I collect lost causes and desperate cases like a mangy dog collects fleas.
There was a bald-headed, curly bearded dude way back when who was the patron Saint of lost causes and desperate cases. How did they come up with that one?
Anyway, I often put on my spurs and hitch up my pants and grab a lance and venture into the fog of war. I realize that it's my life, baby, I'm a long-shot, an underdog, an up and comer. Always.
And sometimes a dog does have it's day. Sometimes that sure thing turns out not to be a sure thing. And sometimes the long-shot walks away with the spoils. That's my hope, my religion, my job, my life.