The Panthers get edged out of a Super Bowl victory with just seconds remaining in the game. Aiken misses being named American Idol by just a relative few votes. Edwards stays just behind John Kerry as both men chase the Democratic presidential nomination.

A co-worker has suggested we make a minor adjustment on the slogan that graces our car license plates: "First in Flight, Second in Everything Else."

North Carolina has become the Burger King of states: Sure, we've got those delicious Whoppers, but we can't quite catch up to Big Mac. We're the Kmart that sits down the road from the Wal-Mart. The Pepsi at a Coke-lovers convention. The Viggo Mortensen who shares a movie marquee with Tom Cruise.

We're running with the A-list crowd. But when everyone meets at Morton's, we end up at the table by the kitchen.

This is not a lament, nor is it a complaint. Second-place finishes seem just about right for North Carolina -- because it has revealed some important things about us.

Too much is made of winning. It isn't always a pretty or desirable thing. Sometimes, the effort you have to make to win leaves you diminished, spiritually and morally. All the slogans notwithstanding -- "A good loser is still a loser," "Winning isn't everything, it's the only thing," etc. -- there is something to be said for putting the focus on honor and dignity. Winning gives you a feeling of accomplishment that lasts a little while. Honor and dignity are with you forever.

Those two concepts aren't mutually exclusive, of course. It's possible to be both a winner and a person of character. But your true character is more likely to be revealed by a disappointing finish than by a win. In that light, we should be impressed with our second-placers. They've done us proud.

The Panthers were scrappy and tough, with nary a prima donna among them. They weren't surprised to be in the Super Bowl, but neither did it bother them that others were surprised. They started the game horribly, finished dramatically and lost barely. Somehow, it made me (and many others) like a team that we'd pretty much ignored until then.

Aiken graciously accepted the "American Idol" voting results, even as his partisans hinted that the balloting had been rigged. Then, when his career soon eclipsed that of "Idol" winner Ruben Studdard, Aiken never smirked even once. Any other mortal would have taken some smug satisfaction in proving the "American Idol" voters wrong, but Aiken resisted. Or at least he smirked privately, which is almost as good.

Edwards seems determined to be the only person in America to not pour his heart out on television. Countless reporters have asked him during this primary season how the death of his teenage son in a traffic accident in 1996 affected his decision to enter politics. Almost any other politician, seeing the potential for sympathy votes, would make the most of that opportunity. But Edwards' answers -- or at least the answers I've read and heard -- are clipped and perfunctory. Edwards refuses to mine a private tragedy for votes that he desperately needs.

You can call it second place. I call it first class.

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