This one was an adventure. Fug Madness has never had a final game so close; barely even a regular game so close (we have to reach back to the epic Peldon vs. Sevigny in 2008). All day, the lead swung wildly back and forth. Countless people Tweeted us to say their vote was the only one breaking a tie. Three votes here, twenty votes there, then one, then seven, then fifty, then eighty the other way. Picture it, Sophia Petrillo-style:
9 a.m. Monday. Polls open. Vanessa jumps out to a tiny lead; Lindsay quickly closes the gap.
10:30 a.m. We get our first tweets — of too many to count — from somebody whose vote broke an absolute deadlock. Diet Coke time.
2 p.m. For the first time all day, the polling software’s rounding mechanism breaks its 50-50 claim (even though you can see by vote count who’s ahead) and gives Lilo a 51-49 edge, at which point I declare to Jessica that LiLo has it in the bag, that there is no coming back for Hudgens. We toast with some Diet Coke.
5 p.m. Hudgens comes back.
6 p.m. The lead changes six times in a ten-minute span. More Diet Coke.
9 p.m. One girl leaps out again to a 100-plus vote lead. I am out of Diet Coke.
2:30 a.m. Tuesday. With polls closing in roughly seven hours, the current leader is finally up by well more than 200 votes — the largest margin of the day. Voting had slowed down; history suggested it would be insurmountable. And so our glorious in-house editor puts the finishing touches on this year’s “One Fugging Moment” montage, proclaiming that person the victor, and I set it to upload to YouTube while we slept.
7 a.m. Last night’s leader is still up by more than 150 votes, 51 percent to 49 percent. I embed the video in our winner post and set it to go live at 10 a.m.
9:15 a.m. My in-house editor leaves for his out-of-house editing job and asks flippantly, “Did you ever check the poll results?” I say, “Yeah, we’re fine,” and then grab my phone on a whim and dial them up anew. And they’ve changed. For good. The polls are closed. I go buy a Diet Coke.
In two hours and fifteen minutes, there was a 300-vote swing. We were about half an hour away from our own GFY “Dewey Defeats Truman” moment… and we stupidly, tiredly, optimistically (or pessimistically, given who I was rooting for) hadn’t cut a backup. So that’s why this post is late. Day jobs wait for no man, and our editor is no exception.
But we’re here now. And we have a winner. Whose fug reigned (barely) supreme?