Beat Sara the Duterte way

I’m not proud of how I handled it.

“Erwin Tulfo: No Malacañang plans.”

I gasped. Sat down. Thought about fainting. Remembered I live alone. Very independent.

I read it once. Twice. Then a third time. Like a breakup text: “You deserve better.”

And, then — boom: If Tulfo really had no plans, like truly, absolutely, you know what he’d say? “No comment.”

That’s it. Next question. Press con over. The buffet is open.

Did he say that? No. He gave reasons: He’s happy in the Senate. Very. Suspiciously happy. “I’m available, but increase the offer,” happy.

“The presidency is more headaches.” So does thinking about it too much. Which he clearly has.

Sir.

When you describe the burdens in that much detail, you’ve tried putting your hand on the Bible in the mirror. You’ve practiced the wave.

Let’s be honest. A lot of people aren’t asking, “Who’s the best?” They ask: “Who can actually beat her?”

Sara’s base thinks it’s a majority when it’s just the loudest minority. In a fractured field, that looks like destiny. Because the Philippines is not a 50-percent country. She only ought to have the rest divided by a Jonvic, a Coco, a Risa or a Bam.

“Sixty-one percent Sara Duterte.” Yes. In 2022. The honeymoon was when two bulldozers were moving in one direction. That was a coalition landslide. Politics is weather: you don’t run against the ghost of 2022. You run against the mood of now.

And the mood of now is tired. Not loud. Tired. The dynasty-fatigued, the bored middle, the “I respect Duterte, but I’m done” demographic.

Tulfo 2022 pulled 23 million senator votes. No presidential daddy carrying him. A nationwide base built only on making the “kabit” pay the P8,000. That matters in a country allergic to entitlement.

Right now, Malacañang gives you the “Sumbong sa Pangulo” hotline. Press 1. Press 2. Wait five business days. You get a ticket.

Tulfo? He doesn’t do “Press 1.” He goes: “Number?” Then he presses call.

The staff of the staff of the Pangulo forwards your complaint to an office; Tulfo forwards it to the person’s face. Live. Speakerphone. “You pay.”

When someone starts ahead in a fragmented field, the burden is on the challengers to consolidate. Run too early without unified backing, he risks splitting the anti-Sara vote rather than absorbing it.

The problem isn’t whether Tulfo can run. The problem is can he consolidate? The smart move? Make them need him more than he needs them: “I’ll run if you unite behind me.”

Right now Tulfo must stay as a maybe. Maybe is terrifying. Maybe freezes donors. Make them afraid to give it to anyone else.

Tulfo declares too early, he spends two years defending things he hasn’t even done yet. He burns money. Absorb hits. He becomes familiar. Safe. Nobody excited.

You only get one presidential first impression. One. That debut has electricity. You walk out, lights hit like 2016 reluctant, last-minute man Rodrigo Duterte who “didn’t even like it in Manila.”

You let the storm get tired of doing what storms do. You let people get sick of the rain. Let them look outside and go, “Are we really doing six more years of this weather?” Then you show up. With a roof. And looking like Malacañang annoyed you enough to leave Davao.