The West Bend Current

VIEWPOINT

As the smoke clears in Camp Randall, one thing remains certain. Only one victor may remain. The rest will perish, or worse, fade into obscurity. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 2026 edition of the Wisconsin Governor Hunger Games. 

There is a crowded race to the premiere seat of power in the greatest state in the Midwest. Each candidate wants to win, to rewrite the Badger State in their own image. Eleven candidates. One winner. May the odds be ever in their favor.

Mandela Barnes. Joel Brennan. David Crowley. Francesca Hong. Missy Hughes. Brett Hulsey. Andy Manske. Sara Rodriguez. Zachary Roper. Kelda Roys. Tom Tiffany. A plethora of possibly fictitious Independent candidates. And probably someone from the Green Party. This extended series of generally unmemorable names is out for blood and political gain. Who will win? Only time (and simulated hand-to-hand combat) will tell.

The Cornucopia inside the Madison football stadium holds many a weapon, which I am legally required not to go into detail about. Just know that it is a fearsome lineup. The candidates are assembled in a loose circle inside of numerous clear barrels with the Brewers logo faintly emblazoned on them. Each candidate is wearing a highly effective cheesehead hat to protect from injury. That is the only mercy the participants are allowed in the WGHG.

A booming countdown reverberates from the sky. As the numbers drop down, the candidates prepare for battle. Mandela Barnes smiles, ready to charm his opposition. Andy Manske looks confused, probably trying to remember who he is or what issues he supports. Sara Rodriguez smears culturally-appropriate war paint over her face, which she had already apparently kept in her pocket for such an occasion. The instant the count hits zero, the barrels drop, releasing the candidates into the arena.

Chaos ensues. Brett Hulsey and Zachary Roper immediately sprint into the forest which has been planted into the Camp Randall Astroturf for the Games. Tom Tiffany nabs a traditional Potawatomi bow and quiver, wrestling Joel Brennan for his prize. His doughy hand collides with Brennan’s skull, penetrating his cheese hat. Brennan collapses instantly. The theme song to “Happy Days” plays, which is the official WGHG signal for an elimination. The first blood has been drawn. 

Clumps of weaponry dot the 50-yard line, among them a dead five-foot long muskie, a rope made of conjoined bratwurst, a blow gun shooting poisoned cranberries, a bust of Vince Lombardi and a live dairy cow. David Crowley and Mandela Barnes grapple for any available weapon. Eager to keep peace, however, they shake hands and clap each other on the back. They both smile widely, temporarily blinding their competitors with the combined wattage of their teeth. The two men stride off together into the forest, each clutching a Heisman trophy. Andy Manske decides to play dead, in a vain attempt to emulate his political career. Tragically, he forgets to keep breathing, suffocating in an open field. “Happy Days” blasts through Camp Randall.

Francesca Hong grabs the blowpipe and vanishes into the forest, unseen. Sara Rodriguez pursues Crowley and Barnes into the forest, probably to pursue diplomacy. There’s nothing the Democratic Party loves more than making concessions to their enemies. Missy Hughes grabs the sausage chain and bolts in the opposite direction. Kelda Roys chooses to hide in the Cornucopia, which is just a loose formation of brown wooden picnic tables. She takes shelter under one of the benches. Roys prays that nobody notices her. They probably won’t.

Time passes. Tom Tiffany has decided to hide under a pile of unread Journal Sentinels. The strategy is unusually subdued for him. Given that his main claim to fame is driving loudly in a garish sports car during Rhinelander Fourth of July parades, he isn’t known for restraint. Necessity and the rise of gas prices must have stifled his bellows for the time being. 

Missy Hughes moves from the badger den in the woods where she was previously hiding, where she can hear forced laughter. It must be the Democrats. She follows the noise cautiously, muttering a string of vague economic buzzwords to herself. 

Out in the forest, the remaining Democratic candidates band together in what appears to be an alliance, which is based on their main campaign platform: please don’t let Tom Tiffany win. They shake hands and grin wolfishly, each of them sizing the next up for potential weaknesses. Barnes, Crowley, Hulsey, Rodriguez and Hughes remain cautious, both of their radical peer Hong and their archnemesis Tiffany. There isn’t enough difference between these candidates to distinguish separate survival strategies, so their plans remain a mystery to the onlookers.

Kelda Roys spots Tom Tiffany in his clever pile of obsolete newspapers. They make eye contact and Tiffany raises his bow. Before he can fire, Roys sprints away like a rabbit into the wooded shelter, joining the Dems. After she leaves his sight, Tom Tiffany immediately forgets who he was pursuing and focuses on a gaggle of turkeys on the other side of the clearing. So it goes.

Meanwhile, the Democratic Caucus has crafted an effigy of Scott Walker out of birch bark and hot air. They circle it, chanting, “Remember how much you hated him? You don’t want Act 10 again, right? Please vote for one of us!” Eventually, they begin to kick the stuffing out of the puppet in a modern example of collective bargaining. Brett Hulsey slips on a strip of bark and falls, breaking his neck. Everyone kind of steps over his twitching frame as “Happy Days” plays again. After the mini-Scott is scattered to the winds, the Dems take a moment to catch their breath. 

David Crowley recovers the quickest. “Guys! If you vote for me and a string of other Democrats for the state senate, then we can pass all of the bills! Who else hates the cost of living, am I right?” Crowley holds his ear to the empty stadium, Mickey Mouse-style.

Sara Rodriguez chimes in. “Yeah! As lieutenant governor, I’ve pretended to have control over any of the issues that you face. Unfortunately, thanks to a little something called gerrymandering, the rigged state legislature refuses to pass any bill conducive to the state of Wisconsin.”

Mandela Barnes adds his two cents. “But we can totally change that! Everything that we say will absolutely 100 percent come true. If you guys all vote blue. And not red. Our state’s problems will at last be solved! Remember Obama? And 2008? We do too!”

The candidates, busy blustering, fail to notice Francesca Hong perched stealthily in a sugar maple tree. She scopes out her target. After briefly confusing Missy Hughes’ hairstyle with a deceased possum, she makes her shot with her toxic cranberry blow pipe.

Thwip! Hughes crumples to the ground. The other candidates scream in terror and shock. Barnes looks around for threats, but the assassin is already gone, noiselessly creeping through the treetops. “Eat the rich,” mutters Francesca Hong as the “Happy Days” theme song echoes through the woods.

Tom Tiffany sneaks through the clearing with branches on his face, evidently trying to pass as a bush. He chases down a large badger, nocking an arrow as she grazes peacefully. 

At this point, the Democratic caucus has elected to reach across the aisle and focus on the absurd cost of living as the real enemy. The plan is now to team up with their rivals. Spotting Tom Tiffany, now cleverly disguised as a dairy cow, David Crowley extends his hand to shake, a metaphorical olive branch toward the opposite party. Crowley slashes a megawatt smile. See? We have lots in common.

Tom Tiffany would prefer to work within his own party. He commandeers Crowley’s arm and clobbers him with it. Bipartisan turns into bisecting in the blink of an eye. The “Happy Days” theme plays before Badgercare can cover Crowley’s losses. The Democrats scatter.

About an hour later, a disheveled Zachary Roper stumbles out of the forest. Presumably he only survived this long because everyone forgot he was in the race. Roper wanders aimlessly into a clearing of ginseng plants. Almost instantaneously, a hodag slams into him and bites his face. The theme song to “Happy Days” plays once more. Roper? We hardly knew her.

Mandela Barnes, witnessing the savage attack on Roper, creeps through the brush. He sneaks up on the hodag, clearly intending to bludgeon it with his Ron Dayne Heisman trophy. The green beast whips around, roaring fiercely. Saliva drips onto Barnes’ face. He finds it almost as repulsive as the filibuster. Barnes musters up some courage and strength and smacks the hodag in the face with his trophy. The green creature blinks, stunned, then grabs Mandela Barnes and shakes him around in its jaws. Barnes screams for help, but his Democratic allies are hiding from conflict yet again. They’re complacent with their brightest star being swallowed whole as long as it means they don’t have to intervene.

After a minute or so of being dragged around by the hodag, Mandela Barnes shakes himself loose from its maw. He lands on the turf with a thud. Quickly, he jumps to his feet. “Am I the only one with the guts to take this guy on?” There is no response. Barnes is not surprised. He shakes himself off then rushes at the beast once more. His Heisman collides with the yellow eye of the hodag. There is a sickening squelch then an ungodly shriek as the creature turns tail and vanishes into the woods. Barnes catches his breath, satisfied. Surely there will be no more danger, right?

Wrong. Tom Tiffany’s head pokes out of the field, where he was hiding in a clump of trees and wood violets. Seizing his opportunity, he tackles his weakened opponent. Mandela Barnes’ face smushes into the turf, mirroring the way his campaign was astroturfed by the Democratic establishment. Tiffany dances a polka on top of him for an uncomfortable length of time, singing “Jump Around” by House of Pain in a key previously unknown to human ears. Oh, the humanity! For Barnes, this is a greater humiliation than his last Senate election! After a few more crushing hops upon Barnes’ spine (previously thought missing), the “Happy Days” theme plays again, twice in a row, with a somber mood taking the arena by quiet storm. Barnes’ charisma will be missed. His lack of concrete policy on a span of issues, however, will not.

Tom Tiffany, panting from exertion, turns his sights elsewhere. He knows there are a few liberals left and the thought drives him insane. He considers calling ICE to expunge them, but realizes he doesn’t have a phone. Still, nothing scares him more than being trapped in a room with at least one person who can accurately define socialism. He peers across the arena for any signs when suddenly the “Happy Days” theme reverberates through his bones. Tiffany ignores it and focuses on possible threats. Tiffany isn’t much for critical thinking, but he sure knows how to shoot. He strains his ears. Out of nowhere, a small cry of “protect small businesses” emerges from a small foxhole. Who could it be?

Tom Tiffany stalks over to the small hole, where Sara Rodriguez and Kelda Roys are curled up. He gets ready to stomp on them, but neither one appears to be breathing. He squints, noticing burgundy stains on their throats. What happened to them? And where did the noise come from? Tiffany wheels around only to see a petite yet menacing figure. Her ebony hair blows in the breeze. She holds a mysterious pipe to her face and blows.

Tiffany braces for impact. A ripe cranberry splashes into his face. Tom Tiffany is baffled. His body, subsisting solely on McDonald’s, lead paint and liberal tears, hasn’t been taught to handle fruit. He twitches and spasms, then collapses to the ground in a fit. He seizes for a while more before going still. “Happy Days” plays for the final time. Francesca Hong stands victorious over her fallen party members and political rivals. 

Francesca Hong roared up like a dark horse. She came out of nowhere with strong convictions and a winning strategy. Nobody expected her victory. But here she stands, armed with just a blowpipe and berries, the winner of the Wisconsin Governor Hunger Games.

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