On Sunday he came to my state, and Illinois did something the people who run it keep insisting is impossible.
It cheered.
Wheels Up on a Sunday Morning
It began the way these days always begin now, with Air Force One climbing out on a weekend morning while the rest of Washington was still asleep. The President was wheels up on a Sunday, bound for Illinois and the President's Cup, one day after he had been in Tennessee for college football.
That is the rhythm of this second term. Ireland one week, New York the next, Tennessee on Saturday, Medinah on Sunday. He does not sit still, and the schedule is itself an argument.
Then the Shadow Came Over the Gallery
He announced himself before he ever set foot on the property. Air Force One came in low directly over the President's Cup, and the crowd below lost its mind.
This is a thing he does now, and he does it on purpose. There is no reason to bring that aircraft down over a golf course except the obvious one: everybody in the gallery looks up, everybody knows exactly who it is, and the roar happens before the motorcade is even on the ground.
Wheels Down in Chicago
The aircraft came down in Chicago shortly after, and from there it was a short run out to Medinah Country Club in the western suburbs. Air Force One on the ground in Illinois is not a routine sight. It is a working aircraft that turns every airport it touches into an event, and it has never once been ordinary.
"The President of the United States, Donald J. Trump"
The welcome at the tee is where the day turned. The chant went up before he was through the ropes, and it did not let go: U.S.A., over and over, from a gallery in a state that has not given its electoral votes to a Republican since 1988.
The introduction came from the PGA Tour itself. "As an owner and operator of golf courses throughout the world, the love and passion that the President has for the game and the support of the game is well known," the official said. "We are appreciative of his support of the PGA Tour. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to welcome the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump."
Sixty Seconds, and He Got the Joke in First
What he did next tells you everything about why the coverage of this man has stopped working.
He walked to the microphone and pre-empted the story before it could be filed. "You know, the fake news media will say I got a very bad reception," he said, to a crowd that was still roaring. "But we get a good reception. We love what we're doing. The country is doing great."
Then he refused to give a speech at all. "Ryan said, could you make a short speech? And I said, no, I don't have the courage to make a speech. These people want to see golf. They don't want to hear speeches."
He spoke for about a minute.
"Better Than Ever Before"
What he did say, he said twice, which is what he does when he wants a line to land. "Our country is doing great, better than ever before. Our country is doing great, better than ever before."
Then he handed the day back to the players. "Now, I want to watch the greatest players in the world go out and play, and play your hearts out. It's going to be a very interesting day of golf. Thank you all, everybody. Thank you. I love you. I love you all."
Then Illinois Started Chanting
A minute of remarks turned into something else. The chant that came up was not U.S.A. this time. It was four more years, over the sound system, with the crowd carrying it. In Illinois. On a Sunday. At a golf tournament.
Nobody organised that. There is no advance team that can manufacture a gallery deciding on its own what it wants to shout.
He Went to the Players
Later he went down to greet the American team personally, which is the part the cameras tend to skip. Not a photo line, not a staged handshake at a rope. He went to them.
And They Would Not Leave Him Alone
For the rest of the afternoon, supporters kept coming. Again and again, approached wherever he moved, in the state whose governor has built a national profile on the certainty that this man is despised.
That is how the day ended. Not with a speech, not with a headline, but with a president in a blue state who could not get twenty feet without somebody else wanting to shake his hand.
Our Take
I want to be precise about what I am claiming, because precision is the only thing that separates us from the people we criticise.
A golf gallery is not a poll. The people who buy tickets to the President's Cup at Medinah are not a random sample of Illinois, and anybody telling you this proves the state is flipping is selling something. It does not prove that.
Here is what it does prove, and it is not nothing.
For ten years the governing assumption of American political coverage has been that this president is an aberration tolerated by a shrinking, angry minority, and that outside the rallies he would be met with silence or worse. That assumption has been the frame around every story, every panel, every chyron. And it keeps colliding with days like this one, in places like this one, and the collision is never reported.
He knew it too. That is why the first words out of his mouth were about how the reception would be described rather than about the reception itself. He has learned to file his own correction before the story runs. A president should not have to do that. The fact that it works, and that the crowd laughed because they knew exactly what he meant, tells you how much credibility has already been spent.
I cover this White House for a living. I was credentialed into a press corps that spent years explaining that this man's support was shallow, regional and fading. Then he flies low over a golf course in Illinois on a Sunday, speaks for sixty seconds, declines to give a speech at all, and a blue-state crowd chants for four more years while he works the ropes until it is time to go. That happened. It is on tape. It was not the story anybody led with.
America First is not a slogan he shouts at people. On days like Sunday it is just what the crowd sounds like when nobody is telling them what to think.
