Christian Schneider

Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

On the morning of Barack Obama's historic 2008 presidential victory, disgraced Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich was feeling left out. According to evidence presented in the governor's federal corruption trial, Blagojevich called a staffer that morning to complain about his infinitesimal 13% approval rating. Despite the criminal investigations targeting him, Blagojevich still considered himself the "people's governor," but was angry at voters for holding him in such low regard.

His private message to Illinois citizens? "So f*** all of you."

Typically, such a sentiment makes for a sub-optimal campaign slogan. So Blagojevich turned to someone who he thought could help rehabilitate his image: businessman Donald Trump, who had donated $7,000 to Blagojevich over the previous decade. Trump seemed to sympathize with Blago, calling it a "tragedy" when the corrupt governor was sentenced to 14 years in federal prison in 2011.

In 2010, Trump had agreed to bring Blagojevich on to his television show, The Celebrity Apprentice, giving the former governor a chance to plead his innocence to the nation. "I'm competing because I've been wronged and maliciously accused of things I didn't do," Blago says in the show's first episode. "Governor, you have a hell of a lot of guts," Trump tells him later in the show.

"I have friends where things happen to them, they crawl into a corner, they die. You're out there punching," Trump adds.

Admittedly, now that Trump has risen to be the nation's chief executive, the temptation to compare the two is tantalizing. The personal characteristics they share are evident: inveterate narcissism, hopeless delusion, coarse speaking styles, insatiable tastes for revenge and improbable hair.

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Of course, Trump is not Blago. The president hasn't been convicted of selling off U.S. Senate appointments or holding up funds for hospital construction until he gets sacks of cash in exchange. As detailed in Illinois reporter Natasha Korecki's 2013 book about the Blagojevich trial, one Blago aide testified that the governor tried to block Citibank from getting state business as retaliation for refusing to grant his wife Patti a job.

But while it would be unfair to convict Trump of crimes he hasn't committed, he has continued to take actions that lend themselves to pay-for-play-type skullduggery.

For instance, both men have made a living trying to punish the media for unfavorable coverage. After a series of unfavorable editorials in The Chicago Tribune, Blagojevich allegedly threatened to withhold state funding for a Wrigley Field renovation until a member of the Tribune editorial board was fired (the Tribune owned the Chicago Cubs at the time). Trump famously said he wants to "open up" libel laws to make it easier to sue the media.

But perhaps more concerning is Trump's rapid moves to consolidate power within his own office. Trump ran as someone who unilaterally could make wide-ranging decisions, and his executive actions to date have reflected that — his travel ban from certain Muslim-majority countries, for instance, came as a surprise to legislative leaders and law enforcement alike.

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Yet while few have risen to Blagojevich-level stupidity, his example shows what can happen when too many decisions are consolidated into the hands of too few people. In both cases, these men have surrounded themselves with family members — Blagojevich's brother Rob was initially tried for enabling his criminal enterprise, while Trump is reportedly relying heavily on his children for advice. All while his children ostensibly run Trump's business interests that still span the globe.

Attacking the press, grabbing decision-making power and insulating yourself in a world of self-delusion are all straight out of the corruption playbook. And Trump hasn't displayed a single characteristic that leads anyone to believe he would be immune to the temptations of political payback and favoritism. As Blagojevich once said, making tough decisions is a test of one's "testicular virility" — not hard to imagine who else could have coined such a ribald maxim.

Playing on the unique brand of political corruption found in Illinois' biggest city, Korecki titled her excellent book Only in Chicago. We'll see if that remains the case.

Christian Schneider, a member of USA TODAY's Board of Contributors, is a columnist for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, where this piece first appeared. Follow him on Twitter @schneider_cm

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