Poison apples may be my best shot at the Best Writer award

I’m not the best writer in the state. I’m not even second best. 

I’m third.

Considering how many writers live and work in Michigan, third place doesn’t seem too bad, right? That’s what I keep telling myself.

But somehow, at the Associated Press awards banquet I attended with co-worker Cory Smith earlier this week, that third place felt like the “Almost Winner” prize on the old Bozo television show; you know, that prize they gave to the spazzy kids who couldn’t get the ping-pong ball to land in a bucket from 14-inches away. Not exactly a mark of distinction.

My Reality Check column (the one you’re reading now) got a Big Number One, all the proof I needed that the AP judges are brilliant discerners of talent and excellent arbiters of all things literary. So why didn’t I win the Best Writer award, the one I was lusting after like a teenage boy lusts after the head cheerleader?

Well, apparently, there are two writers who are better than me. This is difficult for an egomaniacal narcissist such as myself to accept. Suddenly, I understood exactly how the Wicked Queen felt when her magic mirror informed her that Snow White was not only fairer, but also younger and more likely to land a handsome prince.

If I knew how to make poisoned apples, I would send a couple to the two writers who placed ahead of me, thereby increasing my chances of taking the top spot next year. But I don’t have that recipe.

Oh, sure, I could try to write better this year than I did last, but that seems like a lot of work and anyone who knows me at all can tell you “a lot of” is exactly the type of work I avoid whenever possible. Besides, what if I did work really hard, wrote my little heart out, and then STILL lost to those other two writers? 

I’d be tempted to try that apple myself. So that’s out.

To compound the anguish I felt over my Almost Winner status, my co-worker took home an unheard-of FIVE out of six first place awards for things like Best Multi-Media Journalist, Best Feature Photo, Best Video, and Most Inflated Head of Any Journalist in the Room.

Cory’s a hard guy to hate, but I did my best anyway, as I sat there clutching my third place certificate in my sweaty little hands, all the while worrying that his stack of engraved plaques might tip over and crush me beneath their ponderous weight. 

Yeah, yeah, I did get a first place for my column and any rational, normal person would be thrilled with that. Maybe if I hadn’t been sitting next to Cory — who basically pulled off a coup unseen since “Lord of the Rings” swept the Academy Awards — I might have felt better about things.

He’s my bud, though, so — as I did with the two writers who edged me out — I feel I should congratulate him. 

Here, Cory, have an apple.