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

And now, our latest segment:

Part 4 (Derek)

The CMEslinger grabbed his leather duster and stroked the shearling collar for a moment before shrugging it on. The coat had been a 50^th birthday present from his daughter, Sierra, a few years back and was one of his few treasured possessions. The CMEslinger is not a man who surprises easily, but the quality of his daughter’s gift, not to mention the cost, had caught him off guard at the time. It shouldn’t have.

Sierra had been a precocious child, talking at 10 months, reading at 4 years old, reciting Gertrude Stein by memory at the third grade talent show (“Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose”). She tested out of fifth grade entirely and graduated from high school the same year she turned sweet sixteen. Scholarship offers came in from Harvard, Yale, and Stanford, but Sierra shocked everyone by staying local and attending Cuthbert University—a fine school, but one lovingly known as “Safety U” because no one ever listed it as their first choice. But Sierra had plans of her own, and an Ivy League education was not part of them.

There is a common saying in CME circles that “no one gets into CME on purpose.” Phinneas, of course, had his own version of that, snorting “No one gets into CME; CME gets into you!” at the CMEslinger and the man in black more times than they cared to remember. Sierra would prove the exception to that rule with a singular focus on a career in CME that could only come from an offspring of the CMEslinger. As a toddler, she would tag along with him to the TAXIE office, and even when he moved on to form his own company, Sierra remained a TAXIE loyalist and became a key member of Marge’s program management team by her senior year in high school. It didn’t hurt that Marge was also her godmother, but no one ever questioned Sierra’s capabilities. She would have skipped college entirely and gone full-time at TAXIE, except the CMEslinger put his ostrich skin booted foot down and insisted she get her degree (though it was actually the heartfelt talk between Marge and a tearstained Sierra that convinced her to accept a spot at Cuthbert and delay her burgeoning CME career by a few more years.)

At her graduation ceremony at Cuthbert, Sierra walked across the stage, grabbed her diploma, and hurried directly over to her new office at TAXIE, something given only to those with a promotion to Senior Program Manager. Over a period of 5 years, she rose to Program Director and then Vice President of Educational Strategy, the youngest employee to which TAXIE had ever bestowed a VP title. Her father’s advice helped, but it was Marge and her tough love approach that Sierra credited most for guiding her in her career. She was 25 years old, a VP at one of the largest medical education companies in the world, and the apple of the CMEslinger’s eye.

And then she went over to the dark side.

It is an inside joke to those who exist in the CME provider world, referring to the industry section of CME as “the dark side.” Still, it came as quite a shock to everyone, Marge included, when Sierra announced she was leaving TAXIE for a Grant Director position at Tower Pharmaceuticals. And yes, the CMEslinger had to admit, it stung him more than a satchel full of hornets that his little girl was leaving the provider side for a job on the dark side. He never did get a full explanation from her about why she was leaving. “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just something I need to do,” was the most he ever got out of her.

She never offered an explanation to Marge, either, and Marge never asked for one. On Sierra’s last day in the TAXIE office, as she was making her final walk down the hallway towards the elevator, Marge called her into her office, where she sat speedily clacking away at her computer keyboard. Tilting her head down slightly and looking at Sierra over the top of her halfmoon readers, Marge imparted a final bit of advice.

“You call me when you run into trouble.”

“’When”? Not ‘if’?”

“Yes, ‘when’.”

“OK, Marge. I will. Thanks.”

Marge nodded and went back to typing. She never looked back as Sierra walked away.

All this the CMEslinger relayed to the man in black as they Ubered over to Tower Pharmaceuticals HQ.

“Yes, I know all this already, you chucklehead,” the man in black growled. “You forced me to listen to all your stories when Marge locked us in that hotel room in Vegas.”

“Ah, right, right,” the CMEslinger intoned absently.

The Uber glided up to the massive black edifice of Tower world headquarters, and the two unlikely partners jumped out and hurried into the front lobby. Neither man had been in the building previously, and it took them a moment to spot the intercom system for contacting occupants. Quickly scanning the directory, the CMEslinger punched in the numbers for Sierra’s office. She picked up on the first ring.

“Yes?”

“Sierra? It’s Dad. I’m downstairs.”

“Oh.”

An awkward silence of several seconds followed, interrupted only by the low frequency hum of the intercom.

“Sierra? You still there?” the CMEslinger asked hesitantly

“I’ll be right down,” his daughter said sharply and disconnected the line.