I know I shouldn’t give a shit. It ain’t about the prize; it’s about the work. The fans are the ones who determine our success. Logically, I know all of that. I enter the award season detached and philosophical, but after a few months of engaging in the build up, that distance gets washed away and I’m neck-deep in expectation and self-righteousness. I always end up broken and bloody the morning the nominations are read.
From season two of The Shield to season five of SOA, that expectation and disappointment has rubbed me raw. Say what you want about Sons not being Emmy worthy. You’re probably right. But there is no way you can say the last two seasons of The Shield were not as good or better than any drama on television.
So why no Emmy love?
Simple. People didn’t vote for us.
The supporters (fans, network, my wife) give me a laundry list of reasons. All logical and ego-soothing.
The haters (cunt bloggers) say it’s because the show sucks.
My guess is both camps harbor some truth.
What do I say?
Really. Haven’t I said enough?
Yes. I have.
I’m exhausted by my own obsession for recognition. It goes deeper than just pride and ego. I’m sure it’s some kind of daddy-thing I haven’t had the courage to dig into. Who knows? But it’s just scabbed me over. I can’t do the dance anymore — the submissions, interviews, panels, photo-shoots, predictions, polls, post-mortem snubs — Fuck me, I’m done.
This season and hopefully for the rest of the run of Sons of Anarchy, I say nothing about any award. Other than, “thank you,” “good luck,” and “congratulations”.
And to clean it all up before I put it away:
I apologize to academy members (of every age) for the bombastic comments I’ve made in the past. I apologize to my cast, crew, studio and network if my arrogant reaction to snubs has embarrassed them or impeded their chances for recognition.
This blog will be my last comment on the Emmys. And yes, I can hear the snarky comments echoing through cyberspace as I type that statement. And they’d be correct to assume that me keeping quiet is a great idea in theory, but difficult to implement. So time (and all the cunt bloggers) will be the judge.
You can say many bad things about me and they’d all be true — I’m arrogant, abrasive, narcissistic, juvenile, over-sensitive. But I’m also a man who lives in a perpetual state of change. I have no choice. There is no stasis. If I’m not moving forward, I’m sliding back. And behind me there is only wreckage and remorse.
In front of me there is only opportunity.
I may be a dick, but I’m a dick in progress.