To cleanse the palate. Don’t ask me why this guy wants to do sports radio. He’s a Cowboys fan auditioning on a station that serves the New York/New Jersey market. Maybe, as a Republican in a blue state with an approval rating in the mid-teens, he’s not comfortable anymore unless he’s pissing off everyone around him.

Granted, insofar as scorn is the engine of compelling talk radio he’s a natural, both in giving and receiving. But does he have the sports chops to engage intelligently with diehards for hours a day? Half the callers will know more than he does, the other half will want to troll him about politics, Bridgegate, or his diet. Who would want that job?

Maybe he has no choice. Maybe, after the beach fiasco, he’s otherwise unemployable in the private sector. The man’s got to do something to make a buck while he’s waiting for that White House chief of staff/butler job to open up.

The worst thing the caller says here, by the way, isn’t the jab at his weight, it’s when he asks Christie, “What have you done?” Christie should have been honest: “I’m the guy who spared you from a Marco Rubio presidency.” We are forever in his debt.