If you missed previous segments of the CMEslinger saga, you can read them here:

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4
• Part 5

And now, our latest segment:

Part 6 (Derek)

The man in black looked at Sierra’s finger in confusion. Why was she pointing at him? He wasn’t going to save the day. Saving the day was the CMEslinger’s job. He was just along for the ride.

He glanced over at Marge to give her a what-are-these-morons-talking-about look and saw her looking back at him with a knowing smile.

“What?” he asked.

“Come on, you know,” she said, her grin growing larger.

Now the man in black was getting annoyed.

“Marge, seriously, I don’t know what you two are talking about. Why are you looking at me like that. What do you know that I don-“

The man in black bit off his words midsentence as realization set in. His eyes grew wide and he started to shake his head.

“Oh no, don’t even think about it. Nope. Not happening. No.”

Marge never flinched.

“Oh Walter, don’t make such a fuss. We both know you’re going to do it. Let’s skip past all the fake macho bravado and move on to your inevitable acquiescence to save time. We need to move quickly here.”

The CMEslinger had to work hard to suppress a snort of laughter at Marge uttering the man in black’s rarely used first name. He was so particular about cultivating his ridiculous “man in black” mystique, and the CMEslinger couldn’t help but be amused by Marge cutting through it all.

The man in black was starting to lose his composure and began to sputter.

“What…I…how dare…no chance…inevitable acquiescence??…I…that was supposed to be confidential!” he finally blurted out.

Marge stuck out her bottom lip in a look of mock pity.

“I know, Walter, I’m sorry. It couldn’t be helped. Desperate times and all that.”

She quickly brightened and looked over at the CMEslinger and Sierra.

“He’ll do it!” she said happily.

While Sierra gave a quiet little fist pump, the CMEslinger shook his head in bewilderment.

“Do what, exactly?” he asked. “Can someone tell me what in Sam Hill is going on here? I feel like the last wallflower at the school dance when the band starts playing Wonderful Tonight.”

Marge came over and patted him on the shoulder.

“Walter has the most lovely singing voice you ever heard,” she said with complete sincerity.

The CMEslinger was now completely confused.

“Listen, Phinneas used to tell me I wasn’t the brightest spark in the tinderbox, mostly in jest, I think, but I utterly and truly have no idea what any of you people are talking about. Can someone please explain so we can get on with doing whatever needs doing?”

Marge gave the CMEslinger’s arm one last squeeze and went over to sit beside the man in black, who by now was slouched back on the couch, both palms covering his eyes and forehead, muttering about how this is not happening, not happening, this is definitely not happening.

“Back in the days when the three of us were still working for TAXIE, I stumbled upon a bit of information about our friend Walter here that is going to prove useful to us today. I can’t recall exactly when it happened, but I do remember that it occurred the evening after we had all watched an Alliance webinar on publishing outcomes. One of the panel members on the webinar was from the grants team at Tower and she spent most of her time complaining about how difficult it is to present outcomes data to senior management. Anyway, after the webinar I was in my office working late, as usual, when I heard the faint sounds of the most beautiful tenor voice. I walked out of my office thinking someone had left on their radio, but then the singing stopped and started up again. It was definitely someone in the office singing. I followed the sound of the voice and realized it was singing Bryan Adams’s (Everything I Do) I Do It for You, though the lyrics were a bit altered. It went:

Don’t tell me it’s not worth trying for
You can’t tell me outcomes aren’t worth dying for
You know IME’s true
Everything we do, we do it for you

“I turned the corner and standing at the copier, singing his heart out, was the man in black, who apparently was also working late and did not realize I was still there. Well, as you can imagine, he was horrified to see me and immediately stopped singing. I assured him there was no need for him to stop as he truly did and does have the voice of an angel. I teased him a bit about the change in lyrics and that’s when he said it. Do you want to tell them, Walter?”

The man in black said nothing but shook his head no. Marge continued.

“He told me ‘I know it’s silly, but listening to that webinar today made me think about all these supporters who moan about the challenges of presenting IME outcomes and ROI to their bosses. Maybe instead of doing the same old boring dog-and-pony PowerPoint shows, they should try adding a little pizzazz to their presentations. Do something that makes them stand out, grabs attention. And then I thought, if I’m ever in the position of making that kind of presentation to the C-suite, I would sing it. That would definitely be memorable. Then I started thinking of what song I would use and how I could change the words…and then you showed up.’”

Marge paused her story to give the man in black a quick smile and pat him on the back.

“So, when Sierra called me and explained her situation here, I thought back to that moment and knew exactly what we needed to do. Walter is going to sing the value proposition!”

The CMEslinger sat staring at Marge and the man in black with mouth agape. He seemed to be in a trance of disbelief. Once he recognized that Marge had stopped talking, he shook his head vigorously, as if to clear out the cobwebs, and leaned back in his chair.

“That is,” he said slowly, “without a doubt…the dumbest idea I have ever heard. We are going to rely on the singing voice of this two-bit knucklehead to save my daughter’s career? No way. Impossible.”

Marge’s eyes flared and the smile on her face hardened.

“First of all,” she said testily, “It’s not impossible. You haven’t even heard him sing. Second, the CEO of Tower – Thomas Vandersnook is his name in case you have forgotten – is a massive patron of the arts. He sings in his church choir and has a reserved box at the opera. Music is his passion. Third, and last, we are out of time. I am leaving now to get back to TAXIE and my reaccreditation. I have prepared all the charts, graphs, and slides you could possibly need for the value prop presentation. I have even selected the song and wrote suitable lyrics. It’s all right here. My work here is done.”

The CMEslinger, still bewildered by what was happening, leaned forward in his chair to plead with Marge.

“The CEO of Tower? You think we’re going to do this for Thomas Vandersnook? How are we even going to get a meeting with him?”

For the first time in a long while, Sierra spoke up.

“It’s OK, Dad. Leave that to me.”

Sunday’s Super Bowl between the Seattle Seahawks and New England Patriots was, unfortunately, mostly a snoozefest (other than Bad Bunny’s halftime show, which was fab.) However, there was a moment early in the 4th quarter where the Pats seemed to have a little momentum and appeared primed to make an effort at a comeback. But then just as the game was finally getting interesting, Pats QB Drake Maye threw a truly horrendous and inexplicable interception. The pass went directly to a Seahawks defensive back, with no Pats receiver within 10 yards of the ball. Even my wife–no great football fan, who spent the entire game knitting a sweater–wondered aloud, “Who was he throwing the ball to?”

Veteran announcer Cris Collinsworth, who has played in and provided color commentary for multiple Super Bowls, appeared speechless watching the interception. After a long pause of dead air, a replay of the interception began to play and a befuddled Collinsworth mumbled into the microphone, “Ummmm…I’ve got nothing for you here.”

That is exactly how I felt while trying to think of a new blog post idea to remind you that the CMEpalooza Spring abstract submission deadline is coming up on Monday, February 23. Click here to read all the important details.

Beyond that reminder, ummmm…I’ve got nothing for you here. Hopefully the rest of your day will be more successful than that Drake Maye pass attempt.

(Side note: Is this Eagles fan relishing in the Patriots defeat by rubbing it in a little bit more? Definitely.)

If you missed previous segments of the CMEslinger saga, you can read them here:

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4

And now, our latest segment:

Part 5 (Scott)

As Sierra ambled down the spiral staircase that led into the front lobby, the CMEslinger was struck by how much his daughter had changed since the last time he saw her. It had been, what, 9 months since he drove the three hours to Sierra’s trendy loft apartment and took her out for her birthday?

“Geez,” the CMEslinger mumbled to himself. “Guess I should return that ‘World’s No. 1 Dad’ coffee mug.”

Sierra looked, well, different. Her hairstyle, her clothes, her general demeanor – she just didn’t look like the confident, sometimes cocky, young woman the CMEslinger was used to seeing. She looked tired and scared. It was enough to make the CMEslinger want to throw his arms around her like he used to do whenever Sierra came to visit him in the TAXIE offices as a little girl.

“Hi dad,” Sierra said as she hugged the CMEslinger, seemingly more out of obligation that familial affection. “Marge told me you’d probably show up sooner or later. You and your friend. Come on, let’s get on with it.”

A no-nonsense kind of gal. At least something about Sierra was the same.

Sierra signed in her visitors, escorted them to the corporate elevators located down the hall, and hit the button for the 24^th floor. When the elevator doors swung open, the CMEslinger and the man in black stepped out and stared in awe. They could see the entire city before them through the bank of glass windows. It was the kind of view most people would pay millions for. But then again, Tower Pharmaceuticals had many, many millions to spend on that sort of thing.

Sierra glared at the duo.

“If you want to play tourist, I can come back in an hour.”

“No, no, of course not,” the CMEslinger stuttered. “Lead the way, darling.”

“Don’t darling me, dad,” Sierra said. “I’m not your little girl, anymore.”

“So much for the teary family reunion,” the man in black muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“I’m no ingenue,” Sierra said, overhearing the man in black’s utterances. “But you already knew that. Come on already.”

Sierra led the trio down the hall to her office, adorned with a brass nameplate and a caricature of Velma, the sassy detective from the Scooby Doo cartoons. As her door swung open, Marge glared at the CMEslinger and the man in black.

“It took you long enough to get here,” Marge said. “I’m almost done my part. Now it’s up to you…and her…to save the day.”

“Almost done what? And what are we saving?” the CMEslinger said.

“You mean, you…they…” Marge said, looking inquisitively up at Sierra.

“No, I never called them,” Sierra said. “I didn’t want to… well, I was embarrassed.”

“Well then, I guess you better start from the beginning,” Marge said. “You boys better sit down. Storytelling time will let me finish up my part of this job before I hightail it out of here. I assume the folks back at TAXIE are pretty nervous right about now.”

It was all a bit much for the CMEslinger and the man in black to take in. But before they could start asking questions, Sierra had taken their arms in hers and walked them over to the cushioned sofa in the corner of her office. She pulled up her desk chair beside them and started to speak.

“Four years ago, the annual ACCME Data Report came out and, as usual, I immediately put my work aside to check out the financial state of our industry. And as usual, it was depressing. Registration fees were down 5%. Advertising and exhibits down 7%. Commercial support down 10%. It was the same story year after year. Depressing depressing depressing.

“So I went home, heated up a mug of tea and sat down in front of the television to watch the 76ers game with my journal in front of me. And that’s when it happened. Another ad for Linvolus, Tower Pharma’s ‘diabetes wonder drug.’ A midcourt Tower Pharma logo right in front of the 76ers bench. Tower Pharma patches on the uniforms of the 76ers players.

“I did some digging online and found that Tower Pharma had spent $510 million on direct-to-consumer advertisements for Linvolus alone in the United States that year. I’m sure those corporate sponsorships were in the hundreds of millions as well. Guess what they spent, at least according to their corporate transparency report, on CME programming for diabetes? $4 million. Total.

“I was tired of being underappreciated, but I was on the provider side of our world, so what could I do? So I made it my goal to come here and make things right. Six months later, I was hired.”

“But why didn’t you tell me, or anyone, all of this when you left TAXIE?” asked the CMEslinger.

“Remember what you told me when I came home with a black eye and a bloody lip after getting into a fight with Jessica Bronwell, that mean girl down the street, when I was 9 years old?” Sierra asked.

“Yeah, she was 3 years older than you and was twice your size,” the CMEslinger replied. “What did you expect?”

“But did you remember exactly what you said to me?” Sierra said.

“Sure, I told you the same thing my old man told me when I was a kid,” the CMEslinger said. “’Never get into a fight you have no chance of winning.’”

“Exactly,” Sierra replied. “I knew that one person fighting for dollars within Big Pharma seemed like the same situation, and I knew everyone was going to tell me that I was wasting my time, but it just felt like something I had to do. Not just for me, but for everyone who worked in CME for so long. For Marge. For the man in black. For you.”

“I see,” the CMEslinger said.

Tears started forming in the corner of Sierra’s eyes.

“And the worst part of it all is that you were right. I’ve been here for three years now and keep banging my head into the same wall over and over. I’ve worked hour after hour crunching data from providers, showing hard facts on the beneficial effect our limited budget is having on the healthcare team and the care of diabetes patients, arguing to my bosses that they don’t need another 30-second Linvolus commercial during the NBA playoffs. But I’m getting nowhere.

“Two weeks ago, I finally had enough. There was an advertising team outside my office filming a new commercial that is going to air during the Super Bowl – I read that we’re paying $10 million for 30 seconds of airtime. That is nearly three times my annual budget gone – poof – in about the time it takes you to drink one of your pickletinis.

“So I did something really, really stupid one morning. I called up one of my buddies in IT and had him override the budgetary limits of my grant approvals. I had been saving 15 of the best proposals that were submitted to me last year in the hopes I would miraculously convince my bosses to push more funding my way. In one fell swoop, I approved them all. $10 million worth of grants. Exactly what we’re paying for the Super Bowl commercial.”

“And that’s when you called in your emergency team,” the CMEslinger said. “Marge.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Sierra said. “I knew that as soon as anyone with their hands on the department budget found out about what I did, the best thing that could happen was that I would be fired. I ducked every email and phone call from the providers whose proposals I had funded and avoided countersigning any LOAs. But that wasn’t going to last long.”

Now it was the man in black’s turn to chime in.

“And so the two of you have been doing what, exactly?” he asked. “You realize that you pulled Marge away from TAXIE during their most crucial time of the year? They may lose their accreditation.”

“I know,” Sierra said. “And I feel awful about that. But we’re not stupid. Marge told me exactly how long she would be able to spend helping me here. We’ve been squeezing every ounce of energy into our value proposition to try to convince our executives once and for all that we’re worth investing in.”

“I’ll be leaving in a few minutes,” Marge interjected. “TAXIE will be fine. I have all of my files in pristine condition. I knew you would eventually figure out I was here and that you would come to save the day. Which you’ll be doing very soon.”

“Save the day? How exactly am I going to save the day?” asked the CMEslinger incredulously. “Besides you, I don’t know anyone else who works here. I don’t have any influence on any decisions this company makes.”

“You’re right, dad,” Sierra said. “You won’t be saving the day, at least not this time.”

Sierra locked eyes with Marge before swiveling to point her finger at the man sitting beside the CMEslinger, at the man in black.

“He will.”