You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
A boxing match that lasts 19 years.
Imagine climbing in the ring with a worthy adversary, an opponent you know you can beat, and then losing.
Imagine throwing punch after punch, landing body blows, knocking your opponent down, but in the end you always lose.
Imagine a bout that lasts forever, for 19 years.
Imagine always losing, always pulling yourself up off the canvas.
Imagine bleeding and staggering and fighting that good fight and never winning.
EVER.
You would want to check the judge’s score card wouldn’t you?
This fight has to be rigged, right?
It’s called fighting the good fight. It’s called getting in the ring and going for the knockout. Imagine fighting that fruitless fight over and over and over, relentlessly, with spirit, with hope, only to lose.
You knew you would lose. Your opponent knew you would lose. The crowd knew you would lose.
It’s like purgatory only with a spit bucket.
Many times you wonder, why am I fighting at all?
But there you are anyway, in the ring, absorbing body blows, giving body blows. Fighting the good fight.
Why are you there? Maybe you should quit.
And then guess what.
You connect with a hay maker from outer space.
Your glove, kissed by the Gods, lands firmly on the chin of your adversary and he sees stars.
His brain goes soft, his thoughts dim, and he falls to the canvas in a bloody, slow motion heap.
You stand over your opponent not sure how to react.
A beam of celestial light bathes you in a warmth you have never known.
You’ve never stood here. You don’t know what it looks like to be on your feet at the end of the round.
You are a pugilistic baby being born for the 1st time.
Normally you are the loser, spitting up a bloody mouth piece. Usually someone’s patting you on the back, throwing you a towel, telling you “better luck next time.”
But guess what?
After 19 years, next time is today.
That’s right.
Today, for the 1st time in 19 years. I am the winner.
Sweeps is over. We are #2.
My TV station does good work. We tell good stories. We break important news.
But for the history of this TV station we have been a dog, a loser, a news bottom feeder.
Maybe it was network lead ins that were the problem. Maybe it was signal strength I was told. Maybe we just weren’t as good as the other guys.
3rd place out of 3 stations. Year in. Year out.
That’s Last place any way you slice it.
After a while, after 19 years, last feels bad. Last feels like an old coat with gaping holes and the winter wind is relentless.
We always tried hard. We planned and fought and engaged. Sometimes we landed huge punches, but we never won.
Today we won.
Well, let me qualify.
Out of 3 stations, today we took 2nd.
That’s like finally walking to the lobby from the parking garage. It ain’t the penthouse, but the lobby sure as hell beats the dark exhaust fumes of 3rd place.
And when you’ve been fighting the good fight for 19 years, 2nd place feels like a champagne super nova.
Ricky Bobby once said 2nd is the 1st loser.
But you know what? 2nd feels like Victory.
After 19 years of getting rope-a-doped, 2nd feels like a triumph.
After 19 years of getting my head bashed in by an opponent, today I can leave the ring with dignity.
Number 1 is untouchable, for now.
But there’s a new sheriff in town, and he likes number 2.
It’s that new car smell, that feeling you get when you know the answer to the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune.
Number one is safe for now.
For now, we better learn how to defend our turf. We better learn to absorb body blows and take a standing 8 count.
The New Number 3 is probably shocked. The New Number 3 is certainly embarrassed and angry.
The New Number 3 knows how to fight. The New Number 3 knows how to beat us.
They’d like nothing better than to prove this was a fluke.
The New Number 3 would like to kick our number 2 ass back to the parking garage of ratings.
I didn’t quit when I was constantly being beaten. I certainly won’t quit now that I’m standing triumphant.
In fact, I’ll fight meaner. I’ll fight tougher. I want to kick them in the throat and keep them on the canvas now more than ever.
I’m scrappy doo, baby.
Watch out Number 1.
Number 2 with a bullet.
We’d just assume knock your block off too.
Why not.
There’s a new sheriff in town.
He’s hungry. He’s angry. He’s #2.
It tastes like everything your grandpa ever taught you about winners never quitting and quitters never winning.
Watch out Number 1.
19 years of getting banged in the head can make you believe you can accomplish anything.
Life’s Crazy™