Chris Dudley Makes Stunning Comeback — Will He Shatter Oregon’s Blue Wall?

Paul Riverbank, 1/27/2026Ex-Blazer Chris Dudley makes a bold gubernatorial comeback—can he finally break Oregon’s blue streak?

Portlanders of a certain age recall the 2010 race. It was close—razor-thin margins, polls that fluctuated right up to the finish line. Dudley, then a relative newcomer, pushed John Kitzhaber hard, losing 49.3 to 47.8 percent. That near-miss still echoes. Since then, no Republican has come as close.

But math isn’t the only hurdle. Oregon hasn’t elected a Republican governor since 1982, and the state has edged steadily blue. The registration gap now sits at about eight points in favor of Democrats. Gov. Tina Kotek, who remains below 50% in most approval polls, stands as a resilient—if not overwhelming—favorite in November.

Yet, as Dudley outlined in his campaign kickoff surrounded by the Central Oregon high desert, he isn’t dwelling on history. “I love Oregon, and even though we have some serious problems, there are solutions and I believe our best days are ahead of us,” he insisted, his tone earnest. Moments later, he pivoted straight to the issues: the cost of living that’s squeezing families, classrooms that haven’t kept pace, neighborhoods troubled by rising crime.

Ever the outsider, Dudley is banking on a message that casts “Salem politics” as the problem. “The empty promises, the name calling, the finger pointing and fear mongering that has solved nothing must stop,” he told supporters, adding that it takes someone “removed from the partisan grind” to shake things loose. He doesn’t mention the near-win of 2010 much—not out of avoidance, but because Oregonians, he claims, crave forward motion rather than nostalgia.

He’s not short on material for that pitch. Dudley traded his NBA salary for a life in finance and nonprofit work—most notably, founding a charity for children with Type 1 diabetes, a fight that’s personal. These days he calls the small town of Sisters home, logging hours zigzagging across the state. He notes the realities facing Oregonians—the lengthening waits at pharmacies, families stretching paychecks, and students wrestling with pandemic learning gaps.

On the primary stage, name recognition is handy, but this is a crowded field—14 candidates and counting. State Senator Christine Drazan is back for another try, freshly flush with fundraising muscle ($1.3 million raised), with Marion County Commissioner Danielle Bethell and Rep. Ed Diehl also working their own corners of the electorate. It’s early yet, and Dudley hasn’t matched their campaign coffers. “Strongly encouraged to jump in by everybody I talked to,” he remarks, sidestepping specifics about donors (whether old backers like Nike’s Phil Knight might reappear, for instance, is anybody’s guess for now).

And about his platform? The details are, admittedly, thin at this stage. Dudley promises a focus on three pillars: better schools, improved public safety, and affordability. But for now, the campaign is built more on connection than policy minutiae. There’s an undercurrent of challenge, too—he chides politicians for prolonged gridlock, inviting, instead, “someone with the expertise and background to bring people together.”

Of course, outsider narratives have seen a few test cases in Oregon. Voters, from time to time, flirt with political wild cards; skepticism of entrenched insiders isn’t universal, but it isn’t rare either. What Dudley offers now is less flash than earnest conviction, and a hope that old loyalties—from the basketball court or otherwise—combine with new realities to change the story.

Between now and the May 19 primary, the question is less “can he compete?” than “will Oregonians buy what Dudley’s selling this time?” His path is steep, the electoral math daunting, but so far, Dudley is betting that the state’s hunger for something—someone—different may be enough. And, as history occasionally reminds us, the underdog role sometimes suits Oregonians just fine.

It’s not every day a former NBA center walks into the political fray, but here’s Chris Dudley—whom Trail Blazers fans still remember for his grit in the paint—lacing up for a different sort of contest. After more than a decade away from campaign trails, Dudley is once again seeking the Oregon governor’s seat. He joins a long roster of Republicans eyeing the same prize, and, perhaps, hopes the second shot lands closer than the first.Portlanders of a certain age recall the 2010 race. It was close—razor-thin margins, polls that fluctuated right up to the finish line. Dudley, then a relative newcomer, pushed John Kitzhaber hard, losing 49.3 to 47.8 percent. That near-miss still echoes. Since then, no Republican has come as close.But math isn’t the only hurdle. Oregon hasn’t elected a Republican governor since 1982, and the state has edged steadily blue. The registration gap now sits at about eight points in favor of Democrats. Gov. Tina Kotek, who remains below 50% in most approval polls, stands as a resilient—if not overwhelming—favorite in November.Yet, as Dudley outlined in his campaign kickoff surrounded by the Central Oregon high desert, he isn’t dwelling on history. “I love Oregon, and even though we have some serious problems, there are solutions and I believe our best days are ahead of us,” he insisted, his tone earnest. Moments later, he pivoted straight to the issues: the cost of living that’s squeezing families, classrooms that haven’t kept pace, neighborhoods troubled by rising crime.Ever the outsider, Dudley is banking on a message that casts “Salem politics” as the problem. “The empty promises, the name calling, the finger pointing and fear mongering that has solved nothing must stop,” he told supporters, adding that it takes someone “removed from the partisan grind” to shake things loose. He doesn’t mention the near-win of 2010 much—not out of avoidance, but because Oregonians, he claims, crave forward motion rather than nostalgia.He’s not short on material for that pitch. Dudley traded his NBA salary for a life in finance and nonprofit work—most notably, founding a charity for children with Type 1 diabetes, a fight that’s personal. These days he calls the small town of Sisters home, logging hours zigzagging across the state. He notes the realities facing Oregonians—the lengthening waits at pharmacies, families stretching paychecks, and students wrestling with pandemic learning gaps.On the primary stage, name recognition is handy, but this is a crowded field—14 candidates and counting. State Senator Christine Drazan is back for another try, freshly flush with fundraising muscle ($1.3 million raised), with Marion County Commissioner Danielle Bethell and Rep. Ed Diehl also working their own corners of the electorate. It’s early yet, and Dudley hasn’t matched their campaign coffers. “Strongly encouraged to jump in by everybody I talked to,” he remarks, sidestepping specifics about donors (whether old backers like Nike’s Phil Knight might reappear, for instance, is anybody’s guess for now).And about his platform? The details are, admittedly, thin at this stage. Dudley promises a focus on three pillars: better schools, improved public safety, and affordability. But for now, the campaign is built more on connection than policy minutiae. There’s an undercurrent of challenge, too—he chides politicians for prolonged gridlock, inviting, instead, “someone with the expertise and background to bring people together.”Of course, outsider narratives have seen a few test cases in Oregon. Voters, from time to time, flirt with political wild cards; skepticism of entrenched insiders isn’t universal, but it isn’t rare either. What Dudley offers now is less flash than earnest conviction, and a hope that old loyalties—from the basketball court or otherwise—combine with new realities to change the story.Between now and the May 19 primary, the question is less “can he compete?” than “will Oregonians buy what Dudley’s selling this time?” His path is steep, the electoral math daunting, but so far, Dudley is betting that the state’s hunger for something—someone—different may be enough. And, as history occasionally reminds us, the underdog role sometimes suits Oregonians just fine.