First ~ Last

by
Gerry Greenberg

Who’s First, Who’s Last?

It’s good to be first. What’s the point of competition if you don’t want to win? And competition is what it’s all about, right? I mean, who’s going to watch “Big Brother” or “Survivor” (any one of the hundreds of versions) if nobody’s going home at the end of each episode, if the participants aren’t narrowed down, one by one, until we finally arrive at the winner? Sure, sports needs to have a winner, but so does cooking, fashion designing, and being castaway some primitive backwater (especially if you’re “Naked and Afraid”). So, you got to have a winner. Some go as far as to say that winning is the only thing. Others say that it’s not about winning or losing, but how you play the game. But if you play it right, shouldn’t you win? Now I digress. This is no place to debate the relative merits of the philosophies of Vince Lombardi and Grantland Rice.

Back to winning. If we must have a winner, there’s got to be a loser. Somebody’s first and somebody’s last. Sometimes being last can take priority over being first. I was watching the Tour de France in July and one of the American hopefuls, Andrew Talansky, crashed his bike, injuring his back. He was about 35 miles from the finish of that day’s race, and it wasn’t clear if he could make it. Even if he did, he might be so far behind the leader that he wouldn’t be allowed to continue the race the next day. After talking with his team coach, he decided to continue. So he got back on his bike, in obvious pain, and rode on. Now viewers were treated to a split screen image where they could watch to see who finished first and. at the same time learn if Talansky was going to make the time cut. In fact, there was probably more interest in the Talansky drama than there was up front among the leaders. After all, Talansky could be “going home” if he didn’t struggle across the line in time. Whoever won the day’s stage would only be the day’s stage winner. There were many more stages to contest. So we watched with bated breath as Talansky managed to cross the finish line within the permissible time frame. True, he had to withdraw anyway due to his injuries, but his back-of-the-pack finish proved to be the most riveting entertainment of the day.

Another lesson learned from the Tour: it is possible to be first and last at the same time. Ji Cheng was the first Chinese cyclist to ever compete in the Tour de France. His job was to ride out in front for his team for an hour or two, expending most of his energy, while his teammates, who had an actual chance of winning the race, tucked in behind him and took it easy (relatively speaking). Once Cheng had pretty much worn himself out, he dropped back, and the big name contenders took over, racing to the finish. Cheng, exhausted, struggled on, usually finishing about 20 minutes behind everyone else. Naturally, given this scenario, he finished the tour in last place. But finish he did. He was not among the 30 or so riders who were forced to abandon the race for one reason or another. And he was given the award reserved for the Tour’s last place finisher – the Lanterne Rouge, or Red Lantern, named after the light that used to be hung on the caboose of a railroad train. There’s something great about a contest where last place can be a mark of distinction.

Maybe first or last is not really what it’s all about. Popular actor James Garner who died a few weeks back saw things differently. In an interview he once said that he never liked being first because the only way to go from there was down. Instead, he most valued longevity and seemed to think that was best achieved by avoiding the pinnacle of success. This is definitely a minority view. One final example from the Tour: Slovakian cyclist Peter Sagan was the best all-around rider – a better sprinter than all the climbers and a better climber than all the sprinters. Sort of like a decathlete of cyclists. The Tour even has an award for that – the green jersey, and Sagan has won it three years in a row. But in one interview after another, instead of being congratulated on his versatility, every interviewer wanted to know only one thing: How come you didn’t finish first? When do you think you will finally win? When will you get the yellow jersey?

We’d probably be better off if we listened to Garner and lightened up a bit, but we’d need a cultural revolution to achieve it. And the change would take considerable adjustment on the part of the public. Just in case it comes to pass, maybe we should practice chanting “we’re number two” or even replace some of that competition with cooperation.  I know, I know, we’d never  fill Ohio State’s Horseshoe with that concept.