No respect for two

J's World, by Jeremiah Bartz

First place is celebrated, first place is remembered. But who remembers number two?

Who remembers the loser of Super Bowl 32?

It was Green Bay, I think.

Who finished second in the 32nd presidential election?

F.D.R. defeated someone, I am sure.

And years from now, who will remember the name of the runner-up in the 32nd Iditarod.

I will remember, because I stood on the edge of Front Street on a chilly Nome night waiting for Jeff King to come into town.

The Iditarod is a prime example of how first place is revered and the rest are quickly forgotton.

Nearly half the town of Nome, and countless tourists sporting the latest Columbia parkas lined Front Street for over an hour, braving the cold, in anticipation of Mitch Seavey's arrival.

Seavey arrived, placed first and enjoyed the happy hoots and hollars of fans on both sides of the streets. But when Seavey left, so did the spectators. When King arrived in Nome, just a handful spectators, a few reporters and his family were there to great him.

And as the legendary siren in Nome, that signals the arrival of the next musher, sounded, fewer and fewer wandered out to Front Street as the field continued into Nome.

As the remainder of the top 10 gradually rode into Nome, barely a spectator was seen. An occasional patron of one of the many, many, many local bars would stagger to let out a Wild Turkey hollar.

No respect.

Mushers two through 77 might as well be Rodney Dangerfield.

No respect.

Jeremiah Bartz is the Frontiersman sports editor. Bartz braved the cold of a March Nome night to watch the first six mushers arrive in Nome.