You could hear a pin drop in Milwaukee on Thursday night as Donald Trump got straight to the point:
‘I will tell you exactly what happened, and you’ll never hear it from me a second time, because it’s actually too painful to tell.’
I stood in a circus of red, white and blue-painted faces, bedazzled MAGA jackets and baseball caps just 20 rows back from the Republican National Convention stage.
The Oregon delegation was on my left, Puerto Rico on my right. Across the floor the Wisconsin Cheeseheads were wearing their glorious orange headgear.
The Texans proudly pumping in their ivory Stetsons to the live band. The Arizonans were decked out in white ear bandages, some customized with Star Spangled-flair.
Behind me sat Trump’s family in their private box.
I could make out the profile of red-hot Melania, freshly flown in on private jet. She’d just sucked the oxygen out of the arena, striding in like a WWE Diva to the quivering strings of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, before a hard-cut to…