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In this task, you are given a text of many news articles seperated by special token "|||||". Your task is to summarize them.

Gov. Chris Christie acquitted himself well in his "Bridgegate" news conference, and emerged undead. He said he had "no knowledge or involvement" in the apparent scheme by his political operatives to take revenge on a New Jersey mayor who refused to back him in the 2013 election. He had "no involvement," in the four-day-long traffic jams they arranged on the George Washington Bridge. Learning of it left him feeling "blindsided," "embarrassed," "humiliated" and "stunned by the abject stupidity that was shown here." He claimed personal responsibility,... ||||| Things we learned about Chris Christie during his 108-minute apologia: 
  
 “I’m a very loyal guy.” 
  
 Dana Milbank writes about political theater in the nation’s capital. He joined the Post as a political reporter in 2000. View Archive 
  
 “I am not a focus-group-tested, blow-dried candidate.” 
  
 “I’ve worked for the last 12 years in public life developing a reputation for honesty.” 
  
 “I’ve engendered the sense and feeling among the people closest to me that we’re a family.” 
  
 “I’m a person who cares deeply about doing my job well.” 
  
 “I’m incredibly loyal to my people.” 
  
 “I was the class president and athlete.” 
  
 And this was all in the process of saying what he had done wrong in the George Washington Bridge fiasco that threatens to upend his presidential hopes. Christie apologized profusely — but not for anything he did. “I’m telling you: I had nothing to do with this,” he pleaded. Instead, he blamed bad people who lied to him, taking advantage of his trusting and honorable nature. 
  
 Even in disgrace, the New Jersey governor — and the nominal front-runner for the 2016 GOP nomination — managed to turn his nationally televised news conference into a forum on the virtues of his favorite subject: himself. 
  
 Use of the word “I”: 692 times. 
  
 I’m: 119. 
  
 I’ve: 67. 
  
 Me: 83. 
  
 My/myself: 134. 
  
 When Christie delivered the keynote address at the 2012 nomination, the criticism was that he spoke more of himself than of the nominee, Mitt Romney. Now we see that even in adversity, Christie regards himself as the hero. 
  
 This tendency is what is likeliest to doom Christie’s presidential hopes — more than the details of “Bridge-gate” or the question of whether he is a bully. Christie’s greatest obstacles are his own self-regard and his blindness to the possibility that he might have erred. 
  
 Narcissism is the dominant theme in American politics today, and the man Christie would succeed in the Oval Office appears to suffer from an acute sense of his own righteousness. But Christie takes worship of self to a whole new level. 
  
 The governor said he fired Bridget Anne Kelly, the aide at the center of the scandal, “because she lied to me” — not because she ordered up a traffic jam that ensnarled thousands to exact retribution on a political foe. 
  
 Christie spoke of the scandal in terms of what it meant — to him: “I am a very sad person today. . . . I probably will get angry at some point, but I got to tell you the truth. I’m sad. I’m a sad guy standing here today.” 
  
 Christie accepted responsibility, but only in the technical sense: “I have 65,000 people working for me every day. And I cannot know what each one of them is doing at every minute. But that doesn’t matter; I’m ultimately responsible for what they do.” 
  
 Christie invoked the Nixonian “mistakes were made” formulation, but they were not made by him. “There’s no way that anybody would think that I know about everything that’s going on, not only in every agency of government at all times, but also every independent authority,” he reasoned. 
  
 The excuses flowed as if in their own HOV lane. “I was blindsided yesterday morning. . . . That was the first time I knew about this. . . . I had no knowledge or involvement in this issue, in its planning, or its execution. . . . I was told this was a traffic study. . . . Why would I believe that anybody would not be telling the truth? . . . I delegate enormous authority to my staff. . . . Mayor Sokolich was never on my radar screen. . . . I wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a lineup. . . . Sometimes, despite the best background checks, you know, despite the best interviews, despite your best instincts, sometimes people are a mistake hire. . . . I probably wouldn’t know a traffic study if I tripped over it.” 
  
 Christie went so far as to disown the friend he appointed to the Port Authority: “David and I were not friends in high school. We were not even acquaintances in high school.” 
  
 The closest Christie came to self-awareness was when he told CNN’s John King that he asked himself “what did I do wrong to have these folks think it was okay to lie to me?” 
  
 The answer: not much, if anything. 
  
 “I think the history of this administration shows that we have hired outstanding people with great ethical standards who have done their jobs extraordinarily well,” Christie said, and, “I claimed to have the best government I could possibly make,” and, “I’m just trying to be a safe and careful steward of the public trust.” 
  
 This certainty of his own infallibility will be more of an impediment to Christie than any lane closures in Fort Lee. 
  
 Twitter: @Milbank 
  
 Read more from Dana Milbank’s archive, follow him on Twitter or subscribe to his updates on Facebook. ||||| He was, he said, heartbroken. Embarrassed. Sad. Disappointed. Humiliated. 
  
 By the end of an extraordinary and exhaustive 107-minute news conference, Chris Christie had transformed himself from a belligerent chief executive, famed for ridiculing his detractors, into a deeply wronged father figure, shaking his head, whispering his words and verging on tears. 
  
 The bravado had vanished. The certitude was gone. 
  
 In its place was an entirely new vocabulary of self-doubt and a once unthinkable spectacle: Governor Christie acknowledging a “crisis in confidence,” sleepless nights, second-guessing and nonstop soul-searching. 
  
 Political apologies generally follow a robotic sequence. The public figure caught doing wrong offers a terse, often grudging, sometimes distant and always uncomfortable expression of remorse. 
  
 But Mr. Christie is not every other politician. He said “sorry” the Christie way: excessively, vaingloriously, in large, vivid and personal terms. At times, he divulged oddly intimate details and reactions — the 8 a.m. home workout session after which he discovered the “heartbreaking” news of his aide’s misconduct, and his late-night chats with his wife about the episode. 
  
 He seemed to want to talk the scandal away, droning on for so long at the State House that reporters started repeating their inquiries, even asking for his response to a news story that had popped up as he was talking. 
  
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 “What was on display,” said Mike Murphy, a longtime Republican consultant who has advised former Gov. Mitt Romney, “were all the strengths of Chris Christie and all of the weaknesses.” 
  
 “He just does not come in small doses,” Mr. Murphy said. 
  
 Mr. Christie may have fielded every query tossed his way on Thursday (more than 90), but there remained scores of unanswered questions about his involvement in the imbroglio, which his forceful performance did little to satisfy. 
  
 Even as they marveled at his stamina, Republican leaders privately worried that Mr. Christie was cementing a reputation for the most unwelcome quality in the world of political professionals: unpredictability. 
  
 There were moments when the straight-talking governor seemed to slip into self-denial. Despite the absence of any concrete evidence, he suggested that perhaps there really had been a traffic study in progress when an aide in his office, working with a Christie appointee, closed lanes and paralyzed traffic in Fort Lee, N.J. 
  
 Mostly, he kept apologizing. Twenty times, in all. To the people of New Jersey. To the mayor of Fort Lee. To members of the State Legislature. Even to the news media. He kept finding new ways to flagellate himself, ticking off his “mistakes,” owning up to his “failure” and repeatedly declaring, “I was wrong.” 
  
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 He seemed to lean on the lectern more than usual, holding himself steady and repeatedly fidgeting with his suit jacket. 
  
 His normally voluble and prosecutorial manner, the very attribute that has catapulted him onto the national political stage, was replaced by a newly contemplative and somber tone. 
  
 But this version of Chris Christie — the chastened, penitent public official — was hard to keep up, and he occasionally lapsed into a familiar pique. 
  
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 When out-of-town reporters began to shout questions at him, disrupting his system of calling on journalists, the governor shot them a chilly stare. “Guys,” he said, “we don’t work that way.” 
  
 And his temper flared when he denounced, in harsh and scolding terms, the senior staff member who sent the email proposing “some traffic problems in Fort Lee” and who, he said, later misled him about her role. 
  
 “I am stunned by the abject stupidity that was shown here,” Mr. Christie said, making clear that he could no longer stand to be in the same room with the now-fired aide, Bridget Anne Kelly. “She was not given the opportunity to explain to me why she lied because it was so obvious that she had,” he said. 
  
 That candor won him praise from unexpected quarters. David Axelrod, President Obama’s longtime adviser, said that, at least during his televised appearance, Mr. Christie “came across as candid, regretful and accountable.” 
  
 The all but unending news conference seemed to offer Mr. Christie a cathartic public therapy session that was at once confessional and clinically detailed. 
  
 He expounded, professorially, on the nature of truth and the difficulty of detecting deceit. 
  
 “If you ask for something and someone deceives you and tells you it doesn’t exist, what’s the follow-up?” he asked. “Were you involved in any way? No. Any knowledge? No. Well, after that, what do you do?” 
  
 And he sought to clear up what he said were (at least to him) mystifying misimpressions about his temperament, mocking the idea that he becomes a “lunatic when he’s mad about something.” 
  
 “It is the rare moment,” he said, “when I raise my voice.” 
  
 Near the end of his question-and-answer session, a governor ever in touch with his emotional side acknowledged that he was still grappling with his own layered reactions to the controversy. 
  
 “I don’t know what the stages of grief are in exact order,” he said, “but I know anger gets there at some point. I’m sure I’ll have that, too.” |||||
Output:
With his back to the wall yesterday, Chris Christie delivered "a forum on the virtues of his favorite subject: himself," observes Dana Milbank at the Washington Post. In this "apology," the governor talked about how "incredibly loyal" he is, his "reputation for honesty" and more. He used the word "I," by Milbank's count, 692 times. He said he fired Bridget Anne Kelly "because she lied to me," not, say, because she inconvenienced thousands of people. "Even in adversity, Christie regards himself as the hero," Milbank writes. This narcissism "is what is likeliest to doom Christie's presidential hopes—more than the details of 'Bridge-gate.'" Other takes on the apology: Michael Barbaro at the New York Times, on the other hand, saw Christie exhibit "an entirely new vocabulary of self-doubt." Whereas other politicians would apologize robotically, Christie did it his way: "excessively, vaingloriously, in large, vivid, and personal terms." In the same article, former Romney adviser Mike Murphy remarks that the nearly two-hour event showed "all of the strengths of Chris Christie and all of the weaknesses. He just does not come in small doses." The New Jersey Star-Ledger's editors, meanwhile, complain that some of Christie's professions of ignorance "stretch the bounds of belief." Did he really make no inquiries when staff emails were subpoenaed? "Did he prefer to read about it all in the papers?" Peggy Noonan at the Wall Street Journal thought Christie "acquitted himself well … and emerged undead." She, too, thought "there was a lot of 'I' and 'me' even for a modern politician," but ultimately he'll be fine if everything he said proves unimpeachable. Otherwise? "He'll be finished as a national figure."