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The Minnesota governor’s race is shaping up, and it looks less like a clash of titans and more like a Timberwolves preseason roster from 2007: a lot of names, very little chance of a playoff run.
Tim Walz, the incumbent, is still hanging around like a starting pitcher who refuses to leave the mound after 110 pitches. Two terms in, a failed national cameo as a VP candidate, and now talk of a third run. Voters don’t exactly cheer when he takes the field, but they don’t boo him out of the park either. He’s the Twins of politics: never dazzling, rarely collapsing, just good enough to win the Central and lose in the first round.
Across the line, the Republicans are icing a lineup of misfits that scream “Wild expansion year.” Let’s run them down.
Scott Jensen: He’s back, because apparently losing by eight points in 2022 wasn’t discouraging enough. Jensen is the Timberwolves in the Kevin Love years — decent box scores, no postseason relevance. Nice guy, but when Walz rolled him in a cycle that should’ve been winnable, the doctor’s political career flatlined. You don’t get a rematch after that kind of blowout, unless you’re the Vikings in the NFC Championship Game.
Kendall Qualls: Polished, corporate, and a great story. He’s the Gophers football program — every August, somebody swears this is the year they break through. Then the Badgers roll into town and reality sets in. Qualls will raise money, smile on TV, and lose Hennepin County by 200,000 votes before halftime.
Kristin Robbins: The rookie from Maple Grove, banging the drum about fraud and Walz blowing through an $18 billion surplus. She’s the Wild’s annual hotshot rookie winger: looks promising in October, invisible by April. Maybe she grows into a contender, but statewide voters don’t hand out the Calder Trophy. They hand you a bus ticket home if you’re not ready.
Pete Stauber: The Iron Range congressman with the hockey hair and cop credentials. On paper, he’s the one Republican who could lace up and make this a series. But Stauber says he’s not interested, which makes him the Larry Fitzgerald of Minnesota politics — beloved, capable, and smart enough not to waste his prime years on a hopeless franchise. He knows running statewide as a Trump Republican in Minnesota is like skating into Braemar Arena wearing a Packers jersey. The boos drown out the anthem.
And that’s the rub: Donald J. Trump. The GOP’s oxygen tank in a primary becomes a cement block in a general election. In Crow Wing County, a Trump endorsement is a free beer. In Woodbury, it’s poison ivy. Republicans need suburban swing voters in Dakota, Washington, and Anoka to get over 50 percent. Those voters hear “Trump” and sprint for the DFL ballot line like Gopher hockey fans sprint for the beer line.
Meanwhile, Walz isn’t beloved, but he’s entrenched. He doesn’t need to win hearts, just precincts. Hennepin and Ramsey are his Metrodome — guaranteed home field advantage. He could spot Republicans 200,000 votes up north and still win comfortably once the metro scoreboard lights up. For every lawn sign in Otter Tail County, there are five ballots in south Minneapolis. That’s the math. That’s the ballgame.
So what are we left with? A governor nobody loves but nobody can topple, against a Republican bench that looks like the Twins’ middle relief corps. Jensen is the blown save, Qualls is the preseason hype, Robbins is the protected rookie, and Stauber is the guy smart enough to stay in the dugout.
Unless some mystery candidate skates in from nowhere, the 2026 governor’s race already feels like another Vikings season: plenty of July bravado, plenty of September tailgates, and another November finish that ends with Minnesotans muttering the same four words they’ve been saying since the Met Stadium days — maybe next year, again.
