Imagine, if you will, the final lap of a 10 lap footrace. In front, you have the gold medalist. He’s obviously going to win, as everyone suspected from the start. And about 10 feet behind him, you have the runner up. The silver medalist, the guy who never really had a chance of winning, but by maintaining his pace he’s shown himself to be a respectable contender. No one will argue that he’s as good as the guy in first, but he’s won a few fans in the audience, and will be remembered fondly.
So they approach the finish line. The first place runner crosses with elegence and ease. The second runner up is about 5 feet from the line. He then shits his pants and falls down. Everyone sees it. His pants dirtied by the tragedy that just took place, he gets up and stumbles over the line, still the runner up. And the audience cheers apprehensively. Yeah, he still came in second, and the rest of his run was great. But holy shit, that ending. It’s kinda hard to forget that he SHAT HIS PANTS AND FELL DOWN.