I usually spike the emailed job suggestions from LinkedIn, along with everything else it sends, but this one was different: “You may be a fit,” the email advised, “for Tennessee General Assembly’s deputy press secretary.”

I had to chuckle. In the column-writing business, this is what’s known as a gift from above. Proof of divine guidance from a just and merciful God, intent on bestowing blessings on his faithful follower Joe. A slam-dunk topic. A gimme.

Because there could hardly be a worse fit for that job than me.

In case you aren’t familiar with LinkedIn, it’s an online networking site for people who want to advance their careers. It’s sort of an online resume, in which members list their work history and job skills and hope to connect with others who might be of help. I joined years ago as a way to publicize my column, but have seldom bothered to post it. I probably should quit. After all, I’m retired and not looking to change that status.

On the other hand, it doesn’t cost anything, and you never know, right? Maybe someday, something will click. Say, a beer company looking for a remote, part-time taste-tester.

Deputy press secretary doesn’t have nearly that same appeal. But the possibility did speak to the part of my brain that likes to speculate on laughably implausible situations. Under duties and responsibilities, the job listing included this:

“Assists the press secretary in the preparation of a variety of written materials including press releases and speeches for members of the Republican Caucus and the Republican leader.”

I could absolutely do that, in theory. Writing – either doing my own or editing that of others – put food on the Rogers table for more than 40 years. Not once in that time was I confronted with a situation beyond my ability to address.

Examples:

• I have covered the Miss America Pageant. Twice.

• I have provided what I hoped was an engaging account of a catfish-eating contest, with tips on how to succeed. (Wash it down with a YooHoo chocolate drink.)

• I have mined the annual doings during Elvis Death Week commemorations in Memphis for lighthearted tidbits. I have undertaken laborious investigations to determine who serves the coldest beer in town.

But I think there would be a problem for me as General Assembly deputy press secretary, and it wouldn’t take long for it to become apparent.

Take a current situation involving the legislature, in which the speaker of the House, Cameron Sexton, is floating the idea of having the state reject federal money for education. Both Gov. Bill Lee and Lt. Gov. Randy McNally have signed on in support.

Sexton’s justification, expressed in a statement issued, is simple: “Any time the federal government sends money, there are always strings attached to those dollars, and there is always a possibility that it opens the state up to other regulations or restrictions.”

Comments he made in May to a Chattanooga group were more revealing as to his motivation: “We would have total control of what we teach in the schools.”

I think we have a pretty good idea what legislators do and don’t want taught in Tennessee schools.

As deputy press secretary, I might well be tasked with writing a release presenting Sexton’s proposal as a legitimate policy option for the state. And there would come the rub: It’s not. And it’s disingenuous for the leaders of a state that relies on federal money to make up one-third of its budget to pretend that we can do fine without the feds, thank you very much.

The money in question in this instance is something like $1.8 billion, which, as The Tennessean reports, funds “federal programs which support low-income students, students with disabilities, and school lunch programs.”

Is it realistic to believe that the state will maintain that level of support or anything approaching it, year after year, for the at-risk students who rely on such programs? I think not.

Could I in good conscience write press releases suggesting otherwise? No.

So I content myself with chuckling at the LinkedIn job lead and await the chance to continue to point out legislative folly on this and other topics. It’s a never-ending source of column material, the General Assembly. Almost divine, even.

Joe Rogers is a former writer for The Tennessean and editor for The New York Times. He is retired and living in Nashville.