Each day is a struggle to get to the middle, but battered and bruised, he never falters.

Pushing, fighting, scratching and climbing, struggle is all that she knows.

It’s not about the win, it’s about the journey, never giving up, never giving in.

He’s every hero we’ve ever aspired to be, not the one born with a silver spoon, or wealth and fame, not the one who’s led a charmed life, where the accolades came easily.

She’s the one up at four am, sweating for a few extra dollars, the one cleaning up at ten at night to support her family, making cookies in the middle of the night for school, up with a sick child.

They are the reason we believe in miracles.

Not because of the people living charmed lives. But because of those who scrounge and save and work and sweat blood.

And then sometimes, it happens.

The stars line up just perfectly, singing in unison, and they get their shining moment.

You know the one.

It makes us weep with joy, in awe of the majesty of the event.

Every underdog has one in them, a beautiful, glorious instant that surpasses all of those easy victories.

It’s that hope that keeps us rooting for the next underdog we see to have their shining day, so that we can marvel at its brilliance,

as close to magic as most people ever get.